Marlowe
Nova's wedding planning began almost immediately, the whole den's chaotic energy channeling itself into a new project with an enthusiasm that made my own earlier logistical headaches over the patch ceremony look positively simple by comparison.
"I want it outdoors," Nova declared, spreading a stack of magazine clippings across my garage bay's workbench with the focused intensity of someone who'd apparently been secretly planning her dream wedding for years without ever admitting it out loud. "Somewhere with a view. Somewhere that actually feels like us, not some generic venue with rented chairs and fake flowers."
"The homestead," I said, the idea arriving with sudden, obvious certainty. "It's got the creek, the open fields, plenty of space for the whole club to gather comfortabl
