Which was ideal, because if he did something to Sammy, he would deserve it.

And then, he couldn’t pay them any attention anymore, because he was looking at that spot on the hill. Where Sammy would appear. Where he would finally see his bride. And then, suddenly there she was. He saw her hair first. All backlit by the sun, a wreath of flowers placed over the top of her curls. It was flying wild, like he liked it.

And suddenly, he was bitterly angry with himself for not taking her to bed last night. Because it might do something now to keep him from having this entirely inappropriate reaction to her.

Because you weren’t supposed to want nothing more than to immediately skip straight to kissing the bride, and then go to the wedding night. At least not in front of the minister. No. Hell, no.

It took him a moment, because he was so captivated by her beauty, to notice the dress.

A real wedding gown, sleeveless, skimming her curves. All beautiful, delicate lace. She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers that he was sure she had probably gone out and picked herself that morning. Because it was who she was. And this was who she was as a bride.

Every inch herself, still.

The impact of that never lessened.

That she was Sammy, the Sammy that he knew, when they kissed. When they made love. And when they got married.

She didn’t transform into something else or someone else. Sammy. His Sammy. In a wedding gown, moving toward him.

She lifted up the front of her gown, one hand still clutched around the bouquet, and she began to run toward him, and his heart stood still.

She was laughing by the time she got to the canopy. “Sorry,” she said, breathless. “That was taking too long.”

“I agree,” he murmured.

She took his hand, and they began the ceremony. The pastor speaking their vows first, with them repeating after.

For better or for worse.

For richer or for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

Forsaking all others.

As long as they both lived.

I do.

And then, Pastor Michael asked if they had rings. He reached in his pocket and took the box out, producing the band that went along with the engagement ring he presented to Sammy the night before.

A little impish smile curved her lips, and she shifted her bouquet from one hand to the other. And that was when he saw the hammered gold band on her thumb. It was big even for that digit, and thick. And clearly for him.

She slipped it off her finger and held it out to him. Then he took her left hand in his, and slipped the band on her finger. And then he gave her his left hand, letting her put the band on his.

“Perfect size,” he said.

“Yours, too,” she whispered. “Almost like we know each other.”

“By the power vested in me by the state of Oregon, but more important, God,” Pastor Michael said, that last part feeling like a warning. God was involved and this better stick. It better be real. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”