✦ Sweetgum Hollow, Georgia – One July Evening ✦

The sun dipped low over Sweetgum Hollow, bleeding gold into the magnolia trees and setting the Spanish moss alight like strands of silver thread. The air smelled of honeysuckle and warm grass, and the cicadas had begun their slow chorus — a lullaby older than time, humming in rhythm with the beating hearts gathered beneath the sycamore arch.

Eddie Munson stood at the altar — if you could call a moss-draped tree stump and a string of fairy lights an altar — tugging nervously at the sleeves of his black dress shirt. His rings were polished, his curls were tamed (somewhat), and his combat boots were shined so hard Wayne had made a comment about “getting married or joining the damn army.” The man himself sat proudly in the front row, tie askew, eyes already glassy.

A battered amp sat to the side, gently humming; someone had wired it into the PA system, and from it came a cover of Can’t Help Falling in Love in soft, slow electric guitar — Eddie’s wedding gift from Gareth, who was currently sweating in a suit and tearing up from behind his sunglasses.

The crowd was small. Just enough folding chairs to seat the close-knit family and friends who had traveled to the Georgia countryside to watch a man like Eddie Munson marry a southern belle.

And oh, when she came around the bend —

Time stopped.

She wore a vintage tea-length dress the color of clouded cream, cinched at the waist and swaying gently in the breeze. Her wild hair was half pinned with fresh blooms, gardenias and jasmine tucked above her ear like something from a painting in a grandmother’s hallway.

His magnolia walked barefoot down the aisle her cousins had lined with wildflowers. The grass kissed her feet, and the hem of her dress caught on the breeze. A smile ghosted her lips — soft, secretive — like she was in on some divine joke the rest of the world hadn’t figured out yet.

Eddie’s breath left him in one shaky exhale.

She met his eyes like she’d always been heading toward him.

The preacher — a white-haired man with a voice like molasses and a drawl thick enough to butter cornbread — welcomed everyone with a smile and a verse. He didn’t drag the ceremony long; this wasn’t the kind of wedding for pomp and politics. This was a barefoot vow beneath a Georgia sunset, with fireflies beginning to rise and the scent of sweet tea in the air.

Eddie held her hands — ink-smudged fingers wrapped around hers, paint-stained and soft — and swore with everything he had that he’d never stop loving her. That he’d always choose her. That she made the world seem like something worth waking up for. His voice cracked on the last line.

His love — with tears in her lashes and a grin that could knock the wind out of you — promised she’d keep loving him even when the music faded, when their hair turned silver, when the road got mean and memories grew heavy. She said he was her favorite part of the story, every chapter.

They kissed as the sun finally dipped behind the cypress trees, casting them in a peach-colored glow.

And then, barefoot and giddy, they ran hand-in-hand across the clearing toward the barn where the bride’s family had thrown together a reception with mason jar lanterns, butcher paper runners, and a bluegrass trio from down the road.

The inside of the barn glowed like something out of a dream — string lights crisscrossed the beams, flickering golden overhead, and tables were laden with peach cobbler, cornbread, and fried chicken still warm from the cast iron. There were mismatched chairs and napkins made from her grandmother’s old linens. Someone’s baby cried once, then promptly fell asleep in a wicker bassinet beside the cake table.

Boots clattered against the old wood floor as the music picked up. The bride twirled in Eddie’s arms while the band played a slow reel. Her laughter spilled out like creek water, and he kept kissing her knuckles between spins like he couldn’t believe she was real.

And then came the sweet tea whiskey drunk toasts.