Page 19 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

A line forms outside a train that reminds me of the Hogwarts Express. I look to Luke. “We’re taking a scenic tour?”

“It’s the quickest way to get to Nickel Mine,” Luke explains. “And the most fun.”

“There’s not going to be a murder, like on the Orient Express, is there? Or dementors stopping us on our way?”

“It’s more like Thomas the Tank Engine,” he says. “My folks used to take Sophie and me on the train. We loved it.”

“Do I get cotton candy?” I ask, noticing a mom corralling two toddlers and their plastic bags of blue and pink sugar clouds.

“If you want some.”

“My sister Elle used to love cotton candy,” I tell him as we inch along in line. “She has quite the sweet tooth, which is probably why she became a cake connoisseur.”

“And your other sister?”

“Charlie is like Ringo Starr.”

“A drummer?” he asks.

“To her own beat.”

He nods with a smile.

He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and a light stubble covers his jaw. It looks good on him. That thought needs banishing, so I ask, “What about your sister, Sophie?”

A wistful look crosses his features, and then he grins. “She stole my cotton candy.”

We share another laugh, board the train, and find seats.

The plush fabric has lost its shine, but the faded red has been well-maintained. It occurs to me that Derek would replace it, but I like the vintage appearance, as if it can transport us to another time.

Maybe my nostalgia is why I like being here in this mountain escape.

Atlanta has the hustle and bustle of moving on and moving up, with new shiny buildings interspersed with a few relics from the past. But here in Storybrook, it’s like a time capsule of a simpler time, where a leisurely pace is admired, chatting with neighbors is a priority, and helping another person is rewarded with a smile.

Other passengers crowd onto the coach, storing bags and luggage and then filing into seats. Some look like tourists as they stop to take group photos and selfies, but others look like locals who use the train for transportation through the valley.

A whistle blows, and the train chugs forward.

Luke and I slide into vacant seats, and our shoulders brush lightly with the train car’s rocking motion.

We stare out the big windows at the pines blurring past. The forest grows denser, blocking the sun for a moment, and then the train bursts into the valley.

Sunshine pours through the windows as we curve along the tracks.

The mountain’s crest touches the blue sky, and wildflowers wave a greeting.

“It truly is a beautiful area,” I say.

“It’s what kept me here after college,” Luke says. “That and family.” He clears his throat. “Derek fell in love with it, too. Although I'm not sure he would admit it. He tends to see potential in real estate. He's a good investor.”

I catch Luke’s reversal as he pumps up Derek’s qualities. “Derek,” I say, “always thinks he can improve on a place.”

“He’s usually right.”

Protective barriers around my heart rise. “Doesn’t that mean Derek sees flaws instead of the natural beauty? Maybe it’s perfect the way it is.”

“We locals like to think so. But in all honesty,” Luke leans close, “and you know I love Storybrook, but a few updates wouldn’t be tragic. The timing of traffic lights. Plumbing. Potholes.”

“Gives it character,” I contradict.

“Tell me that when the toilet stops up during the wedding.”

I make a quick mental note. “How long has your family lived here?”

“My great, great, great-grandfather came over from Wales. I may be short or long on the greats. He settled in the valley, married a Cherokee widow, and built a family and a life. He said the mountains and lush valleys reminded him of home.”

“It’s nice knowing where you come from. My dad isn’t into genealogy. Maybe my grandparents said, but I wasn't listening as a teen. I have an aunt, but we don’t see her much. I’m not even sure why.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “One should know where one comes from. It gives a foundation.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m determined to figure out the teabag Momma left. You have a good family. But what if you found something not so great in your family history?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of rascals we don’t know about. But I would want to do better, to make a better name for my family and those coming after me.”

I nudge his shoulder with my own. “You’re an idealist, Luke Maine.”

He chuckles. “Haven’t ever been accused of that. I always thought of myself as a realist.”

“Is that what Derek saw in your family? A foundation? His parents were always off, traveling. He wasn’t their priority.”

Luke shrugs. “You know, Derek, he doesn’t divulge much. But my parents accepted him for who he was, not the depth of his financial portfolio.”

My mind drifts as I watch the dancing buttercups brighten the landscape.

Derek and his parents tossed stock market numbers around at the rehearsal dinner like baseball stats.

I understood then the chasm within him, how we connected.

We were both missing something. For him, it was his family; for me, my mother.

I shift in my seat to eye Luke. “How do you see yourself?”

“As a guy trying to enjoy life.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“There are easier ways to have fun, Luke, than running a coffee shop and helping a friend’s ex-fiancé on some wild goose chase. Not to mention, picking up somebody else’s wedding dress.”

“Handing out coffee every morning might seem small to you,” he says, “but I provide a service that some might consider essential.”

“I didn't mean?—”

“Folks can and do make their own coffee." He cuts his gaze toward me. “Even instant. But Andrea met her husband in The Brew. Maybe they would have met at the Realtors Roundtable, but maybe my shop played a part in their love story.”

“Be careful,” I warn. “Now you’re sounding like a hopeless romantic.”

He levels me with a steady gaze. “Not hopeless.”

I place a hand on his arm, enjoying our new connection. “For the record, you do more than hand out coffee, Luke.”

“Yeah?”

“Like you said, you bring people together—marriages, business meetings, friends hanging out, and reconnecting. You’re building a community, an authentic community of hearts and minds. So maybe not just a guy who’s looking for fun.”

“Now you’re sounding like the romantic. It’s okay to have fun, Libby, even if you are accomplishing things.”

“You’re right. I do take life and myself too seriously. With all my endless lists and micromanaging. I don't like to leave things to chance. People usually depend on me and pay me to pull off an event or wedding. Without a hitch. Hopefully, under budget.”

He chuckles. “So, what is it that you want, Libby?”

I ponder it. He doesn’t offer suggestions like Derek might have. He simply waits for my answer.

I realize it’s been a while since I considered my wants and needs, other than flowers for my bouquet. “At one time,” I finally say, “I knew. I always had running lists of things to accomplish. In case…”

“In case you didn’t have time?” Luke sees right into my heart.

“I thought that by marrying Derek, we could do a lot together—help build places and communities—but I was fooling myself. We were only pursuing Derek’s Alexander-the-Great-takeover of the world. Or at least the western hemisphere.”

Luke’s eyes alight with humor, but he leans toward me, the tip of his finger touching my hand. “Maybe,” he says, his voice rumbling through me, “you were looking to be a part of a community yourself.”

His words plunge into my soul, and I recognize their truth.