Page 24 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

“ L ibby!” a male voice calls out as I step off the train. Instantly, I recognize the voice and almost drop my end of the wedding dress. Thankfully, Luke scoops up the plastic-covered satin and prevents it from scraping along the concrete as I turn to face my ex.

Derek takes in my casual attire.

Then, the dress.

A crease pulls his brows together. “What’s going on?”

“Derek,” I manage, “I thought you were in Ohio,” I counter. “On our honeymoon.”

“It was awkward alone,” he says.

Translate that to mean: he couldn't find a date.

“Did your deal fall through?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

“How are you?” Luke says. He seems calmer than my thumping heart.

“Trying to figure out why you’re carrying a wedding dress and escorting my wife.”

“You mean, fiancée?” Luke asks.

“Ex,” I add.

Heads turn in our direction. We block traffic as passengers disembark from the train, bumping into each other while taking in the latest soap opera scene of my life. I gesture toward the exit, not wanting anyone to slap or punch another or for the crowd to start chanting anything.

Luke nods at my suggestion. “Let’s talk outside.”

He walks ahead of us, carrying the dress and providing Derek and me with privacy.

Derek grabs my arm, holding me still. “What are you doing with him?”

I jerk my arm loose from his grip. “I’m helping with a wedding this weekend.”

“Marianne and Trevor’s?”

“No, not that one.”

“Did you forget we’re in their wedding?” he challenges.

“Of course not,” I snap. “The two weddings aren’t on the same day.” Turning on my heel, I hurry after Luke, practically running to get away from Derek.

But he catches up. “Who’s getting married?”

“You don’t know the bride or the groom.”

“How do you know?” Derek asks.

I don’t bother answering but push through the door, making it bang against the stopper. Luke waits for us beyond the platform.

When we are all standing together again, Luke ducks his head and says, “You should know that Libby and I?—”

“Derek!” I interrupt in the most forceful tone I can muster.

What is Luke doing? Confessing about our kiss?

His guilt or chivalry is going to force it out of him.

I can’t let that happen. It’s none of Derek’s business.

“Derek,” I say in a calmer tone as both men stare at me.

“You should know, or maybe you already know, that there’s a wedding at The Brew this weekend.

I’m helping. As you know, I’m good at coordinating weddings. ”

“And dismantling them,” Derek quips.

“Hey,” Luke interjects and places a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “That’s not necessary.”

“Stay out of this, Maine,” Derek growls.

“I volunteered to help the bride since I had the time. That’s all you should know. Right, Luke?” The last I say through clenched teeth.

He doesn’t respond.

Derek glances between us like there’s an invisible tennis match going on.

I remind myself that I did not cheat on Derek.

Neither did Luke. We are free, no matter what Benelope thought, and can kiss anyone we choose.

The problem is, I’m not sure how I feel about Luke’s kiss: regretting that it had ever happened, and at the same time wishing it had never ended. I need time to sort out my feelings.

A guy in a cowboy hat passes us and gives Luke a thumbs up, saying, “Way to go, Dude.”

Derek looks suspicious, furrowing his brow as his gaze shifts between Luke and me.

The awkwardness jangles my nerves, so I keep talking, which is probably a mistake.

“We picked up the bride’s dress today. Isn’t it pretty?

Andrea and Taylor went to get their marriage license.

It’s been kind of funny.” I start to laugh, the tension getting to me, and I can’t control the burbling sound as it erupts sporadically.

“Funny because people keep congratulating Luke and me, like we’re the ones getting married. Because of the dress.”

Luke rustles the plastic to emphasize my point.

“Which is kind of weird,” I continue. “Kind of awkward. And his truck didn’t help.”

“Truck?” Derek asks.

“Someone told Rob to decorate my truck,” Luke explains.

“Funny,” Derek says in a flat tone, but now the joke is on him.

“We’re on our way to The Brew with the dress,” I add. “You’re welcome to come.”