"Like a newborn," I whisper back, my own throat constricting. Because watching Matt—who spent our teenage years convinced emotional vulnerability was a personal weakness—completely crumble at the sight of Sarah might be the sweetest thing I've ever witnessed.
Mabel treats her flower girl duties with aggressive enthusiasm as she power-marches ahead of Sarah, flinging petals with such vigor that several guests receive direct hits to the face. One elderly gentleman with bushy eyebrows gets a full bouquet-worth dumped over his head and just laughs, setting off a ripple of giggles through the assembled crowd.
Preston's chest puffs with pride as he escorts Sarah, though I catch the slight wobble in his steps that betrays his own emotion. When they reach the altar and he places Sarah's hand in Matt's, Preston's voice cracks on, "Her mother and I do."
The officiant—who apparently baptized Sarah as a baby—brings unexpected comic relief when he stumbles over, "till death do you part" and accidentally says, "till debt do you part," which triggers a wave of laughter that breaks the ceremony's tension perfectly. Even Magnolia's perfect Southern smile cracks into something genuine.
From my position opposite the groomsmen, I have premium viewing access to family dynamics playing out in real time. That's when I notice something that completely reframes everything Caleb's ever told me about his father.
Greg never stopswatching Dottie.
Not the ceremony, not his son's emotional breakdown, not Preston's obvious pride—his entire focus remains locked on his wife. When she dabs her eyes with a vintage handkerchief, Greg silently produces a fresh tissue.
It's a small, practiced gesture of care that speaks to years of knowing exactly what she needs before she asks. The Greg that Caleb describes, and the man I'm seeing, are such different creatures that I wonder if they're the same person at all.
Throughout the ceremony, I keep catching these moments—Greg's hand finding Dottie's during the vows, the way he leans slightly closer when she whispers something, how his thumb traces circles on her wrist when Matt stumbles over his words from emotion. Maybe love at thirty years looks different from love at thirty days.
When Matt and Sarah exchange rings, I glance over to find Caleb looking at me. He's positioned opposite me in the groomsman line, looking impossibly handsome in his tux. When our eyes lock, he raises a single eyebrow. I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him grin and shake his head. For exactly three seconds, everything feels normal between us.
Then the officiant declares them married, and Matt kisses Sarah before anyone finishes speaking. He actually lifts her off the ground, and her cathedral veil snags on Jefferson's boutonniere behind them. Dixie deploys her former cheerleader reflexes to prevent a headpiece catastrophe while everyone dissolves into laughter.
It's perfectly imperfect—exactly what weddings should be.
As we process out behind the newlyweds, I catch sight of Greg again. He's helping Dottie stand, and the way he shields her from the jostling crowd with his body is unmistakably protective. For someone so gruff, his hand at the small of her back looks remarkably gentle.
When an elderly lady draws Dottie into what's clearly going to be a lengthy chat, Greg silently disappears, and returns moments later with a glass of white wine, placing it in her hand without breaking her flow. She accepts it wordlessly, her fingers finding his briefly in a gesture so practiced it must be decades old.
Maybe Caleb only sees his father's rough edges because he's looking for them. Or this gentler Greg only exists in Dottie's orbit, when he remembers what made him fall for her all those years ago.
"The ceremony was beautiful," I tell Sarah, during our brief moment between reception and photos.
"Thanks," she says, but she looks a little overwhelmed. "Mom went a bit overboard with the planning, but . . ."
"It's perfect," I assure her. "And you look like a princess."
"A very tired princess," she laughs. "How do people do this multiple times?"
"Practice?" I suggest, which makes her snort.
"I'm so glad you're here, Ivy. This week would have been unbearable without you."
Before I can respond, Magnolia sweeps in to rearrange Sarah's train for photos.
The reception barn has been transformed into something straight out of a fairy tale—crystal chandeliers suspended from ancient beams, tables draped in ivory linens, dogwood and mountain laurel arrangements creating a perfect spring forest indoors. String lights and candles twinkle everywhere, casting a golden glow that makes everyone look slightly magical.
Matt keeps his arm firmly around Sarah's waist during cocktail hour, like he can't quite believe she's real. His expression hasn't fully recovered from the ceremony, and he presses kisses to her temple between conversations with guests.
"Five bucks says he cries again during speeches," Caleb appears beside me, offering a glass ofchampagne.
"That's a sucker bet," I reply, accepting the flute. "He couldn't even get through saying 'I do' without flooding the altar."
"Pathetic," Caleb agrees, but his voice carries a fondness that undermines the criticism.
"It was sweet," I counter, sipping the champagne. "Your brother's not afraid to show how he feels."
Something flickers across Caleb's face, too complex to decipher, before he masks it with a smile. "Yeah, well. Matt always did wear his heart on his sleeve."
"As opposed to what?" I can't resist asking.
