My dress cost $12 at a thrift store.
Daniel wore his late father’s old suit jacket, with sleeves too long and cuffs frayed.
We had no fancy ballroom, no flowers, no string lights, and no family clapping with wet eyes.
My dress cost $12 at a thrift store.
We only had each other at a small bistro downtown, eating burgers and splitting a $40 bottle of wine we’d budgeted for over three weeks.
To me, it was perfect.
« You’re sure you don’t want the rest of my fries, Sav? » Daniel asked, pushing the red basket toward me.
« I married you, not your potatoes, » I teased.
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