Page 18 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

A fter dinner, I call Andrea's photographer again. But no one answers.

"Everything all right?" Stacy asks as I join her at the sink.

"Just getting Andrea's wedding ducks in line." I grab the dish towel and start drying.

Wade sets up the Monopoly game on the kitchen table while Luke takes out the trash. The cozy environment makes it feel like home—something I haven’t experienced for a while.

Derek was never one to eat at his place or my apartment.

He always had a restaurant opening for a college friend or a meeting with a potential business partner.

Business deals and networking kept us on a hamster wheel, spinning from one event to the next.

It was a whirlwind of glitter and glamour, but the shine eventually faded.

Now, for the first time in years, I feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders relax as we share laughter over the fierce game.

Wade and Stacy are real estate moguls, acquiring property like Pac-Man.

The property squares fill up with green buildings and red houses, and each time I roll, I hand over more flimsy pastel cash.

Luke casually puts an arm around my shoulders, yet it makes my spine snap straight with a jolt of awareness.

“Don’t feel too bad,” he says, unaware of my reaction. “I’ll be out in about two more turns.”

Wade high-fives Stacy. “We still got it, baby!”

“Yes, we do!”

“They’ve been beating me at this game since I was five,” Luke explains.

“You poor thing,” I say.

Luke’s expression says, Maybe next time .

But will there be a next time? I’m only here for a few more days.

Honestly, I’d like to stay longer. Maybe it’s because I’m not ready to face my empty apartment in Atlanta, the loneliness waiting for me, or the consequences of my decision to run from the altar.

“If you think you’re out…” Wade looks to his son for confirmation.

Luke waves a few pink five-dollar bills. “I surrender.”

“Excellent!” Stacy starts gathering houses and property cards off the well-used board. “Come on, honey. Let’s turn in.”

Wade stacks the money that he and Stacy have been hoarding. “G’night all.”

“Goodnight,” Luke and I call after them. We avoid each other for a moment, then our gazes collide.

He closes the box. “I should be heading home, too. I have an early morning.”

“Opening the shop?” I ask.

“Always.”

“Once the morning rush is over, I’ll swing by to pick you up, and we can go get that wedding dress.” He stores the game in a cabinet that provides a glimpse into his happy childhood through tattered Candy Land, Yahtzee, and Clue boxes, reminding me of home.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, surprising myself. I grab my iPad to take with me.

We step out into the cool spring night. The air smells of pine needles and wisteria.

Overhead, stars glitter and sparkle like fairy dust. I’ve never believed in fairy tale endings, which never offer a glimpse past the declaration of love or the end-of-the-movie kiss to the desert of mundane living and the tar pits of disasters lurking beyond the end credits.

But something about this North Georgia mountain hideaway has me wishing and almost, but not quite, believing.

Which is humorous, considering I blew up my happily-ever-after when I canceled my wedding. However, a marriage certificate certainly doesn’t guarantee security or happiness. Not even a spouse, partner, or BFF can provide that. I’ve come to realize that one’s bliss must be found within.

“You okay?” Luke asks. “You look pensive.”

“Oh, um… thinking about Andrea. Do you know her photographer?" I show him the name on my iPad.

He shakes his head.

"I'll get it worked out. If the photographer is local, they might just be slow in responding."

Luke rocks on his heels, looking skyward. “Storybrook is a slower pace.”

“You can’t get that view in the city.” I gesture toward the twinkling stars, thankful the clouds are only gauzy wisps forming no exotic shapes. “So beautiful.”

“Yes,” he says, and something in his voice compels me to turn. He’s staring at me, not the night sky.

My heart thumps in response. I step off the porch to give us some space. Looking up, I’m mesmerized by the pearl-shaped moon looming overhead.

“When my mother died,” I say, “I was young, and my father didn’t really know how to answer my questions. You know… where’s Momma? Is she coming back? You can imagine.”

He nods, simply listening.

“After we put my sisters to bed each night, Dad and I would sit outside and count the stars. Somehow, I figured Momma was a star, and I kept looking for her to show up one day. Dad was probably relieved I quit asking so many questions. I think it was my way of understanding what is unimaginable.” My throat tightens.

“My mom always said counting stars was like counting blessings,” Luke says. “So, maybe you had the right idea.”

My gaze shifts toward the house behind him. “Your folks are very kind, Luke. And they are so funny together. I can tell they love each other.”

“They’ve been married for over thirty years. ”

“That’s rare these days.”

“They’ve weathered some difficult times. Maybe those troubles and heartache forged their love and made it stronger.”

I nod, believing it to be true. “In my mother’s letter, she regretted that we… my sisters and I, didn’t grow up seeing our parents as a couple, didn’t see how a marriage worked in the daily slog through life.”

“There are always ups and downs,” Luke adds.

“Pushing through problems and disagreements…”

“The joys,” he says.

I counter with, “The heartaches.”

Our gazes meet again. We see life through different lenses, yet we connect deeply. Even though Luke seems happy-go-lucky, at ease with the world and his place in it, I sense he’s suffered somehow. Derek hinted at a lost love for Luke. I want to ask him questions, but I don’t say anything.

“What stopped you from marrying Derek?” he asks, startling me. “Your mother’s letter was part of the reason. But didn’t you think you had the forever kind of love? Or the potential for it with Derek?”

I hug my iPad to my chest. “Momma said marriage is more than compromise. Derek and I met somewhere between each other’s wants and needs.

More often than I want to admit, we leaned into Derek’s.

I went along with what he wanted. I don’t even know why.

It’s like I gave up a part of myself. Or locked that part of me away. Does that make sense?”

“I’m not one to speak on marriage. I’m no expert.”

“Surely you have opinions.”

“I was engaged once,” he confesses, tucking his fingers into his hip pockets.

So that’s what happened – a broken heart.

“Ended up,” he says, his voice so deep I have to lean closer to catch each word, “we didn’t want the same things. Maybe we weren’t even meeting each other halfway. I’m glad we didn’t take that plunge. But I guess it makes me an amateur in love.” Pain etches lines around his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I know it can't help.

“It's been a few years," he says. "I’m over it.”

Is he? He still seems affected by the loss. I nod in understanding, but I also know that you never fully get over that person and what you shared or imagined your life would be like. “We’re all amateurs in love, Luke. Until we get it right.”

“And how do you know when you get it right?” he asks.

I chuckle. “I have no idea. Maybe after thirty years, like your folks.”

We exchange a smile.

“Which,” I say, “is why I ultimately couldn’t marry Derek. I figured I needed to know more before I jumped off the matrimonial cliff.”

He steps off the porch and stands beside me, looking at the night sky that seems so vast. “And Derek…” he asks, “did he ever go along with what you wanted?”

I draw a slow breath, bracing myself for whether Luke will defend Derek or try to pump up his memory for me.

Finally, I admit, “Derek chose the wedding venue. He chose the honeymoon location. Ohio.” I let that sit between us.

“Ohio,” I repeat. “There’s nothing wrong with Ohio.

I’ve heard it’s lovely. Saying this out loud, I can’t believe I just followed along. How lame is that?”

I brace for Luke to distort my confession into Derek’s virtues.

“I’m sorry.” But his tone is serious and sorrowful. “You can’t have an unequal relationship where one opinion or desire outweighs the other.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

I shrug. “Hard to explain. Is that why you helped me? When you saw me on the highway in my wedding dress? You understood what it was like?”

He grins. “Can’t say I’ve ever run away in a wedding dress.”

“That would be a sight to behold.” My laughter rings out, and I clap a hand over my mouth. Our gazes lock.

“Thank you,” I say in a quieter voice.

“For?”

“You always make me laugh. And I’ve been needing that.”

“Any time, ma’am.” He bows in a courtly manner.

When he rises, he’s closer than I realized.

Suddenly, I’m too aware of him: the intensity in his gaze, the warmth of his concern, his dimpled smile, and his broad shoulders.

The woodsy scent of his cologne lures me toward him.

Our smiles fade. There’s a beat, a moment, a breath of realization and anticipation.

There’s no one between us. There is no loyalty to a friend. No memories or regrets. Just us. And a ribbon of longing pulling us toward each other.

Then he moves away.

“You’re through the hard part,” he says, taking a few steps toward his truck before facing me. “Making the decision not to get married. Unless you’re doubting…” His non-question, very much an honest question, lingers between us. I remember his promise to Derek, and I make my intentions clear.

“I’m not doubting, Luke. Not at all. I made the right decision.”

For the briefest second, the corner of Luke’s mouth twitches into a self-satisfied smile. But then it’s gone. I must be imagining things in this magical place that has woven a spell around me.

“Well then,” he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Libby.”

And he’s gone, leaving me beneath the canopy of stars, surrounded by a chorus of crickets and the pounding desire of my heart.