Page 20 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

T he train slows as it enters the Nickel Mine depot. I glimpse a quaint Main Street with visitors meandering among the shops. When the train stops, passengers jostle each other to grab their bags and belongings.

Luke holds out a hand to me. “Come on. I’ll show you around town.”

I match his footsteps as we disembark and beat the crowd off the train and out of the depot. Luke knows a shortcut, and we round a building and end up on Main Street, where petunias and marigolds bloom in window boxes. More flowers encircle the base of old-fashioned streetlamps.

First stop, and true to his word, Luke buys a bag of cotton candy from a sweet shop. “Pink or blue?”

“Pink, of course,” I say.

He adds peppermint sticks to the bag, and I suspect Elle isn’t the only one with a sweet tooth. I pinch the pink cloud and taste the sugar melting on my tongue. I offer Luke a bite.

When he samples, his face crinkles into a grimace. “I just got a cavity.”

Smiling as we stroll, I spot a faux olive plant sprouting from an antique bedpan in a window display.

“Want one?” Luke whispers.

“If you’ll carry it on the train for me.”

“I’m a feminist, I’d let you carry it,” he quips.

Laughing, we wander toward another shop window showcasing antique leather books designed to resemble Dickens’ village.

In another window, yellowed printed pages are cut into the shape of butterflies.

Then, beyond the window displays, I see lampshades, wreaths, and floral bouquets, all handcrafted with the printed word.

“Now, this is interesting,” I say.

“You like books, do you?” Luke asks.

“I prefer to read them.”

He grins. “What’s your go-to book?”

“I love reading about people’s lives, famous or otherwise. What about you?”

He glances sideways as if embarrassed to admit. “Stephen King.”

“Don’t they scare you?”

He looks at me as if I’ve spoken another language. “They go well with an espresso.”

“A good way to keep you up all night. I do like a real-life murder mystery. Jack the Ripper, and I’m right there.”

“See!” He nudges me. “You’re only a murder or two away from loving the master of horror.”

“Sounds like another challenge.”

“I’ll let you borrow one of mine.” He extends his hand.

I accept the challenge and shake his hand. “I’ll share my copy of The Demon in the Freezer . We’ll see who gets scared first.”

We pass a garden store that I can’t resist, and Luke follows me inside.

We peruse an array of spikey and lush flowers.

Luke shows me stepping stones painted to look like books, from children’s classics like The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to Pride and Prejudice and Fifty Shades of Grey .

“What would you want in your garden?” I ask. “ Carrie ? Oh wait! The Green Mile ?”

“A garden needs something like The Hobbit .”

Which again makes me laugh.

“And you?” he asks.

“ The Secret Garden , of course.”

“What about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil ?” he suggests.

“ Killers of the Flower Moon ,” I toss back.

“Don’t know that one, but it sounds Stephen King-ish.”

Our interests may not be as far apart as they first seemed.

He leads me to the Sew and Sew Shop with a giant spool of thread as a rotating door.

Inside, colorful broadcloth and calicos are laid out neatly in stacks.

A large table provides a place to cut cloth by the yard.

One long wall displays sewing equipment and thread.

The section of dress patterns reminds me that my mother had a few.

Luke tosses the empty cotton candy bag into the trash behind the checkout counter. We use a bottle of hand sanitizer to remove the stickiness from our fingers.

From the back, a short, round, middle-aged woman with a bright smile and sparkling eyes steps through a curtain. She wears a stick-pin bracelet and a measuring tape for a necklace.

“Luke Maine! It’s been ages.” Her grin broadens, if possible. “Are you in the market for a wedding dress for your lovely bride?”

“Is everyone trying to marry you off?” I ask.

“Apparently. Hi, Cindy,” he says. “This is Libby Peterson. She’s not my fiancée or in the market for a wedding dress.”

I’m drawn to a mannequin wearing a Victorian-style wedding dress. The details on the dress are exquisite. “Is this your work?”

Cindy comes to stand beside me. “A young lady brought a magazine picture of this dress, and I did my best to duplicate it. I made Luke’s sister’s dress that way.”

“I’ve seen pictures at his parent’s house,” I say. “Such beautiful work.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Luke leans against the counter. “Mom says no seamstress can hold a needle to Cindy.”

“That’s high praise indeed.” Cindy beams. “Considering your momma won the state quilting contest so many times, we all quit entering.”

“I’ll tell her you said so,” Luke adds with a friendly smile. “We’re here to pick up Andrea’s wedding dress.”

“She and Taylor went to get their wedding license today,” I add.

“Weddings are busy times,” Cindy says.

“Libby is a wedding coordinator helping Andrea out.”

“There are a lot of details with a wedding.” I eye the business cards beside the register. “Mind if I take a few?”

Cindy hands me a few cards. “Let me get the dress for you.”