CHAPTER FIVE

April"s heart skipped a beat as the lobby doors swung open, releasing a gust of coastal air that flirted with the fringes of her curtains. Jackson, his forearms taut beneath the weight of canvas duffels, navigated through the threshold, his shadow preceding him into the room. As he set down the bags with a muted thud, his grandmother, Vera, trailed behind—a diminutive figure wrapped in a shawl that had seen more seasons than the ancient oaks outside.

In an instant, Vera's eyes locked onto April, widening with an affectionate recognition that seemed to bridge the gap between April"s past life and the new world she was grafting onto in this new way of life on the ranch and in her new union with Jackson. The elderly woman moved with surprising spryness, enveloping April in an embrace that carried the scent of lavender and old paper. Tightness, born from apprehension, ebbed away under the warm pressure of Vera"s arms.

"Is the barn ready?" Vera released April just enough to survey her face, her question laced with a hopefulness that seemed to cling to the air like morning dew. "It has such beautiful rustic charm just as it is."

April glanced toward the barn, its aged wood standing testament to countless seasons, now poised to witness their union. She imagined the lanterns not yet hung, the swathes of fabric still folded neatly in boxes, waiting to drape elegance over the rough-hewn beams. "There"s quite a bit left to do," she confessed, feeling the weight of expectation press against her chest once more.

Vera's lips settled into a line of gentle disapproval, her gaze drifting to the barn again. "Sometimes, simplicity makes more sense," she murmured, her voice carrying a wisdom worn smooth by time.

April noted the faint creases etched at the corners of Vera"s eyes, the way her hands lingered on April"s own—a silent plea for understanding. In that moment, she recognized the quiet strength of the woman who had shaped Jackson, the man with whom she was about to share her forever. Her resolve softened like the afternoon light that now spilled across the lobby floor, promising warmth amidst the gathering storm of wedding preparations.

The air in the room shifted as Caroline stood, her posture rigid with that familiar air of resolve. Her eyes locked with Vera"s in an unspoken challenge, a silent dance of wills that April knew all too well. With a fluid motion, Caroline swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear and tilted her head just so, a clear signal she was not about to let the judgment of Vera go uncontended.

"Yeah, actually," Caroline interjected, her voice carrying the subtlest edge of iron beneath its velvet, "April has her heart set on something a bit more elegant and chic."

Vera, with her palms open and face etched in concern, regarded Caroline with a newfound appraisal. The contrast between them was stark: Vera"s gentle acceptance of the world as it was and Caroline"s relentless pursuit of perfection. They were like two artists debating over a canvas, one advocating for the raw beauty of the landscape, the other insisting on the master strokes yet to be applied.

Caught between their dueling gazes, April intervened, her hands gesturing towards the barn with an artist"s flair. "We"ll add a touch more decoration," she assured, her voice threading the needle between their expectations. "But I promise, the rustic charm will remain intact."

Relief softened Vera"s features, while Caroline nodded, a truce hanging tenuously in the balance. April watched them both, a mix of gratitude and wariness blooming within her chest. She made a silent vow to navigate the treacherous waters ahead with care, to keep these two matriarchs from locking horns in a battle over her wedding day.

As they dispersed, their temporary satisfaction settling around them like dust after a scuffle, April drew in a deep breath and looked again at the barn. It was more than just a venue; it was her sanctuary, her testament to new beginnings. And as she let her breath out slowly, releasing the tension that had gathered like storm clouds, April centered herself in the knowledge that when the wedding day came, it would be her vision that guests would see—the blending of the simple and the sophisticated, the rustic and the refined.

She made a mental note: keep the peace, but remember, this is your day. Your home. Your dream being woven into reality.

The front door swung open again, and Jackson"s silhouette filled the frame with a new load of bags. The sight was a jolt to April"s senses, pulling her from the mental maze of wedding decor. Her gaze followed him as he strode in, but it was the figure trailing behind that seized everyone"s attention.

Uncle Eamon bounded into the lobby, his grin wide enough to split his face in two. With an energy that seemed to make the very air around him thrum with excitement, he engulfed Jackson in a bear hug that lifted him off the ground. Caroline"s eyes widened at the spectacle, her posture stiffening like a cat caught unawares.

"April!" Uncle Eamon released Jackson and beamed across the room at her. His enthusiasm was a force of nature, brushing aside any residual tension from earlier discussions. He dug into his backpack with the zeal of a child rummaging for a hidden toy. "Let"s kick this celebration off!"

With a flourish, he produced two bottles of champagne, their labels winking in the light. They were held aloft, not just offerings but symbols of spontaneous joy. For a moment, April felt the pull of his infectious spirit, the sheer delight of the unexpected.

April felt the vibration of Caroline"s silent disapproval radiating from behind her, an eye roll so potent it almost had a sound. The mood in the room was a cocktail of anticipation and resistance, and as Jackson disappeared into the kitchen, April followed, eager for a task to ground her.

In the cool quiet away from the growing clamor, she found Jackson stacking glasses with deft hands, his back to her, the lines of tension easing from his shoulders. He didn't have to say anything; the lift of his brows as he glanced over his shoulder spoke volumes. Together they gathered the glasses, a wordless dance between partners who knew each other's steps.

"Can"t beat "em," he murmured, with a shrug that suggested surrender but also an invitation to play along with the unfolding spontaneity.

A smile tugged at April"s lips, her heart giving way to the whimsy of the day. "Champagne does seem fitting for a midday twist," she mused, imagining the bubbles tickling her nose, a small rebellion against the ordinary.

Returning to the fray, the clink of glassware heralded their entrance. Richard, her father, was animated in a way that reminded April of the wildflowers dotting the edges of her property—unpredictable yet vibrant. He stood beside Uncle Eamon, gesturing emphatically at the man"s shirt, a vintage band tee that had seen better days.

Their laughter filled the space, two souls finding common ground in the nostalgia of music and the shared language of lyrics long memorized. Even from across the room, April could see Richard"s eyes alight with the kind of youthful energy that seemed to defy his age, the same spark that often led him down paths less traveled.

"Definitely could use a drink," Richard"s voice carried through the lobby, threading through the air like a note held long and clear.

April watched as the two men, so different yet alike in their impulsive zest for life, bonded over memories wrapped in melodies. It was a connection formed not by blood but by the universal rhythm that pulses through them, a reminder that sometimes the most profound kinships are those forged by shared passions.

They were both vibrant, dancers to the beat of their own drums. And April wondered why she didn't see it before. They were so similar, of course they would enjoy each other's company.

With a tray of flutes balanced in her hands, April glided across the room toward her mother. The elder woman"s gaze was fixed on Eamon and Richard, an amused yet somewhat resigned twist to her lips. Accepting the glass with a nod, she lifted it slightly in their direction, her eyes tracing the arc of their laughter as if bracing herself for the next act in an unpredictable play.

April couldn"t help but let a chuckle escape her. The uncanny mirror between uncle and father danced before her eyes – both men with their gestures larger than life, their spirits untamed by the years. It was as if they were two notes plucked from the same vibrant chord, each resonating with a frequency that could disrupt the still air of any well-ordered room.

The cork popped somewhere behind her, and the room turned in unison towards the sound. Eamon stood, his grin infectious as he brandished the bottle like a trophy. The golden liquid found its way into each waiting glass, a cascade of tiny effervescent stars sparking to life in the crystal.

As Jackson returned, his presence was a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of family dynamics. His arm encircled April, bringing her into the orbit of his calm. With him, the world seemed to steady, the edges of her stress blurring and softening under the warmth of his touch.

Eamon raised his glass, and the assembly mirrored his gesture. The toast hung in the air, a sentiment that bound them all for a moment, suspended above the undercurrents of tension. April leaned into Jackson, allowing herself to bask in the light of his love, anchoring herself to the feeling of happiness that swelled within her chest despite the storm clouds she sensed gathering on the horizon.