Molly’s silence as she drew in a deep breath spoke more than any words could have.

Turning back toward the dressing table, Ginny reached out and ran one fingertip over the delicate, crepe-like petals of one pink peony.

The peonies were interspersed with pale peach roses and white ranunculus, hand-tied with a sky blue satin ribbon. Simple but beautiful. All she’d dreamed of and everything she’d wanted for the day she publicly became Mrs. Thomas Grande.

Except in her dreams the groom wasn’t MIA.

That term—missing in action—hit a little too close to home considering what Thom did for a living.

She pushed that thought aside. She didn’t have to worry. For this week at least he wasn’t away on some danger-filled, super secret mission . . . or was he?

Her eyes widened at the thought. Could he be? Wouldn’t he tell her if he’d been called in?

She couldn’t let the doubts creep in. She had to trust the man she loved. The man she’d be joined with in front of friends and family in the eyes of God—if Thom ever got his butt to the church.

A light knock sent Molly diving for the door. Breath catching in her chest, Ginny turned in time to see her parents peering into the doorway.

“How’s she doing?” Ginny’s mother cringed as she asked Molly the question.

Great. Now they were speaking about her like she wasn’t in the room.

Scowling, Ginny answered, “I’m fine. He’ll be here.”

God, how she hoped he’d get there.

“I’m glad we didn’t book that catering hall with the non-refundable deposit,” her father said, low, but loud enough Ginny had heard it just fine.

“Mm, hm,” her mother agreed, also softly, but also loud enough for her to hear.

Ginny clenched her jaw at the turn the discussion had taken. It wasn’t as if she had ever wanted the catering hall to begin with.

She had told them not to book the hall that her mother had wanted. That the backyard at the house would be fine. More practical given their circumstances.

Molly glanced at her and then back to Ginny’s parents. “We still have a little time.”

The silence of unspoken disagreement was, once again, deafening.

Ginny closed her eyes and wondered—not for the first time—why she’d chosen to have this church ceremony and reception for close friends and family at all. Why she and Thom hadn’t just eloped and left it at that.

Then she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she remembered why she’d put herself through this unnecessary stress.

She loved her dress, even if it was simple and off a department store rack because they hadn’t had time for anything else.

And she loved the bouquet she’d made herself with flowers she’d bought at the florist. And the dozens of little white cup cakes, decorated with candied violets, that Thom’s mother had baked for them in lieu of a traditional wedding cake. And the white lights—actually her parents’ Christmas lights repurposed—strung in the trees in the backyard making her childhood home in Stamford look like a twinkling fairyland. And the hydrangeas—picked from bushes in that same backyard—displayed in mason jars and set out on the folding tables they’d borrowed from the local VFW.

She even loved the invitations she’d designed herself, the ones she had printed out on beautiful card stock she’d found at the local office supply store to save time.

Casual and inexpensive, but somehow perfect, this wedding was something she was proud of. It was all the things she and Thom had agreed it needed to be just in case he got yanked back to his base in Virginia for a mission and they had to reschedule.

But he hadn’t been called back. He wasn’t somewhere in the Middle East or where ever. He was in Pennsylvania, for goodness sake, at a hunting cabin with two of the guys from his team. He'd said they'd be home last night, but she hadn’t heard from him. And his parents said he hadn’t come back to their place in Massachusetts.

So where was he?

Could he have changed his mind about being married?

Fighting down the doubt, Ginny dared to look at the time on her cell phone. Five minutes to ten.

The ceremony was scheduled to start at ten. Glancing at the doorway again, she saw a new arrival had joined the group. The pastor.

The look of concern on the older man’s face mirrored that of everyone else in the room.

“When’s that baptism start?” she asked, already knowing the answer but hoping for a miracle. They were in church, after all. It was a good place for one.

“Eleven-thirty,” he answered.

Ginny nodded, accepting the reality of what that meant.

They’d gone into this knowing he’d squeezed them into the schedule last minute. That it would have to be a short ceremony that started and ended on time.

Of course, weeks ago when she’d chosen this date she’d assumed if they’d have to cancel she’d have some advance notice. A week. A day even.

Certainly not five minutes.

Drawing in a bracing breath, Ginny somehow found strength she didn’t know she had.

Or maybe it was detachment rather than strength, because this day was beginning to feel like it was happening to someone else and she was just an outside observer watching it unfold.

She smoothed the bodice of the white eyelet halter dress she’d bought on a summer clearance sale in spite of Molly’s protests. Ginny stood straight and tall, rising to her full height—all five-foot-five inches of it, including her heels.

Taking one step toward the door she said, “I’ll tell the guests.”