“Uncle Lyle?” asks Annabelle, my flower girl, tugging at his pants leg. “What’s going on?” the five-year-old whispers. “You’re not Miss Sammi’s boyfriend.”

A grin splits his too-handsome face as he squats to her level and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Sammi opted for an upgrade at the very last minute.”

Her big brown eyes widen. “You can do that?”

“Yep,” he says, rising back to his full height, his amber eyes connecting with mine. “It’s never too late to change your mind, pumpkin.”

The little brunette harumphs. “Better hurry before she changes hers again.”

I choke on a laugh. Leave it to a kid to lighten the mood.

“Annabelle,” Liz hisses at her daughter, motioning for her to zip it.

“She’s fine, sis.” Lyle sends his niece a wink before apologizing to Pastor John for the distraction. “We’re ready.”

Our childhood pastor greets us with a warm smile and a nod before welcoming our guests. I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall when Lyle filled him in on the change-up. I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say when he gets me alone later, but for now he’s the picture of decorum.

“You, okay?” Lyle whispers, giving my hand a shake when I start to zone out.

My cheeks flame and I nod, directing my attention from his knowing grin to Aunt Barbara, who’s already halfway through her reading.

The two of us have slept through our fair share of weddings growing up. We swore we’d wed barefoot, with our toes in the sand, bypassing these drawn-out formalities. But you know what they say about best laid plans.

“This is taking forever,” I grump to my groom after the pastor gives us communion and we take our seats while he moves on to distribute the sacrament to our guests.

Lyle’s chuckle is muffled by the choir. “Hey…I had nothing to do with the planning of this snooze fest. This one’s all on you, Li’l Momma.”

Li’l Momma… That’s new. I don’t hate it.

“Didn’t really have many options, considering Daddy can’t travel.”

“I know,” he says, trailing a finger up my spine. The gentleness in his touch has a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my chest. And when he brings his lips to my ear, it’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle at his feet. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to disguise the longing in my voice.

“Seriously,” he says, grabbing my hand and spinning the engagement ring around my finger. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“How long have you had this?” It’s probably not the best time for this conversation, but curiosity is killing me.

The apples of his cheeks pink. “A few years.”