Page 10 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)
Libby
A Dolly Parton song plays on a sound system, providing a retro, down-home vibe. Frankly, I think to myself, Jolene can take my man.
Scents of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon saturate the air.
I’m impressed by Luke’s shop. Tables with mismatched chairs painted in bright colors are placed near ample plugs for charging laptops and devices.
Booths feature quilted cushions. Stacks of games and used paperbacks rest on an accessible shelf.
A group of what looks like church ladies sit in a corner booth, their knitting needles clacking as they chat. It feels like a home away from home.
“You’re late!” Behind the counter, an older woman says from behind the counter as she steams milk for what appears to be a cappuccino. She has a short, gray bob and moves with the agility of a high schooler. “But take your time, Mr. Boss-man.”
Luke waggles a to-go cup at her. “I was here before you opened.”
“I can testify to that!” I add.
Luke grins. Our tête-à-tête unnerved me as we exchanged shots like a tennis match, slamming them over Derek. I’m not sure who won that round, but I need more caffeine to fuel the next.
“Libby,” Luke says, “this is Roxann. Roxie, this here’s Libby.”
“The bride! I heard it but didn’t believe it. You got some explaining to do, young man.” Roxie wags a finger at her boss.
The female customer waiting at the counter smiles in greeting. “Last we heard, you were the best man, not the groom, Luke Maine!”
Wait. What? Seriously, these folks believe Luke stole me away from Derek? I mean, he’s good-looking and really nice. But…
“It’s not what you think,” Luke says.
Roxie places the cappuccino in front of the customer.
“It’s all over town, how you stole the bride from Mr. Fancy Pants.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re all cheering for you.
” She turns her attention to me. “Congratulations, hon. You’ve got yourself a mighty fine young man.
Well, not too young. But not too old, neither.
I taught him in fifth grade. Known him and his family all his live-long day.
And I’m miffed at him for not including me in the festivities.
But apparently, he was in an all-fired hurry to marry you. And I can see why.”
She finally takes a breath.
“Slow down, Roxie,” Luke says. “This is Libby Peterson. Not Maine. And for your information, she’s single.”
“Single?”
“ Numero uno .” I toss out as I offer my hand for her to shake. “But with that kind of an endorsement, maybe I should give Luke a second look.”
I smile at him, and he looks like I've knotted a tie too tightly around his neck.
Luke clears his throat. “Roxie was exaggerating on my good qualities.”
“You two aren’t hitched?” Roxie asks.
“Luke was kind,” I say, “or foolish to cross my path on my escape yesterday.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Luke answers Roxie’s question. To me, he adds, “Roxie’s been trying to marry me off since she tried to teach me about decimals.”
“Now that is an exaggeration,” Roxie says. “I waited until you graduated high school before I started matchmaking. But I'm not sure you ever caught on to decimals.”
"That's what calculators are for." He winks.
“You staying in Storybrook long, hon?" Roxie asks. "We could use some new blood.”
“All singles beware,” Luke warns.
“Not too long,” I answer. “I’m a wedding and event planner in Atlanta, so I’ll?—"
“Luke Maine!” The customer plunks down her cappuccino. “I can’t believe you did it!” She launches herself at Luke with a bone-crushing embrace. “You’re the absolute best!” She smacks a kiss against his cheek, then turns to me. “I’m Andrea. The bride.”
I’m confused. The bride? His bride? I look to Luke for clarification.
“I, for one,” Andrea says, “am not planning on being single. At least not for much longer.”
Like that explains everything. I watch Luke for an interpretation. Maybe I don’t understand the vernacular here in Storybrook.
“Libby,” he says, “this is Andrea. Now, what exactly did I do?”
“You found me a wedding planner!” Andrea, the bride, grabs my hand and shakes it vigorously. “I’m so relieved. I’ve been feeling so stressed out about all the details. The endless details.”
Details are my specialty.
“Andrea,” Luke says, “you don’t understand.”
But Andrea babbles on, “It’s overwhelming, you know. So many things. And it never stops. Every day, there’s this or that or that or this to contend with. And I’m worn out. Frankly, I’m beginning to wish we'd eloped. You know, gotten one of those Elvis impersonators to marry us in Vegas.”
I’m nodding because I do understand. But truth be told, I love all the tiny, juicy particulars.
“Elope with Luke?” I venture.
Andrea laughs. “To my fiancé. Taylor. Yesterday,” she continues like one of my many endless lists, “the bakery called, and there was a mix-up. Of course. It took half a day to straighten out my order. Frankly, I don’t trust them to get it right.
I might get a cake for a bar mitzvah or some risqué bachelor party.
And don’t even get me started on the photographer.
Who has been ghosting me. Then there’s the?—”
“Andrea,” Luke interrupts her in a calm but forthright way. “Libby is not here to oversee your wedding or anything else. She’s recovering from?—”
“Where are you having your wedding?” I cut off Luke’s explanation.
“Right here at the Brew!” She looks around, her eyes shining with adoration at the shelf of used books and the display of muffins and scones.
“This is where Andrea and Taylor met,” Roxie explains. “I introduced them. I’m telling you, I should go into business as a matchmaker.”
“You should!” Andrea agrees. “Taylor and I are both realtors, so we basically work out of our cars. One day I stopped in to check my email and have a cappuccino, and I fell in love—with Taylor, not the cappuccino, although they are very good.”
Luke nods with appreciation. “Thank you.”
“We should have an advertising campaign,” Roxie exclaims. “’Have a coffee and find a mate!’ It could catch on.”
“’Connecting lattes and espressos,’” I add.
“’Latte love!’” Andrea boasts.
“All right,” Luke silences our ad campaign. “You guys sound like Derek, taking over the country and then the world.”
“Love can change the world,” Andrea states with the self-assurance of a bride in love.
“Look, Andrea,” he says, “I brought Libby here to?—”
“When’s the wedding?” I interrupt again.
“This coming weekend!” Andrea crows.
My smile fades, and my eyes go wide. I was not expecting that. I glance at Luke, and he shrugs. He tried to prevent me from sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. But somehow, I feel as if I’m diving into a pool on a hot, summer day.
“I’m going to need another coffee.” I push my cup across the counter.
Roxie scoops it up. “What would you like?”
Luke’s attention snaps in my direction. He’s too keen on my answer as I scan the overhead menu. And I remember our challenge.
“Fill ‘er up with whatever. Instant is fine.”
Roxie’s nose wrinkles. “We don’t have instant.”
Andrea’s jaw drops. “You don’t care?”
Luke shakes his head. “Weird, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I do care,” I explain. “Sort of, but not really. Luke and I have a…” How do I explain?
“We have a bet,” he supplies a word I was not expecting. “To see who can make the best coffee. Libby thinks making a magical cup of brew is easy.”
Roxie scoffs. “It’s a science and an art form.”
“Oh, I see!” Andrea exclaims. “You don’t want to give away any preferences. I get you. If you need a judge to sample, I’ll volunteer.”
“She makes instant,” Luke says as a warning.
Roxie and Andrea stare at me as if Luke said I drink gasoline.
He rounds the counter and takes my to-go cup from Roxie. “I’ll handle this one.”