Page 14 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

I n the bathroom, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. The foggy mirror reflects a blurry image. I don’t appear as tired as I thought I would. Laughter, I’ve always heard, is good for the soul. Perhaps there hasn’t been enough laughter in my life lately.

My sisters and I have our own ways of coping with life’s challenges.

Maybe Elle’s way is best, as she loves to laugh.

Or maybe it’s all the sugar she consumes with her cake business.

She’s the baby of the family, the outgoing one, and often the troublemaker.

Charlie, however, struggles with anxiety.

The impact of our mother’s death may have affected her more than it did the rest of us. I cope with my many lists.

Which I should have made before I showered. Glancing around the lavender-decorated bathroom, I realize I left my clean, dry clothes in the bedroom. Drat.

Someone hollers in the hallway. Luke, I reckon. Cautiously, I peer out.

“Check under your bed!” Stacy calls from the kitchen.

I close the bathroom door, listening for footsteps, a ticking clock, or some indication that I'm free and clear to go down the hall for my clothes. I hear nothing. Clasping the doorknob, I turn it and?—

Footsteps pass outside in the hallway. I wait again, counting... One. Two. Three. I imagine Luke rounding the corner. Four. Five. Six. Bypassing his room. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

I open the door and peer out, looking one way and then the other. All clear. Holding my towel in place, I dart out, sprinting for the bedroom. Halfway there, I remember the wet clothes I left on the bathroom floor. See, I really do need lists.

Clutching the towel around me, I hurry and scoop up the wet clothing, then rush?—

Right into a solid wall of muscle.