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Hank Voight raised an eyebrow as he straightened his tie in the mirror of the oak dresser. He’d spent much of his adult life in a police uniform, but this formal attire felt restricting in a way little had before. He smoothed his black lapels and tugged down the waistcoat Camille had convinced him to wear.
It was his wedding day. Most men assumed it would happen eventually, but he’d never been one of them. He’d been married to the Chicago Police Department since his father had been killed in the line of duty. He was a fairly new graduate from the academy, but he’d long since given up on the idea he might find a woman who was willing to accept his commitment to the blue line.
Camille Tyrell had literally stumbled into his life, dropping a stack of papers in his path as her heel gave out on the concrete sidewalk. He’d stopped and helped her gather everything and that had been when everything changed.
It had been a moment out of one of those stupid rom-coms Meredith Olinsky, his partner’s wife, forced her husband and his best friend to watch.
Their fingers touched, a bolt of static electricity shocking each of them. Their eyes had locked, blue meeting hazel. He had straightened, automatically helped her to her feet, one hand cupped beneath her elbow to help steady her.
“Hi.” It was said quietly, a hesitant, shocked female voice.
“Hi,” he answered back automatically. He helped her arrange her papers and invited her to the nearest cafe on the preface that a strong cup of coffee might help steady her nerves after a close call.
(Instead, she’d had tea and persuaded him to join her in the hot beverage.)
That was six months ago. The pair had quickly become inseparable. Coffee dates before a long shift walking the beat, a shared sweet treat in her classroom at Spring Hill Elementary as she graded papers, Hank sitting uncomfortably at a too-small wooden desk.
He had taken her out to the movies, to romantic dinners, and out dancing for the excuse to spend the evening holding her in his arms.
They had spent quite a few nights in, as well. Movies playing forgotten in the background as they lost themselves in each other, shared body heat warding against the chill of the Chicago winter.
He had proposed spur of the moment. It had been a Sunday morning and Camille had commandeered his kitchen. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls and sweetness of vanilla icing. Her blonde hair had shown in the weak sunlight streaming in the window over the sink and Hank couldn’t imagine a single day without her in his life.
He hadn’t even had a ring.
That had come later, after he’d spun her around, pressed her against the kitchen counter, and whispered his question into the ear closest. She’d laughed out her answer, squirming away from the ticklish rasp of stubble on her neck.
He’d dragged Al to five different jewelry stores searching for the perfect ring. His partner had thought he was crazy marrying a woman he’d known for such little time. Secure in his own marriage after a year and a half of dating followed by a year of engagement, Al was convinced he was the voice of reason for his brash, younger partner.
The diamond ring he’d settled on was perfect. Understated, elegant, and drained way more of his bank account than he was comfortable with.
It was all worth it as he’d slipped it on her finger. Today it will be joined by a traditional golden band.
“You ready?”
Hank turned at his partner’s question. The other man was leaning against the doorway, every aspect of his appearance slightly disheveled. “I was born ready,” he answered.
Al shook his head at his younger partner. “I still say you’re nuts, man.”
“Nuts about Camille,” Hank agreed, patting Al on the shoulder as he walked past.
Before he knew it, he and Al were waiting at the end of an aisle strewn with rose petals. The Wedding March was playing, and Camille was slowly making her way towards them on the arm of her father.
As Justin Tyrell gave away his daughter’s hand in marriage, Hank stepped forward and accepted the hand that tightened on his reassuringly. He smoothed the veil back from where it was obstructing her face and ran his finger down her cheek.
I love you, he mouthed as they turned to the priest performing the ceremony.
She grinned at him, an impish smile that broke the solemnity of the occasion, and he couldn’t wait to be greeted by that smile for the rest of his life.