Page 23 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

W hat was I expecting? A brush of his stubbled cheek against mine. A quick peck. Something like Harry Potter kissing Ginny Weasley, sweet and tame. But it felt more like that kiss of Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy in their snow globe universe, oblivious to the cold and the people and noise.

I don’t return to my full cognitive abilities until we sit on the train again. Luke drapes the wedding dress over the seat in front of us.

We sit side by side, not looking at each other, not speaking, definitely not remembering. At least I’m trying not to. And yet, how can I not?

The first thing that pops into my head is: “I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“What?” he asks.

I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. Maybe my mental abilities are off. “That woman,” I explain, “she must have had some claim on you. After all, she slapped the fire out of you.”

“Yeah, well… Some things mean more than they should.”

“What does that mean? Did you sleep with her?”

“What? No. We went out once. I didn’t even kiss her.” He looks at me then, and the weight of his meaning is apparent.

“ We,” I say, emphasizing the word, “haven’t been out once.”

“Technically,” he says, “we have. I bought you lunch. You even called it a date.”

“That doesn’t count,” I argue. “I was wearing my wedding dress. For another man.”

“That says more about you than me.” He winks.

I can’t help but laugh. “Fine,” I say, settling back into the seat. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“What exactly?” he asks. “Getting slapped? Or are you talking about our kiss?”

Ooh, the kiss. I swallow hard. The kiss is a topic we should avoid.

Mainly because of what he said right before.

‘ I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.

’ How long exactly had he been wanting to kiss me?

Is that my fault? After all, I flirted with him every time he praised Derek. What did I think would happen?

But if I’m being honest with myself, and of course I don’t tell Luke this, I’ve wanted to kiss him since he carried me up the stairs at the Bookmark B&B.

He leans in close, making me want to graze a finger along his jaw and kiss him again. This time, without an audience.

“You taste like cotton candy,” he says in a low, sexy tone.

“Too sweet?” I ask, more playful than I intended. I feel confused, uncertain if I want to flirt or if I want to create a steel barricade between us.

“Definitely not,” he says. “It’s the best way to enjoy cotton candy.”

“And you…” I stop myself.

“What?” he asks, his voice low and enticing.

“Did you sneak one of those peppermints?”

He chuckles. “We’ve had more revelations today than we need.”

“I was talking about your girlfriend. Beth or Beth Ann or Benelope. Whatever her name is.”

“Bethany. And she’s not my girlfriend. She never was. Are you jealous?” he teases, his voice velvety smooth.

I lean forward and straighten Andrea’s wedding dress to break the spell that seems to have enveloped us. “I suppose you learned something about Benelope today. She’s territorial, don’t you think?”

“I learned something about you, too.” His voice dips into that sexy range again.

My cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny. I cross my arms over my middle. “About that, you know, the uh…”

“Kiss?” he finishes when I can’t seem to say the word.

“Yes, that.” I fiddle with a button on my sleeve. “I was going to say?—"

“Congratulations!” A woman passenger interrupts as she scoots by with two young children. “And good luck to you both.”

“Oh,” I say, “we’re not?—”

“Thanks!” Luke interrupts.

I punch his arm. “Quit saying that! It only causes more problems.”

He laughs. “Blame me all you want, but that kiss was your fault.”

“Was not,” I state. “But, Luke, it can’t happen again.”

He nods, but I see him withdrawing, pulling away. I instantly regret my words.

The train lurches forward, chugging at a slow, plodding pace.

My gaze is drawn to the window. Passengers crowd the depot as they step off another train. A gray-haired woman who looks like Delia turns toward a middle-aged man. “Hey! That’s my dad.”

“Where?” Luke asks.

The train keeps moving, and I lean into the window, straining to keep my father in sight. With… yes, that’s her! Delia. She drops something, and they both bend to pick it up. My dad reaches it first, practically tripping over himself. What is happening?

The train pushes forward until I can no longer see them.

Feeling unsettled and stunned, I flop back into my seat.

“You okay?” Luke asks.

“That was my dad. With Delia," I say, emphasizing the second part.

“The Bookmark’s owner. Nice lady.”

“I know her,” I snap. “Sorry. I didn’t know… she and my dad… What are they doing?”

“Returning something from the wedding?”

“Oh. You’re right. Maybe.” My gaze drifts toward the window again and the blur of greenery. “Could be, I suppose. Or…”

“Or what?” Luke probes. “Is there a problem?”

“I guess not.” Feeling uneasy, I reach into my purse and pull out the Polaroid of my mom and the three of us sisters. It calms me, as if everything in that moment is right with the world.

Luke peers over at the photo. “Your mom?”

“Yeah. I was five, Charlie was three, and Elle barely two.”

“You favor your mom.”

I nod, but my thoughts fly off in a different direction. “The last time I spoke with Elle and Charlie, they said Dad was still at the Bookmark. What would be the reason? Do you think Delia and my dad are…?”

I can’t voice my concern.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Luke reasons, as if he's standing on the brink ready to jump with me, “the way everyone has about us. Maybe they’re dealing with fallout from the wedding.”

“But why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Could be they’re trying to keep you from feeling the burden of all that.”

Guilt pulses deep within me. I’ve caused so much trouble.

“You could solve the big mystery,” Luke prompts, “by calling your dad and asking him.”

I grab my phone and punch Dad’s number. While I listen to the ringtone, I add, “I’m… I don’t know. Seeing Dad with another woman threw me. He’s never dated… not since Mom…”

Then the ringtone stops. I glance at the phone. “No connection.”

“The mountains are blocking the signal,” Luke explains.

I shove my phone back into my bag, my hand grazing Momma's letter. “Makes me wonder about Momma’s letter and what she wrote. Was it even true?”

“Does seeing your dad with another woman make you question that?”

“No," I say automatically, then rethink my position. "Okay, yes. Maybe love doesn’t last forever.”

“Maybe it does. After all, if your dad hasn’t dated anyone in… What? Twenty-something years?”

“Twenty-four. Dad never seemed interested in dating. When we were teens, my sisters and I tried to set him up with one of our teachers, then later a friend’s mom, who was the coolest. But he resisted and eventually declined.

” I shake my head, as if tossing aside all those crazy suspicions and doubts.

“Maybe you’re right about Dad and Delia…

” Saying their names together makes me pause.

“They probably had to do something with closing out my wedding disaster.”

I remember Charlie, Elle, and me, so proud of ourselves when we set up our beloved teacher, Miss Perkins, with our dad.

Our own Parent Trap . We invited Miss Perkins to our house, saying our father couldn’t come to parents’ night, and could she come over instead.

We fixed an elaborate meal of beans and franks.

We were so proud of our ten, eight, and seven-year-old selves.

But the look on Miss Perkins’ bright red face when she figured it out.

And the disappointment in Dad’s eyes kept us from trying that again for a few more years.

We were slicker and smoother in the next round, but it didn’t fare well then either. We decided that nobody could compete with Mom, and we let it go.

I haven’t thought about Dad dating in years. Since we’ve all flown the coop, he hasn’t seen anyone. Or has he? Could he have dated and not told us?

Again, I try to shake off the discomfort. What would it matter? Dad loved Momma. Surely, it would be okay for him to have some happiness if that’s what would make him happy.

Contemplating it all, I roll my lips inward and am reminded of Luke’s kiss—his very thorough, very hot kiss.

My gaze drifts toward him, noting the hard slant of his grizzled jaw, the dent in his chin, and the curve of his lip. What is happening to me? What is happening between us?

Something Luke said earlier piques my curiosity. I ask, “What did you learn?”

“Hmm?” He meets my gaze.

“You said you learned something about me today. What exactly?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why? Because I…?” I suspect it’s because I said we can never kiss again. So, I should let it go, not dig any deeper for fear of what I might discover. But I can’t stop myself. “Tell me.”

His lips pull into a half-smile as he leans toward me and whispers, “I learned I like kissing you.”

Heat flares inside me like a bottle rocket launching and bursting into sparkling pinpoints of light. I shouldn’t have asked. All my flirting with Luke has completely backfired.

Not even a week after my abandoned wedding, I am smitten. With Luke.

It’s a bad idea. Risky. Perilous.

I shouldn’t be concerned about my father and his love life. I should be worried about my own heart. But then again, maybe Luke would help me to put guilt over my wedding out of my mind.