The Color of Love

Chapter 12

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of James Lewis McMillan and Lillian Grace Dillinger." The wedding was short, which suited both the bride and groom. Neither wanted a big ceremony and were content to share their vows in the presence of their small families. Beth was the only non-blood family member in attendance, though Lillian made sure she knew that she was as close as a friend could come to being family.

After the ceremony, Mr. McKay had set up a small reception for them in the building that would soon become the art gallery. It took some convincing to get James to agree. He preferred to stay out of the limelight as much as possible, but Lillian promised him she would stay by his side all night and that she'd reserve all her dances for him, so he relented.

There were quite a few familiar faces from the diner and farmers' market as well as a surprise appearance from Don Brady, the owner of the art gallery in New York City.

James did allow Lillian to break her promise a few times to dance with each of her brothers as well as with Mr. Brady and Mr. McKay. While she did, James actually danced once with his sister and once with Beth—much to Lillian's surprise.

The party lasted late into the evening before James and Lillian said their goodbyes and, since they had been driven to the ceremony separately, Jackie drove them back home.

**—**—**

On their first morning as newlyweds, Lillian awoke early. She couldn't believe that she had woken up before James. He was the epitome of an early bird and she had thought for sure that he would have been up even earlier than usual after experiencing his first night of sleeping with someone else in his bed. She rolled over to face him and propped her head up so she could watch him sleep. His face was relaxed with no signs of worry or concern that often showed when he was awake. She watched his chest rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm. Suddenly, he took a deep breath in, and his eyes slowly opened, staring up at the ceiling. A smile slowly appeared on his face as he exhaled, then just as quickly turned to a frown, then he turned his head to face her and the smile reappeared.

"For a moment, I thought it was a dream."

"What?"

"The wedding. Last night." He blushed, a shy grin appearing before he continued. "Everything. But it wasn't a dream. You're really here."

"Yes, I am. It certainly wasn't a dream."

"I'm glad."

"Me too. Did you sleep well?"

He nodded his head, then straightened his neck and stretched out his whole body, feet almost hanging off the bed. His body relaxed again and he answered, "Very well, actually."

"Not too much of a bother having me here?"

"It feels—right. It's hard to explain."

"Do you want to try?"

His face scrunched a bit, his eyes darting back and forth across the ceiling, as he thought about it. "From the moment I met you, having you in my life, in my—space—it seems right. Natural. You really are the only person who has ever been in my life that hasn't felt—separate—from it."

"Wow," she whispered as she took in his explanation. "How does it feel when it's not that way with someone?"

"It's like—two songs trying to play at the same time. Mine and theirs. And the harsher their personality, the louder their song, and the harder it is for me focus on mine, and the more stressful. Does that make any sense?"

She nodded. "I think so, yes. And if you were to carry on with this musical metaphor, what does that make my song?"

"Maybe we're two instruments playing in harmony. We just make each other better."