Rooted: I Won't Ever Let Her Go
A/N: I don’t really have the words for this one. This chapter has been living in my head (and my heart) for a long time. I wanted it to feel romantic and beautiful and earned. I wanted it to feel like home. Thank you for reading Bloom, for loving Jade and Joe the way I do, and for letting me take my time getting them here. Okay. Deep breath. Let’s get them married. Enjoy. 🤍
Jade woke before the sun — not from nerves, not from noise, but from a change in the air.
It was as if the morning had reached out and tapped her shoulder: Up. This is the day.
For a long moment, she didn’t move.
The house was wrapped in that fragile gray-blue hour before dawn, when everything is suspended between what was and what will be. She lay on her side and stared through the bedroom window at the faint outline of the greenhouse across the yard.
Glass and iron. Quiet against the paling sky.
It held warmth even before the sun had risen.
It had been the first thing Joe built for her with his own hands. Not commissioned. Not delegated. Not a contractor’s project he supervised and signed off on.
Board by board. Panel by panel. Knuckles scraped. Shirt damp with sweat.
A stubborn kind of devotion — the kind that didn’t need applause.
Mist hovered low over the property, soft and silver, settling into grass and curling along the fence line. The aisle was only a suggestion carved into the lawn. Chairs waited beneath the tent. The arch stood half-finished — skeletal and patient — like it was holding its breath.
In a few hours it would be full.
Of vows. Of witnesses. Of the sound of their people laughing and crying and pretending they weren’t doing either.
Just the quiet space where he should have been.
She rolled onto her back and exhaled slowly, palms pressed over her face. The absence wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t frightening.
It was simply the space between now and later — the final inhale before something holy.
Memory flickered through her in warm flashes.
Kitchen lights too bright the night before. Sara nearly knocking over a wine glass. Alex screaming Celine Dion lyrics like her life depended on it.
They’d ended the night breathless and laughing on the kitchen floor, tangled in limbs and anticipation.
Jade pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The wood floor was cool under her feet. She crossed to the window and pulled the curtain back just slightly.
The Ohio River beyond the property was quiet — a band of steel beneath the lightening sky. Somewhere in the distance, a bird tested the morning with a tentative call.
Jade pressed her palm to the glass.
Lucy’s collar jingled faintly as she shifted. A second later she climbed up, warm and insistent, tail thudding against the comforter like she’d been assigned a job.
And just like that, something in Jade steadied.
She moved through the small rituals slowly — brushing her teeth, splashing cool water over her face, smoothing her hands over her arms as if reacquainting herself with her own skin. She reached for the closest thing and pulled it on without thinking.
Joe’s old college hoodie.
It still held the faintest trace of him — detergent and something warmer, something that made her chest go tender in one sharp, inconvenient swell.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the sleeve to her face, eyes closed.
“You’re fine,” she murmured. Not to convince herself. Just to name it.
Her phone lit softly against the nightstand.
Joe – 6:12 AM: You awake yet, or am I somehow winning?
Her lips curved instantly.
Jade: You lost. I’ve been up.
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Joe: Of course you have.
Joe: How do you feel?
She stared at the question for a beat.
Joe: I miss you. But I’m good.
Joe: Jamie is already being annoying.
A soft laugh escaped her.
Her phone rang before she could type anything else. Jade inhaled once — steadying herself — then answered.
She heard the smile in his voice immediately. “I just wanted to hear you.”
“Did you now?” she teased, drifting back toward the window like she could pull him closer by looking out at the life they’d built.
He hummed. “Do you remember our first night in the house?”
She smiled. “You’re getting sentimental early.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”
“There were boxes everywhere,” he said. “Paint samples taped to the walls. Your plants in every corner like you were afraid the place wouldn’t breathe without them.”
“And I told you my favorite part.”
Her voice lowered. “You did.”
“My favorite part is that you’re in it.”
The words settled into her chest like something warm and immovable.
“There were ceilings we obsessed over,” he went on. “Land we walked a hundred times. Plans and sketches and arguments about cabinet handles.” A small exhale. “But none of that was the point.”
Jade sank slowly onto the mattress, pressing her free hand to her sternum.
“Today isn’t about the tent,” he said quietly. “Or the flowers. Or who shows up.”
She could hear Jamie laughing somewhere behind him before a door shut and the noise softened.
“It’s about you walking toward me,” he continued. “That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”
“I get to sleep next to you tonight as your husband.”
He let out a soft huff that almost sounded like a laugh. “I don’t care about the rest of it,” he said. “As long as you’re there, it’s going to be the best day of my life.”
She wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. “What the hell are you going to say in your vows?”
He laughed, low and familiar. “Those have been done for months. I’m set.”
Her gaze flicked to her vow notebook on the nightstand — pages worn from rereading, margins dotted with tiny edits.
“I love you,” she said softly.
A pause that felt like both of them holding the same breath.
“Just a few more hours,” he murmured.
Lucy curled against Jade’s side with a heavy sigh, as if she, too, had decided to be brave.
“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle?” he asked.
Jade smiled into the ceiling. “I’ll see you there.”
His voice softened. “Relax this morning, Duck. I’ll see you soon.”
Her smile widened. “I’ll see you soon, Goose.”
They lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then the line clicked quiet.
Jade stared at the ceiling and let herself breathe.
The absence didn’t feel hollow anymore.
It felt like anticipation.
A floorboard creaked down the hall. A muffled voice drifted through the door.
“…is it too early for coffee?”
The house was waking now — stretching, shifting, becoming.
Sara knocked lightly and pushed the door open halfway. Oversized pajama pants. Hair a disaster. Eyes squinting.
“You’re up,” she accused softly.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Sara crossed the room and pulled her into a hug — no squealing, no theatrics. Just solid warmth.
“Today,” Sara murmured into her shoulder.
Alex appeared behind her, clutching a coffee mug like a lifeline and a Diet Coke in her other hand. She took one look at Jade and straightened.
“You have a schedule,” Alex said firmly. “And you’re sticking to it.”
“Diana brought the clipboard,” Sara added gravely.
Jade blinked. “Of course she did.”
Alex nodded once. “I respect Diana.”
Jade laughed — breathy, real.
“I’m getting married,” she said, and the words still felt new.
Sara’s grin widened. “Hell yeah you are.”
Lucy barked as if in agreement.
By the time the sun fully cleared the trees, Lucy had appointed herself Head of Security. Nails clicking against hardwood. Tail sweeping corners. Alert and purposeful.
The kitchen filled with warm, honeyed light. Sara’s playlist drifted through the speakers, low enough to feel like background memory rather than performance. Coffee cooled in mugs. Face masks dried tight against their skin. Alex claimed a chair like she was going to run point on the entire day.
Outside, the backyard began to move: chairs unfolded, greenery carried, glass globes lined in trees.
Forward-moving. Not frantic.
Jade ran her fingertips along the kitchen island as she passed — the same surface that had held late-night takeout, blueprint sketches, flower clippings, wine glasses, and the kind of laughter that made her ache with gratitude afterward.
And in the quiet between Alex arguing with Sara about whether “nine a.m. is too early to be emotionally unstable,” Jade cleared her throat.
“I don’t think I ever really thanked you,” she said softly, “for signing me up.”
Sara and Alex both looked at her.
“For The Bachelor,” she clarified, a faint smile tugging. “For being… annoying and persistent.”
Alex’s expression softened. “Your thanks was assumed,” she said dryly. “When you came home walking on a cloud.”
Sara leaned her chin into her palm. “Would this be the worst possible timing for my I told you so?”
Jade rolled her eyes. “Let me have it.”
“I told you,” Sara said, pointing her spoon. “For years. Joe Burrow was perfect for you.”
“You told me he was hot,” Jade countered.
Sara shrugged. “And I wasn’t wrong.”
Jade laughed, warm and full. “No. You absolutely weren’t.”
The laughter was still lingering when a soft knock sounded at the door.
Sara glanced toward the entryway. “That’ll be her.”
Robin stepped inside with a warm paper bag tucked against her hip and an envelope balanced on top. She paused in the doorway, taking in the face masks, the mugs, the morning light.
“Good morning,” she said gently.
Her voice carried something beneath it — something carefully held.
Jade slid off the counter and crossed the room.
Robin handed the bag to Sara first. “Breakfast. Because I know my son would never forgive me if you skipped it.”
Sara peered inside. “God bless.”
Robin’s mouth twitched. “He’s been pacing since sunrise. Pretending he isn’t.”
“That tracks,” Alex muttered.
Robin’s eyes softened as she looked at Jade. She held out the envelope.
“He asked me to make sure you got this before everything starts.”
Jade took it carefully. It wasn’t new — the edges worn, a corner bent like it had been opened and closed more than once. Her name was written across the front in Joe’s handwriting.
She frowned. “What is this?”
Robin’s smile deepened, just barely. “Open it.”
Jade slid her finger beneath the flap.
The stack of papers inside was instantly recognizable — the formatting, the awkward headshot, the overly enthusiastic bio.
Her Bachelor application.
The one producers made her fill out after the first call — after Sara and Alex had bullied the universe into paying attention.
The one she’d sworn she would burn.
Sara made a small, strangled sound. “Oh my God.”
Alex clapped a hand over her mouth. “There’s no way.”
Tucked behind the application was a single sheet of stationery.
You almost didn’t send this in.
You almost stayed.
You almost decided safe was better than possible.
I’m really glad you didn’t.
Going on that show was the best decision of my life.
Her breath left her in a rush.
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly. Warmer.
“He asked Dave for it months ago,” Robin said quietly. “Said he wanted it somewhere safe.”
Jade traced the edge of the paper with her thumb. “He kept this?”
Robin nodded. “He understands none of this starts without that application.”
Jade looked down at the first page again — her awkward answers, her self-deprecating humor, the version of herself who hadn’t yet believed something extraordinary could happen to her.
There was something written in the margin in Joe’s pen.
Next to: Why do you think you deserve love?
Her vision blurred completely.
Robin stepped closer, voice softening. “He knows what it took for you to say yes,” she said. “He doesn’t take that lightly.”
Jade swallowed hard. “I was terrified.”
“I know,” Robin said gently. “So was he.”
Sara wiped at her eyes. “Okay. This is illegal.”
Alex nodded vigorously. “We are not crying before nine a.m.”
Jade pressed the application flat to her chest for a moment, feeling the weight of it — paper and ink and a choice that altered everything.
The morning no longer felt abstract.
Robin squeezed her hand. “Go eat,” she murmured.
And the day — their day — began to move.
It didn’t explode into chaos all at once.
By midmorning the house felt lived in, full. Doors opening and closing. Voices drifting in and out. The scent of coffee replaced by something sweeter — pastries torn open, fruit arranged on platters, someone warming something in the oven because “nobody gets married on an empty stomach.”
Sara’s mom arrived in a cloud of perfume and emotion, pulling Jade into a hug that lingered longer than usual.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” she kept saying, like she needed to convince herself it was real.
Robin folded easily into the rhythm of the kitchen, sleeves rolled, helping without hovering. She and Sara’s mom fell into conversation like women who had always been meant to stand in the same room on a day like this.
Upstairs, steam filled the bathroom. Laughter echoed down the hall.
Diana moved through it all with calm efficiency, clipboard tucked against her chest like an extension of her spine.
“Hair in fifteen,” she called. “Photographer in twenty. Hydrate.”
“See?” Alex muttered. “I respect her.”
Time compressed into bright, tender fragments.
Music turned brighter. Sara danced with a mascara wand. Alex lip-synced dramatically into a curling iron. Jade let herself be guided — a gentle surrender to the people who loved her enough to carry her through.
Pins slid into place. Strands were smoothed and coaxed into shape. Someone dusted shimmer across her collarbones. Someone dabbed beneath her eyes and declared them “emotionally stable.”
Outside, the backyard transformed.
The arch was no longer skeletal — now wrapped in greenery and soft blooms, layers of texture spilling gently toward the aisle. The glass globes caught the afternoon light and flashed gold.
Guests began arriving after three.
Car doors shut. Heels pressed into gravel. Laughter rose from the driveway. Someone shouted Joe’s name from across the yard.
Lucy lost her mind in pure, democratic enthusiasm.
Jade stood near the upstairs window for one brief moment, hidden from view, watching the world assemble itself around what was about to happen.
She pressed her hand to the glass.
This is the last hour before everything changes.
Behind her, fabric rustled.
Alex and Sara lifted the dress carefully from its hanger, holding it between them like something sacred.
In the afternoon light, it didn’t sparkle.
The lace caught the sun in fine, intricate patterns — delicate but intentional — as if it had been drawn in light rather than thread. Beneath it, silk shimmered softly, fluid and luminous, shifting with the faintest movement of air.
“Okay,” Sara said gently. “It’s time.”
There was something about that moment — stepping in — that felt more significant than she expected. More than the veil. More than jewelry. More than shoes.
Alex held the dress steady as Jade gathered the fabric and stepped carefully inside. Cool and weightless against her skin. Sara guided it up, easing the lace over her shoulders, smoothing it down her back.
The neckline skimmed her collarbones like sunlight finding skin.
The tulle moved when she breathed — fluid, unafraid.
Sara fastened the delicate row of buttons, careful and reverent. The lace framed the open sweep of her back without apology, soft and romantic but confident in its shape.
The train spilled behind her in a hush of embroidered vines, pooling against the hardwood like liquid light.
Not heavy.
Not overwhelming.
Alex blinked rapidly, once, twice. “Okay. That’s… rude.”
Jade turned toward the mirror.
The woman looking back didn’t look fragile. She didn’t look unsure.
She didn’t look dressed up.
Like someone who had chosen.
Like someone who was ready.
Robin appeared in the doorway, drawn by instinct more than noise. She stopped, hand lifting to her mouth. For a moment she couldn’t speak.
Jade met her eyes in the mirror.
Robin crossed the room slowly and rested her hands on Jade’s arms.
“You’re breathtaking,” she said, voice thick but controlled. “He’s not going to survive this.”
Jade laughed, though her own vision shimmered.
Downstairs, the energy swelled — doors opening, voices layering, the faint swell of instrumental music being tested one last time.
Diana appeared at the doorway.
“It’s 4:15,” she said gently. “We’re right on schedule.”
Forty-five minutes until the ceremony.
Thirty until the first look.
The word settled into Jade’s chest like a quiet bell.
Jade turned back to the mirror one more time.
This was the last version of her before he saw her.
She brushed her fingers lightly over the bodice.
“Okay,” she whispered again.
And this time, it wasn’t about arrival.
It was about walking toward him.
Diana didn’t announce it.
She simply appeared and the room shifted around her like it understood.
The house felt louder now — guests arriving, distant laughter, music drifting from the tent. But as Jade stepped into the hallway, that noise fell away.
Robin squeezed her hands once. Sara adjusted the train. Alex kissed her temple.
“Go get him,” Robin whispered.
The walk to the solarium felt longer than it should have. Hallway windows thrown open, late-afternoon light pouring in. The air smelled faintly of cut greenery and sun-warmed glass.
As Jade stepped through the side door and into the solarium, the world narrowed.
Filtered light spilled through the glass ceiling, softened by climbing ivy and hanging ferns. Warm, golden air. Dust motes drifting lazily in sunbeams. The hum of the backyard existed — but distant. Blurred. Like a life happening far away from them.
Standing near the center of the room.
Hands clasped in front of him like he was bracing for impact.
His suit was perfectly tailored, but his shoulders weren’t rigid.
As if he had planted himself there and decided nothing in the world could move him.
For a moment, Jade didn’t move either.
The train of her dress whispered softly across the tile.
Jade stepped forward slowly. Each step deliberate. The material of her gown caught the light as she moved, lace glowing faintly against her skin. Her pulse was loud in her ears — but not frantic.
When she was close enough to reach him, she paused.
She could see the slight rise and fall of his breath. The way his fingers flexed once before stilling again.
“You alright there?” she asked softly.
His first words to her — the night she stepped out of that limo — and it felt right that they belonged here, too.
Her voice barely carried.
He let out a shaky laugh as he turned.
And the composure he’d been wearing like armor dissolved instantly.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
His face crumpled, raw and unguarded. His hand lifted to cover his mouth like he needed something to hold the emotion in. Tears filled his eyes before he could stop them, spilling over freely.
It wasn’t about the dress.
Jade’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away. She let him see her fully — lace tracing her shoulders, the open line of her back, the way the train moved when she stepped closer.
He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed.
“J,” he said, voice wrecked. “You’re—”
She closed the remaining distance between them.
His hands came to her waist slowly, reverently, like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast. The fabric shifted under his palms. He dropped his forehead to hers — careful not to disturb anything, but needing contact like oxygen.
“I’m sorry,” he laughed weakly through tears. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”
She brushed her thumb beneath his eye.
A tear slipped and landed over his knuckle where it rested at her waist.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice breaking again. “But that’s not even—” He swallowed hard. “It’s you. It’s just you.”
She felt the words settle deep.
“That’s the point,” she whispered.
He leaned back slightly, taking her in again — slower now. Lace catching gold light. The train pooling behind her. The open sweep of her back when she turned a fraction.
His breath hitched again.
“You’re going to walk toward me in this,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He nodded once, like he needed to anchor himself.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said quietly. “Not football. Not the house. Not any of it.”
His hands tightened slightly. He brushed his nose against hers.
“You look steady,” he murmured.
The solarium held them — warm glass, filtered sun, something living humming quietly all around them. Outside, the day continued building toward five o’clock.
But inside, time felt suspended.
He kissed her forehead first.
Then, softly, reverently, her mouth.
Not hurried. Not dramatic.
It felt like sealing something that had already been decided long ago.
When he pulled back, his eyes were still shining.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
She looked at him — really looked.
The man who promised to catch her if she fell.
The man who built a life with her.
The man who showed her what it was to be loved.
She locked her pinky with his.
“I’ve been ready,” she said.
He smiled — full, unguarded, tear-streaked.
“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
And for a moment longer, just the two of them stood there in the light.
Then the world waited for them to step back into it.
Joe didn’t want to let go first.
His hands lingered at her waist, thumbs brushing lightly over lace like he was memorizing it.
“If I don’t walk away now,” he murmured, voice still wrecked, “I’m not going to.”
She smiled through the remnants of tears. “You have to. I need you at the end of that aisle.”
He pressed one last kiss to her forehead. Soft. Certain.
“Come find me,” he whispered.
He stepped backward reluctantly, eyes still fixed on her until Diana cleared her throat from the doorway.
“Joe,” she said calmly. “It’s time.”
He laughed under his breath, squeezed her waist once more, winked — and disappeared through the opposite door.
Jade stood alone for one breath, the quiet before everything.
Then she stepped back into the noise.
The backyard had become a living thing.
Guests filled it in waves of color and movement. Laughter rose and fell like distant surf. Glass clinked. Programs rustled. The low hum of anticipation hung in the late afternoon air.
She didn’t speak immediately. She just looked — hands clasped at her chest, eyes shining.
“You did this,” Robin whispered.
Jade laughed faintly. “We did.”
Jimmy stepped forward, steady and warm, and kissed her cheek.
“You don’t know how happy we are that it’s you,” he said simply. “We love you.”
The simplicity settled deep.
“Thank you,” Jade whispered. “I love both of you. So much.”
Robin hugged her again — tight, deliberate.
“Go get him,” she said. This time it sounded like blessing.
Aunt Stacy appeared next.
She’d been composed all afternoon.
She looked at Jade the way someone looks at a miracle they weren’t sure would ever arrive.
“I always knew you’d build something beautiful,” she said, voice shaking. “I just didn’t know it would look like this.”
Jade hugged her — years of history wrapped tight.
“Thank you for being here,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Stacy said, squeezing once.
Joe’s six nieces swarmed her next in a flurry of pastel dresses, braids, glittering shoes.
“You look like a princess,” one breathed.
“Like a fairy,” another corrected.
Jade laughed, crouching carefully so her train didn’t tangle.
“Okay,” she said gravely. “I need you all to do something very important.”
Six small faces leaned in.
“Cry responsibly,” she whispered.
“We can’t promise that,” one said solemnly.
Lucy appeared at her side, tail wagging furiously.
Jade pointed gently at her. “You. Be good. No tackling the flower girls. This is your one job.”
Lucy blinked, unimpressed.
“Thank you,” Jade added anyway.
Alex and Sara stood just beyond the doors.
Alex looked composed. Sara absolutely did not.
Sara stepped forward and took both her hands.
“You know this isn’t us losing you, right?” she whispered.
“It’s us watching you choose,” Alex added.
Sara sniffed loudly. “And if he trips, I will shove him upright.”
Jade laughed, the sound steadier than she expected.
“Love you more,” Sara shot back.
They hugged carefully, mindful of lace and veil and everything this moment held.
Then they turned toward the aisle.
The opening chords of Forever drifted through the air — soft at first, almost tentative.
Jon stepped to her side. He didn’t say anything at first. He just offered his arm.
She slipped her hand through it.
He leaned slightly closer.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
Her heart was pounding now. Not wildly. But undeniably.
“I think so,” she whispered.
Diana appeared just ahead of them, calm and precise. She met Jade’s eyes and gave one small nod.
Rows of faces. People she loved. People who had watched her grow. The arch glowing softly in golden hour. The aisle stretching long and real before her.
For half a second, nerves flickered sharp.
He’d been facing forward, composed as best he could manage.
He turned fully toward her.
And tears streaked down his cheeks again.
The music softened into background warmth.
Jon squeezed her hand and began walking.
Each step felt slow and steady. The lace of her gown caught the light. The train whispered across the grass. The world narrowed until it was just the distance between them.
Joe didn’t look away once.
He shook his head slightly, like he still couldn’t believe she was real.
When she reached him, Jon placed her hand into Joe’s.
Joe’s fingers immediately found her pinky.
Jesse Palmer cleared his throat softly, smiling at them both.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began warmly, “we are gathered here today…”
Jade barely heard the beginning.
“You’re unreal,” he whispered.
“You cried again,” she whispered back.
Jesse’s voice carried through the air, measured and steady, but the words drifted past her like wind through leaves. She caught fragments — love, witness, promise — but they felt distant.
The small smile he was trying and failing to contain.
The way his thumb moved in slow, absent circles over the top of her hand, grounding himself.
The shine still clinging to his lashes.
The slight shake in his breath every time she shifted closer.
The rest of the world softened at the edges.
The guests blurred into color.
The arch became light and shadow.
Only the space between their foreheads.
Only the quiet hum of the Ohio River beyond the trees — steady and patient, as if it had always known it would be here for this.
Carrying water. Carrying time.
And in that moment, she understood something simple and immovable:
This had always been where she was meant to be.
Not in a way that felt dramatic.
Not in a way that needed debate.
Not in a way that required anyone’s approval to be real.
It was inevitable in the quietest sense.
Two people who found one another and fit—not because it was easy, but because it was true. Because even after everything, they still made the same choice.
Hour after hour. Day after day.
Jade realized he would always be the person she reached for.
And she knew without a single doubt that he would always reach back.
When the vows came, Joe swallowed and took a steadying breath.
“Jade,” he began, voice already rough around the edges, “as you know — because I reference it constantly — I used to watch SpongeBob all the time when I was a kid.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd — light, affectionate. The kind that said of course he did.
Jade’s mouth curved automatically, even as her throat tightened.
“There’s one line from that show I’ve said my whole life. ‘I’m ready.’” He let out a small, self-conscious breath. “My friends and I would yell it in high school hallways before tests, before practice, before games. I’ve said it walking out the front door. Before a run. Before big moments.”
She felt his hand shift slightly around hers, his grip tightening like he needed the contact.
And then he looked at her.
Not at the guests. Not at Jesse. Not at the river.
“I used to think being ready meant having everything figured out,” he continued, quieter now. “The right house. The right timing. The right plan.”
His jaw worked once, like he was holding something back.
Jade blinked hard. Once. Twice.
He shook his head softly.
“Meeting you taught me it’s simpler than that.”
His thumb stroked over the top of her hand — slow, absent circles, grounding himself the way he always did. Jade’s fingers flexed around his, squeezing back without thinking.
“I’m ready for the messy days,” he said, voice catching slightly on the word. “I’m ready for the quiet mornings. I’m ready for the in-between seasons — the ones nobody takes pictures of.”
A soft sniffle rose from somewhere in the front row. Robin, probably.
“I’m ready for every single moment I get the honor of being next to you.”
Jade’s breath stuttered. The lace at her throat rose and fell too fast for a second before she forced herself to breathe slower. To stay with him.
“I’m ready for all of it,” he said, and the words came out raw. “With you.”
A quiet sound moved through the guests — the collective oh of people who knew they were witnessing something real. Someone laughed softly through tears. Alex, definitely.
Joe exhaled slowly, like he’d just stepped off a ledge and realized she was still right there.
“I don’t just take you to be my wife,” he said, voice steadier now but still shaking at the edges. “I take you for everything you are. Your strength. Your softness. Your stubbornness—”
A few people chuckled knowingly. Sara made a sound like mm-hm.
“Your light,” he finished, and his eyes went glossy again. “There isn’t a single part of you I don’t love.”
Jade’s vision blurred. She stared at his mouth for a second like she could anchor herself to the shape of the words.
“You are the only person who has ever made me feel completely secure,” he said. “Anchored. Rooted.”
The river hummed beyond the trees, steady and patient.
“I know I’ve lived a very blessed life,” he added, shaking his head slightly like he still couldn’t believe he got to say it out loud. “But none of it compares to this. None of it compares to you.”
Jade’s chest tightened hard at that — not pain, just magnitude. She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, fighting tears the way she always did when she didn’t want to ruin her makeup.
His eyes were bright now, lashes clumped slightly with tears he hadn’t even wiped away.
“You’re my best friend,” he said simply.
Jade felt her whole body soften around the words.
“The person I want to tell everything to. The person I want beside me when something incredible happens…” His voice wavered. “…and the only person I want beside me when it doesn’t.”
A hush held the crowd. Even the kids were quiet.
Jade squeezed his pinky, small and desperate.
His thumb stilled for a second — like he felt it — and then resumed the gentle motion, like he was answering her without words.
“You make every day fun,” he said, and a faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You turned what I thought were good days into the best days.”
Someone behind them laughed softly, immediate and teary. Jamie. Or maybe Jon. It carried like affection.
Joe smiled at Jade then — that private smile. The one that always made her feel like the only person in the room.
“I told you once,” he continued, “sitting in a booth at Skyline, that on my wedding day I thought I’d feel steady.” He breathed out a small laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Like something in me would finally click into place. Like every hard thing I’ve carried was leading here.”
Jade’s throat tightened at the memory — the vinyl booth, the condensation rings on the table, the way he’d looked at her like the world had finally made sense.
Joe let out a small breath.
“I need you to know…” he said, voice softer now, more intimate, like he’d forgotten the microphone was even there, “…I have never felt steadier in my life.”
She nodded once, barely. Like she could give him permission to say what came next.
“But I was wrong about one thing.” He swallowed. “My life didn’t click into place today.”
The crowd held their breath.
“It clicked into place the moment you stepped out of that limo in California.”
A murmur moved through the guests — immediate, tender. Someone whispered oh my God like it slipped out before they could stop it.
Jade’s breath shook. Her mind flashed: that first night, heels on gravel, the brightness of the lights, the way she’d almost turned around. The way Joe had looked at her like he’d been struck quiet.
Joe’s hand tightened around hers.
“Every hard thing I’ve ever carried led me to you,” he said. “And I honestly believe every good thing did, too.”
His voice broke on the end.
“There’s no other explanation for how I got this lucky.”
Jade laughed, a wet sound that escaped her without permission. She tried to wipe at her cheek discreetly, but Joe was faster — his thumb sweeping the tear away like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“So here’s what I vow,” he said, and his voice steadied the way it always did when it mattered most.
“I vow to make you feel secure for the rest of our lives,” he said. “I vow to grow old with you without losing a single ounce of our sense of adventure.”
A soft laugh moved through the crowd — because everyone who knew Jade knew that was a real vow.
“I vow to meet you with the same grace and patience you give me every day.”
Robin made a quiet sound behind them — a sob she didn’t bother to hide.
Joe blinked hard, his eyes shining, but he didn’t look away from Jade.
“I vow to choose you,” he said. “Every single day. On the easy ones and the hard ones. I vow to be on your team no matter what.”
Jade’s chest ached. Not hurting — just full.
He took one last breath, and for a second his shoulders lifted like he was bracing himself for the last line.
“And most importantly,” he said, voice breaking again, “I vow to love you — intentionally, fiercely, gratefully.”
Jade’s lips parted. She couldn’t stop the tears now. They slid down her cheeks anyway, quiet and unstoppable, and she didn’t bother to wipe them.
“I will never forget how much I love you,” he whispered.
“And I will never forget that I am the luckiest man alive…”
Jade’s vision blurred so hard she almost couldn’t see him.
“…because I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Then, somewhere to the side, one of the nieces sniffed loudly and whispered, “Oh my gosh,” like she had just realized love was real.
Jade let out a shaky laugh through tears and squeezed Joe’s pinky again — once, twice — like she needed him to know she was still standing.
Joe leaned in just enough that only she could hear him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
And Jade nodded, smiling through tears, because she believed him the way she believed the river would keep running.
Jade smiled through tears, her grip tightening around his hand like she needed the contact to stay upright.
“Joe,” she began, and her voice was steadier than she expected.
The word carried through the microphone, soft but clear.
Joe’s thumb tightened around her hand immediately.
She smiled faintly at that.
“Growing up, my idea of love came from movies.”
A ripple of light laughter moved through the crowd.
“Not the sweet ones. Not The Notebook or You’ve Got Mail or Pretty Woman — even though I do love them.”
Joe huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head once.
“The ones that stuck with me were the ones that didn’t end at the altar.”
A breeze moved through the arch behind them. The greenery shifted.
“They were the ones that ended at the bottom of the ocean… or in a hospital room… or somewhere you didn’t expect.”
A murmur from somewhere in the crowd — someone whispering, “Titanic.”
“They were sad. Most people would say they didn’t have happy endings.”
She swallowed, fingers flexing lightly against his.
“But that was never the point to me.”
His tears were already back. Not dramatic. Just there.
“They weren’t about the ending. They were about the story.”
Joe blinked hard once, looking down at their hands like he needed something physical to hold.
“They were about choosing love and accepting your fate — however it may fall.”
“One of my favorite quotes comes from City of Angels.”
Joe let out a quiet, knowing breath.
“When Meg Ryan is—” she lowered her voice slightly, “spoiler — dying…”
A gentle wave of laughter rolled through the guests. Even Jesse smiled.
“She says, ‘I’m not afraid. When they ask me what I liked best, I’ll tell them it was you.’”
Even the river seemed louder in that pause.
Joe’s face crumpled again. He shook his head once like he was overwhelmed.
“I’m so lucky I get to stand here and say that today.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Joe lifted his hand instinctively to wipe it away with his thumb.
“When they ask me what I love most about this life…”
A niece’s tiny voice somewhere in the second row whispered, “He’s crying again.”
Soft laughter broke the tension.
Joe laughed through tears.
“Nicolas Cage gave up everything to be human with Meg Ryan,” Jade continued, smiling through the tremble. “He got twenty-four hours with the woman he loved.”
She tightened her fingers around Joe’s.
“And still— it taught me as much about love as any happy ending ever did.”
“Even one day with the person you love is worth everything.”
“And even though there’s no amount of time that would ever be enough with you… even one day would be worth giving up everything.”
The crowd made that collective sound — hearts breaking open.
“But the universe gave me more than a day,” she whispered. “It gave me you.”
She took one shaky breath, and then she grounded herself — like you wanted — in something real.
“And I love the big things,” she said, voice brightening through tears. “The way you show me how much you love me. The way you look at me like you’re still surprised I’m real.”
Joe’s laugh broke, helpless.
“But I love the small things too.”
She squeezed his hand, smiling wetly.
“I love the way you line up your shoes by the door — perfectly even — and then pretend you didn’t when I call you out.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
Joe shook his head, laughing through tears, like he couldn’t believe she did that to him in public.
“I love the way you always ask ‘you good?’ when I go quiet,” she continued, softer now. “Like you’d rather check on me than win an argument.”
Joe’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. His forehead dipped toward hers like he couldn’t handle the intimacy of being known.
“I love the way you smell when you come home from practice,” she admitted, and her cheeks warmed, “like grass and laundry detergent and something that’s just… you.”
Sara made a sound like she wanted to scream.
Jade laughed through tears, then steadied.
“You are every single candle I’ve ever blown out on my birthday. Every star I’ve wished upon. Every penny I’ve tossed into a fountain.”
“I never even knew what I was wishing for.”
Joe’s eyes squeezed shut for half a second.
“I never knew someone like you existed. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d end up at an altar one day — especially not feeling like this.”
Her smile softened, full of disbelief.
“It’s the best feeling in the world to know the person you love most doesn’t just accept you for exactly who you are… but cherishes it.”
Robin wiped her eyes openly now.
“I vow to keep growing with you.”
“To remind you who you are when you forget.”
He let out a shaky laugh under his breath. “Good luck,” he whispered.
“To stand beside you even when the world is loud and scary.”
A boat horn sounded faintly in the distance on the river.
“To make our home feel like the safest place either one of us has ever known.”
Joe squeezed her pinky again — their code.
“I vow to never stop being your best friend. To laugh with you. To sit on kitchen floors with you.”
A few knowing chuckles from Sara and Alex.
“To run with you at ungodly hours and pretend to hate it even though we both know I don’t anymore.”
Joe grinned fully now. “You love it,” he whispered.
She rolled her eyes gently, smiling through tears.
“I vow to never be afraid when it comes to you.”
“To be fearless… because that’s how you make me feel.”
The wind caught her veil softly. It brushed Joe’s shoulder like a blessing.
“I vow to never give up on us.”
“I vow to love you every single day until we’re one hundred and eight and Notebook it together.”
Laughter rippled warmly through the crowd.
“Or,” she added, eyes sparkling through tears, “I’ll bite you if I ever become a vampire so we can do this forever.”
Joe laughed — loud and helpless.
The laughter softened into something tender.
Joe leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, right there in front of everyone, like he couldn’t help it.
“I’d let you,” he whispered.
The crowd exhaled as one.
And for a moment, the river kept running, the light kept lowering, and the world felt exactly the right size.
Jesse let the quiet live for one more beat.
Then he cleared his throat, smiling like he was trying not to cry too.
“Okay,” he said warmly, and the crowd chuckled through tears. “I don’t think any of us are emotionally prepared for how in love you two are, but we’re going to finish strong.”
Joe’s shoulders shook with a laugh. Jade’s smile broke wide, bright.
Jesse’s voice settled into something reverent.
“Joe Burrow… do you take Jade Martin to be your wife?”
“I do,” he said, voice rough and sure.
“And Jade Martin,” Jesse turned to her, “do you take Joe Burrow to be your husband?”
Jade’s breath caught, but her eyes didn’t leave Joe’s.
“By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Jade felt the words land like a bell in her bones.
Joe’s eyes flooded instantly.
Jesse stepped back, smiling.
“Joe — you may kiss your bride.”
He lifted her hand first, kissed her knuckles like a promise made physical.
Then he leaned in and kissed her — slow and reverent at first, then deeper, like he’d been waiting his whole life.
Cheers and claps and crying all at once.
Jade heard someone shout, “THAT’S MY GIRL!” and she was almost positive it was Maria.
When they pulled back, Joe stayed close, like loosening his hands would risk the universe taking her back.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice shaking.
Jade laughed softly. “Are you?”
“Good,” she whispered. “Me neither.”
Jesse lifted a hand, waiting for the noise to soften.
When it did, he smiled so wide it looked like it hurt.
“It is my absolute honor,” he announced, “to introduce to you — for the very first time…”
Joe’s grip tightened around Jade’s hand.
Jade felt it — the tremor in his fingers, like even this part was too big.
Jesse’s grin turned radiant.
The sound that followed was pure joy.
And here’s the beat that makes it unforgettable:
Joe inhaled sharply like the words punched the air out of him.
He blinked hard — once — and a laugh broke out of him at the same time as a fresh spill of tears, like his body couldn’t pick one reaction and settled on all of them.
Jade’s stomach flipped, bright and disbelieving, like the universe had just said it out loud and made it permanent.
Somewhere, Sara screamed.
Somewhere else, Lucy barked like she understood titles now.
Joe turned to Jade like he couldn’t help it — like he needed her face while the world said it.
“Hi,” he whispered, grinning through tears.
Jade’s laugh broke loose — bright, stunned, happy.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
Joe squeezed her pinky once.
And then — hand in hand, breathless and married — they stepped forward into the light.
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