A handsome man in a light suit and mint tie holds a smiling baby in a matching mint dress at an outdoor wedding.

Saint himself was a vision, an immaculate aura in a three-piece spring suit that perfectly complemented the seafoam bridesmaids’ dresses. His honey-bronde hair caught the sun, those amazing, lovely hazel eyes held a glint of mischievous delight, and a light sprinkling of freckles across his golden, dewy, sun-kissed skin looked like the heavens had placed star constellations just for him. He moved with the fluent grace of a dancer, every well-defined jawline and cheekbone, every exceptional sculpted muscle of his athletic build, a testament to what appeared to be the golden ratio of masculine beauty. It was frankly unfair. Being in his presence was like standing before a young Greek God who’d just stepped off a yacht. As the first notes of the processional swelled, a ripple of quiet excitement went through the assembled guests. Everyone squinted, waiting for the first pair of bridesmaids and groomsmen to appear.His soulful voice, usually so calming, was now murmuring gentle coos. Then, around the bend of the aisle, he appeared. And in his arms, nestled comfortably, was Sarah and John B’s seven-month-old daughter. She was a tiny masterpiece in a beautiful spring outfit, a delicate blend of her parents’ features: Sarah’s bright blue eyes, wide and curious, framed by soft, wavy brown hair like John B’s. Her chubby cheeks dimpled as she bestowed a sweet, gummy smile upon the crowd, her tiny hands reaching out as if blessing the proceedings. Saint, ever the showman, didn't just See more