Page 1 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

I have a confession to make. I don’t believe in happily-ever-after. I don’t cry at sappy commercials. I don’t scroll through social media, oohing and ahhing over puppies, kittens, and fainting goats. I don’t weep at Colleen Hoover’s best sellers. (Sorry about that one. Truly.)

I realize it’s a strange confession, especially today of all days, and considering what I do for a living.

Life is what you make of it. Until the universe conspires against you.

My coping mechanism, to accomplish as much as possible in whatever time I’m allotted, is making lists—lots of lists.

And I check them more than Santa checks his.

But my immediate problem is not the universe; it is my two younger sisters, Charlie and Elle. They stole my iPad and my lists, saying, “Libby, you need to enjoy your wedding day!”

They don’t understand that ticking off tasks brings me joy. Now, instead of peace and serenity, my insides are tied in knots.

Or maybe it’s that I’m missing my mother even more today, of all days.

Now that my sisters have gone to shower and dress for the ceremony, I’m stuck in a chintz-covered chair, my fingernails drying and my toes stretched at impossible angles in a spongy torture contraption. At least, they think I’m stuck.

This is my one opportunity to get my lists in hand.

They left Charlie’s goldendoodle, Bailey, a seventy-pound teddy bear, to guard me.

Yet, Bailey trots to the wide window, keeping watch for squirrels and butterflies.

The window looks out onto the Bookmark B&B’s manicured lawns, which my fiancé chose for our wedding.

It’s just outside the north Georgia town of Storybrook.

To be honest, Derek wants to buy the B&B, but Delia, the owner, isn’t about to sell her family heirloom.

Carefully and cautiously, I stand in my fluffy white robe, wobbling on my bare heels since I can’t put my toes down for fear of ruining the polish. The towel around my head tilts precariously, and I stumble forward. Bailey tracks me to the door, sniffing at the strange scent on my toes.

“Stay, boy,” I say. He sits, looking up at me with gentle, intuitive brown eyes.

The hallway is empty and quiet. My sisters have retreated to their rooms, and even Delia has gone to handle last-minute details. This is my one and only chance.

Bailey looks at me anxiously as I step into the hallway, and he follows.

“No, Bailey,” I whisper and attempt to close the door, careful not to smudge my drying fingernails, but he slips out and scampers away.

The stairs prove challenging for my hobbling gait, heels first, toes flexed.

Bailey bounds ahead, his nails clicking on the hardwood.

He turns and comes back, crossing in front of me, then behind, and I’m sure he’s going to knock me off my feet and plunge me to my death.

I can imagine the headline, “Bride dies on her wedding day.”

Somehow, I make it to the last step where I teeter, the towel tipping my head this way and that.

With my palm on the railing, I regain my balance and practice the breathing exercise Charlie taught me—in two, three, four, out for eight counts.

Then I waddle to the landing without anyone being the wiser or breaking my neck.

Now, to get my lists!

Bailey wags his tail in anticipation as I aim for the front door.

“Stay,” I repeat, but he ignores me.

I turn the knob with the heels of my hands. He squirts past me, nearly knocking me over and blowing my robe upward. I do a ‘Marilyn Monroe,’ knees together, hands blocking skirt move, which doesn’t look as elegant with my toes flexed and contorted.

“Fine,” I murmur, “let’s fetch my lists.”

He must have understood the word ‘fetch’ because Bailey barks and leaps off the porch as if he’s going after a tennis ball.

I totter outside, thankful it’s a beautiful spring day. I’ve checked the weather app on my phone a million times in the last week, as our wedding will take place in the gazebo at the lake’s edge.

Using the heels of my hands to close the door, I can't get it to latch. But I’ll be back soon—with my iPad. A quick glance left, then right, and I head for the parking area. No guests have arrived, and neither has my fiancé, but he’s not due for another hour or so. It's on my list.

A couple of days ago, I rode in Charlie's Jeep to the Bookmark B&B, leaving my car at my apartment in Atlanta. When Elle stole my iPad, she gave it to Charlie, who brought it out here. Her Jeep's windows and top are off, so this will be an easy retrieval.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch…” I wince as my buffed and moisturized bare heels crunch the gravel on the driveway.

Bailey blocks my path, chest down and butt in the air, ready to play. When he barks, I fuss at him. "Shh!"

He leaps up, his nose poking under my bathrobe.

“Hey, stop that!” I wave him away, but he circles and twirls on his hind legs, bouncing and leaping like the Easter bunny has arrived.

I hurry on, but the pebbles and crushed granite bite into my heels. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“You’re not trying to make a break for it, are you?” A deep male voice comes from beyond the Jeep, causing me to freeze.

Luke, the best man, steps into view. I’m caught.

He’s taller than Derek, with a dark shadow of stubble over his square jaw.

I told my sisters last night at the rehearsal dinner that they should check him out.

He’s even hotter today, dressed in denim and a flannel shirt.

He’s perfect. For Charlie, that is. He’d go with her sporty Jeep and carefree lifestyle.

Then I remember how charming he looked in his sports coat and tie at the rehearsal dinner. Maybe Elle, who enjoys dressing up, would be a better match for him. Either way, I’m going to work on my sisters and their negative attitudes toward holy matrimony.

“Libby?” he probes, interrupting my wayward thoughts.

“Uh… hey, Luke. What are you doing here?” I ask, wondering how late it is. And where is his tux? See! This is why I need my lists.

“Heard there was a wedding I didn’t want to miss.” He grins.

Bailey rushes to greet Luke, who bends to rub the doodle affectionately. Luke says, “You’re not making a getaway, are you?”

“What? No, I, uh…” My hand touches the top of my bathrobe, but I force myself not to clench it. I don’t have time to redo my nails. “Is Derek here?”

“He’s at the hotel. I came early. Can I help you with something?”

“Where’s your tux?” I ask.

“In my truck. Don’t worry, I have the list you gave me. Derek warned me you’re—” He stops himself.

My spine stiffens. “I’m what?”

“I’ve got my tux. All good.” He gives a thumbs-up.

I prop a fist on my hip. “What exactly did Derek say?”

“Nothing.”

But I refuse to budge.

He shifts from foot to foot, and it’s clear I’m making him nervous, as if I might go all Bridezilla on him. And if I don’t get my lists, I just might.

“Tell me,” I say in the authoritative voice I use for work.

“You’re, you know… a… uh, micromanager. Very detail-oriented. It’s a compliment. Really!”

I doubt that.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks.

“I left my iPad in Charlie’s car.” I indicate the Jeep with a wave of my hand. “You know, all my notes, lists, contact information… stuff I need to micromanage.”

“Sure.” He smiles at the sarcasm. “Let me look.” He peers into the open window and retrieves my device.

“Bingo! That’s it!” I reach for it, teetering on my heels, forward then back, my arms flailing. He hurries toward me, handing over the iPad, and relief floods my soul. “Thanks so much. I appreciate?—”

Before I can finish, he sweeps me up into his arms. Bailey leaps with excitement and starts barking.

My attention shifts to Luke as we’re eye to eye. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want you to hurt your feet. How will you dance later?”

“Oh… okay, well, thanks.” I look deep into those blue eyes. Charlie has got to see his eyes. Very photogenic. Maybe I’ll create a matchmaking list.

Bailey prances alongside us as Luke whisks me up the few steps to the porch, nudges open the door to the B&B with his foot, and carries me?—

“Wait!”

He stops mid-stride. “What?”

Bailey sits, his tail sweeping the floor.

I glance overhead at the door jamb, then down at the threshold. Luke seems to realize the faux pas at the very same moment.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says.

“Of course not,” I agree. But I wave him onto the porch.

Luke steps back, then takes another. For a long minute, he holds me as if I don’t weigh a thing.

“You can put me down.”

“But your feet…” For a longer moment, we stare at my painted toes in the contraption that forces them to point in different directions. “They look uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well…” I feel more awkward by the second. “I made it down the stairs this way. I’ll be fine going back up.”

He peers inside at the long, curved staircase. “You could have fallen.”

“I didn’t.”

“But it’s not safe.”

“I’m fine.”

Then, without further ado, he ignores convention, carries me over the threshold, and climbs the stairs, taking me to the bridal suite like he knows the way. Bailey races up the stairs ahead of us. He sits at the top and barks.

Suddenly, a door along the hallway swings open. It’s Charlie. Her long, wet hair clings to her head. She’s wrapped in a towel after her shower. I wave to her with my big toe and tilt my head toward Luke as if to say, " Here he is! Pay attention!"

We sweep past her. Unfortunately, Luke doesn’t glance in her direction. But there’s time later at the reception. I’ll get her to put down her camera and dance with Luke. I gesture toward his back to draw her attention to his strength.

But Charlie’s no longer paying attention. She’s pulling Bailey into her room.

She doesn’t seem to care that I’m being carted through the house like a damsel in distress. Which I most certainly am not. Or like one of those ancient gothic romance novels where the hero ravishes the heroine. Nope! Stop that kind of thinking!

Another door opens. Elle, dressed in her usual stylish way, follows us.

I smile at her, tilting my head toward Luke to say, " Look at this one!" since she usually has several men lined up to date her.

The towel covering my hair tips forward and bops Luke in the head.

As we enter the bridal suite, he sets me on my feet, er… heels. I wobble, and he steadies me with a hand at my waist.

“You good?” he asks, his voice deep and sincere.

“Huh?” My thoughts tumble over each other.

“Nails intact?”

I glance at my fingers and toes. The polish is smooth, silky, and un-smudged. “Perfect.”

“Great.” Oddly, even after hauling me up the stairs, he doesn’t seem out of breath. Yet I do.

“You need to change,” I call after him. “And shave!”

He pulls out the list I gave him at the rehearsal from his hip pocket and waves it, but continues walking.

Before my scattered thoughts settle, Elle stalks into the room, heels clicking ominously, her gaze trailing after Luke like she might be interested.

Then she rounds on me. “What was all that about?”

She spots my iPad and snatches it, taking away all my lists, notes, and plans.