Chapter Text
The idea came to life in the early hours of the wedding morning.
Libby’s hotel suite looked like a pastel explosion — silky robes in every shade of blue and cream, mimosa glasses scattered across the vanity, curling irons and stray rhinestone pins everywhere.
Avery sat cross-legged on the floor, meticulously separating Libby’s veil from a sea of tulle, eyes sharp and focused as always. Max perched on the bed, half-wrapped in a feather boa she had apparently found in someone’s gift bag.
Libby stood at the mirror, trying to steady her hands as she traced the outline of her lips.
“You know,” she said, voice wavering, “I think I might actually pass out before I even make it down the aisle.”
Avery glanced up sharply. “No, you won’t. You’re Libby. You wear blue hair like a crown and
bake vegan cupcakes that make billionaires cry. You can handle this.”
Max snorted. “Yeah, seriously. You once made a gingerbread mansion from scratch at three in the morning because you ‘felt inspired.’ If that didn’t kill you, this won’t either.”
Libby’s shoulders shook as she laughed, though her eyes still glistened with nerves. “That’s different. This is… huge. I keep thinking Nash is going to see me walking down that aisle and realize he’s accidentally marrying a fever dream.”
Avery set the veil down and stood, crossing to her. “Libby. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to that man. He already knows you’re a fever dream. He likes it that way.”
Max’s eyes went wide as she jumped up. “Wait. I just had the best idea ever.”
Libby turned to her, suspicious. “Why do I feel like this idea involves glitter or theft?”
Max cackled. “No theft. Maybe a little glitter. But what if — hear me out — we take Polaroids. Spicy ones. You surprise Nash with them at the reception. Like… ‘hey husband, get ready for tonight’ energy.”
Libby blinked. “Spicy… photos?”
Avery’s eyes lit up instantly. “Like… Polaroids? To give Nash during the reception? Oh my God. Libby. That’s actually genius.”
Libby’s cheeks were already burning. “But… what kind of photos? Like… suggestive?”
“Not if you’re uncomfortable,” Max said, immediately softening her voice. “We’ll do it however you want. But think about his face, Libby. You love surprises. He loves surprises. You’re the definition of chaos in a cupcake wrapper. This is so you.”
Libby hesitated, staring at her reflection. Then she inhaled sharply. “Okay. Let’s do it. Four photos. That’s it. Four is my lucky number.”
Max shrieked so loudly that Avery had to shove a pillow over her face to muffle her.
Photo one was the warm-up.
Libby posed by the big window, morning light draping around her like a halo. She wore the white honeymoon slip, the thin lace strap already falling down her arm. Avery held the Polaroid camera like a weapon of mass seduction.
Photo two was bolder.
Max hovered behind her, coaching like a demented pageant mom. “Chin up! Think about the first time Nash looked at you like you invented oxygen. You’re a goddess. You are the moment.”
Libby’s lips parted, her eyes soft and dreamy. Avery snapped the photo at the perfect second.
Photo two was bolder.
Max insisted she throw her veil over her head and let it drape around her like a teasing curtain. Libby held the edge, peeking out like a mischievous forest sprite.
“This is giving ‘ethereal haunted bride from an indie movie that destroys men with a wink,’” Max declared proudly.
Avery rolled her eyes. “That is so specific it’s somehow accurate.”
Libby giggled so hard she almost ruined the pose, but in the photo, she looked like a soft, blue-haired dream.
Photo three was the wild one.
Libby lay on the bed, white sheets twisted around her. She pulled the slip up to reveal her thigh, the intricate garter glinting against her pale skin. Her hair spilled everywhere, her eyes half-closed.
Max threw a pillow at Avery when she tried to “fix” Libby’s hair. “Messy is sexy! Don’t you dare touch it!”
The final shot looked like something out of a vintage boudoir magazine — intimate, yet somehow entirely Libby.
Photo four was the most personal.
Avery and Max wrapped Libby in her bridal robe again, but left it slightly undone. She held a small handwritten note against her chest — Save me for later, cowboy.
Libby’s handwriting was slightly shaky, her smile crooked. It was cheeky, intimate, and so perfectly hers.
When the last Polaroid finished developing, all three of them stood there in stunned silence.
Then Max screamed, “For fox’s sake!” Avery almost dropped the camera. Libby covered her
face and laughed so hard she nearly fell to the floor.
The wedding ceremony itself felt like a dream.
Nash looked like he’d stepped out of an old Western — black suit with that subtle cowboy edge, hair tousled like he’d just taken off his hat, and that sly smirk he only saved for her.
When he saw her walking down the aisle, he forgot how to breathe, he actually swayed forward. Libby, veil and all, blue hair shining like moonlight, her eyes locked on him as if there wasn’t a single other soul in the universe.
Avery held Max’s hand so tightly she nearly left nail marks.
Jameson leaned into Xander, muttering, “Damn. Nash looks like he’s about to drop dead.”
Xander just grinned, eyes glassy. “He’s in love. It’s gross. I love it.”
Grayson, composed as ever, stood near the aisle, quietly wiping the corner of his eye when no one was looking.
The vows were simple and earnest. Nash’s voice cracked when he called her his “forever surprise.” Libby almost dropped her bouquet from crying.
They kissed twice — once the official one, and a second time because Nash simply couldn’t help himself. Guests cheered, someone wolf-whistled, and the live band launched into a bright, rowdy country love song.
The reception started with all the classic elements: first dances, cake cutting, a raucous toast from Max, and a sweet, slightly rambling one from Avery.
Then the real mischief began.
Nash was standing near the bar with Jameson, Xander, and Grayson, all of them laughing about a near-miss with the cake when Avery approached him with a sly smile.
“Delivery for you,” she said, slipping the first Polaroid into his hands before vanishing into the crowd.
Nash looked down, brows furrowing — and then shooting up so high they nearly disappeared.
Jameson immediately noticed. “What’s that? A love note?”
Xander tried to lean over. “Oh, is it—”
Nash snapped the Polaroid to his chest like he was shielding it from a group of cackling vultures.
“It’s none of your damn business,” he managed, his ears turning red.
Grayson just raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I assume it’s… private.”
Xander leaned in curiously. “Is it a cat photo? I support it if it’s a cat photo.”
Nash’s only response was to clear his throat and down the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.
A little while later, Max sauntered up to Nash on the dance floor, just as he finished a swing dance with an older relative.
“Round two,” she whispered, slipping the second Polaroid into his hand like a secret weapon.
Nash froze mid-step, looked down, and his breath hitched audibly.
From across the room, Jameson elbowed Xander. “Look at him! He looks like he just saw an
angel and a ghost at the same time.”
Xander, holding a cupcake, squinted. “He’s going to combust before dessert, isn’t he?”
Nash shot him a murderous look, quickly tucking the photo away.
Grayson, now sipping champagne, shook his head slowly, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Later still, Avery found Nash standing alone by the edge of the dance floor, one hand still occasionally patting the inside pocket where he kept the first two photos.
“Hey, cowboy,” Avery teased, handing him the third Polaroid.
He swallowed hard, already looking overwhelmed. His fingers trembled slightly as he took it, flipping it over.
He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing the edge before he looked.
When he saw Libby sprawled across the sheets, eyes half-closed, he just stared. Then he
pressed the photo to his lips in a silent, reverent moment that made Avery’s heart squeeze.
She actually felt bad for him for about two seconds — until he gave her a look that promised pure revenge.
The final Polaroid arrived from both Max and Avery. They practically skipped over, Max’s grin wide enough to split her face.
Nash had only just finished his second whiskey when Avery and Max approached him, flanking him like mischievous bodyguards.
“Hiya, cowboy,” Max drawled, slipping something into his jacket pocket.
“This is from your wife,” Avery added sweetly, batting her eyelashes.
“Last one,” she sang, placing it gently in Nash’s palm. “Good luck surviving the night.”
His eyebrows shot up so high they almost vanished into his hairline.
His jaw clenched, lips parting, breath becoming slower. His eyes locked with the note — Save me for later, cowboy — he looked ready to start a forest fire with just his stare.
Avery and Max were howling, leaning on each other for support.
“Holy shit,” Nash finally croaked, eyes glued to the photos.
Max winked. “She said to wait until after the party. But you can look as many times as you want.”
Avery patted his shoulder, so obviously delighted. “You’re welcome.”
Nash looked up at them, his eyes suspiciously shiny despite the wicked grin twisting his mouth. “You two are demons.”
“Oh, we know,” Max said smugly.
Nash looked back at the note — Save me for later, cowboy. He read over the note repeatedlya.
His whole expression shifted from flustered to absolutely feral in two seconds flat.
He pressed his thumb over the words, his breath coming ragged. His expression shifted from overwhelmed to dark, focused determination in seconds flat.
Jameson, Xander, and Grayson approached just then.
Jameson cackled. “Holy shit. He’s gone. He’s fully gone.”
Xander leaned forward, eyes huge. “Is this like… an adult scavenger hunt? Because I want no part of it.”
Grayson raised his glass with an amused smirk. “To our brother. May he survive the night.”
Nash’s only response was to tuck the final Polaroid carefully into his pocket with the others.
His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and focused only on one person across the barn, muttering under his breath in the thickest Southern drawl possible, “Y’all better mind your own damn business. This is between me and my wife.”
The rest of the night, he kept catching Libby’s eye across the dance floor. Every time, she blushed; his grin sharpened, and he’d mouth later at her until she turned away laughing.
People came up to congratulate them, the cake was cut, Libby tossed her bouquet and nearly decapitated Max by accident. Every moment felt dipped in honey — sweet, slow, and impossible to forget.
But in between all the noise, jokes, and flashes of cameras, Nash kept sliding his hand to that inside pocket. Touching the Polaroids like they were a secret only he and Libby shared.
When the barn finally emptied and the lights dimmed, Nash stalked across the floor, his eyes locked on her like she was the only thing in the universe.
“Ready to get out of here, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
Libby’s breath caught. “Yeah.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Good. Because I have a whole collection burning a hole in my pocket, and I’ve been very, very patient. I think you owe me a private viewin’.”
Libby burst into breathless laughter, hiding her face in his chest.
From the dessert table, Avery and Max screamed in unison, “Get a room!”
Jameson shouted after them, “You’re going to have to explain this to future grandkids, you know!”
Xander ducked behind Grayson, pretending to gag.
Grayson just raised his glass, smirking. “Congratulations. And… Godspeed.”
Nash didn’t even turn around. He just took Libby’s hand, those four Polaroids burning against
his heart, and led her out into the summer night.
Just as they disappeared into the dark, Jameson turned, grabbed Avery’s wrist, and twirled her smoothly into his chest.
She landed with a breathless laugh, her hand pressed against his shoulder.
“Where’re my Polaroids, Heiress?” he murmured, voice low and gleaming with mischief.
Avery rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she might never come back down.
“Keep dreaming, Hawthorne,” she shot back, though her cheeks went pink.
Jameson just grinned, leaning in closer. “Oh, I plan to.”