Darrin and his best man followed the preacher up the aisle to the pulpit and took their places. Ellie Mae’s sister strolled down the aisle in her pretty red-satin dress with a portrait collar, pivoted, and stood in her place. The preacher raised his arms, and everyone stood and turned to watch the bride come down the aisle on her father’s arm. She was a picture of beauty in her black dress and stylish hat, carrying the red-rose bouquet the girls had made. Several people gasped, but Ellie Mae was in her element, smiling and nodding to the folks as she passed by them. Instead of the traditional bridal music, “Marry Me” by Martina McBride began to play as Darrin started down the aisle to meet her halfway. He shook her father’s hand, tucked her arm into his, and escorted her the rest of the way to stand before the preacher.

“Wow!” Dixie muttered. “She’s gorgeous. Daddy, can I wear black to my wedding?”

“Of course, darlin’. By the time you’re forty, it’ll be the most popular color,” he whispered.

The song ended, and the preacher said, “You may be seated. Thank all y’all for joining us tonight to witness the union of Elvira Mavis Weston and Darrin Douglas Smith.”

“What if I sang ‘Marry Me’ to you at our wedding?” Graham asked.

“Are you proposing to me?” Mitzi whispered.

“What would you say if I was?” Graham took her hand in his.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen, but this is too quick. Let’s take it a step at a time,” she said.

“Shhh . . .” Fanny Lou said.

Graham leaned over to whisper softly, “I haven’t been in love with you that long, but I can guarantee you, I’ll be in love until my dying day.”

Mitzi squeezed his hand. “Me, too.”

Basking in his words, Mitzi tuned out the rest of the ceremony and designed her own perfect dress for a wedding on a beach somewhere close to a lovely hotel.

Epilogue

Epilogue

One year later

Graham held Mitzi’s hand as she pulled herself up the bleacher steps at the football field that evening for the Fourth of July ceremonies. Paula hadn’t even looked pregnant until the last three weeks, but Mitzi looked like she’d swallowed a whole watermelon—one of those huge ones that fed at least twenty people.

“Just two more weeks,” she groaned.

“And then you’ll have to share the boy,” Graham said. “Everyone will fight over who gets to take care of him.”

“Over here.” Fanny Lou waved from the fifty-yard line. “We’ve saved y’all a place.”

“Thank goodness it’s not all the way to the top,” Mitzi said as she eased down on the seat.