If there was one thing Alex couldn't leave behind in her quest for fewer plans and more living, it was organization. Part of her DNA, she supposed. She relegated herself to one list inside her cell phone because pregnancy brain was a thing and a real bitch. But in the case of the second-floor exhibit of Match Made in Devon, a viral social experiment that began with history but incorporated so much more, organization guaranteed each visitor an emotional journey.
On this November night, though Alex felt as big as the Hindenburg, most of Devon and a few local reporters and one from the AP wire gathered at the shop to celebrate the exhibit's grand opening. She left the merriment downstairs, waddled past the red velvet ribbon draped across the steps, and went upstairs for one final peek.
At the top of the staircase were professional displays of early courtship. The room's natural architecture funneled visitors along the evolution of marriage—the trials, expansion of family, finding each other when lost, and the reverent stage of late love. People from around the world offered their advice and photographs, archived and real-time, on various screens. Paper cards and pencils occupied one table at the exhibit's conclusion for visitors to add their advice, right alongside keepsake books for sale, the stories hand-picked by Stella Irene's posse and illustrated with Isabel's black-and-white photography—which she found to be a far more lucrative business venture than bracelets. A comfy sitting area for marriage seminars added pops of much-needed color. Jonah's museum-quality lighting gave the entire floor a warm glow.
Her favorite? A black-and-white photograph Isabel had taken of Alex, Charlotte, and Freesia at Julia's spring wedding last year—a fifth artifact to the pinnacle display of Stella Irene and Elias's story. A story not yet over but just beginning.
From behind, Jonah kissed her neck. She knew it was him by his citrus-woodsy scent and the adorably annoying way he had of not leaving her side when she was two days past her due date. Also, by the tingle she felt all the way to her swollen ankles.
"It's missing one thing," he said.
Alex smiled. "What's that?"
Out of his blazer's pocket, he produced a folded paper. Not just any paper. Her drawing of the ruins that had nearly ruined her.
"Someday is here," said Jonah.
Baby March tightened the vice clamp on her uterus. It had been a thing all day—mwah ha ha, then just kidding, increasingly falling on the not-kidding side. Alex smiled through the contraction; sweat surfaced at her brow. The moment was too sweet to interrupt.
"Problem is, I don't know where it goes." Jonah stepped through the exhibit, stopping at each of the markers, holding it up for added effect, disarming her discomfort with his dimples. "It fits everywhere."
"Jonah?"
"Does it fit here?"
At the display of young love.
"Or here?"
Distant love.
The man really had a flair for drawing out his point.
Pain-pain-pain-pain.
"Jonah?"
"Quite sure this would be best...."
Rekindled love.
"Jonah?"
His tour of the room returning full-circle, he placed his hands at her belly in that way of his: over hers, protective, nothing but love. No rings clinked. None were needed.
"Hmm?"
"You're going to have to hang it in the maternity ward if you don't get me out of here."
His smile? Definitely journal-worthy.
Best one.
Ever.
YOU ARE READING
Our Bridal Shop
General FictionOur Bridal ShopEvery family has its secrets, and the March family is no exception. For the March sisters, Match Made in Devon, the bridal shop opened and run by their parents, was a real-world representation of what true love was all about. But for...
