Page 27 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

A winding dirt road leads up to Luke’s secluded cabin, and I feel like Snow White being taken deep into the forest. Except I have sacks of food, and there are no poisoned apples. Yet, I feel a jitteriness that I can’t explain. Maybe it’s because I like Luke—way more than I should.

It will be good to visit his home. A home is where you can truly see what someone is like, whether they’re neat and tidy or messy and a slob.

You can even learn about someone’s personality from the colors they use to decorate.

Charlie taught me that red means action and a desire to live life to its fullest. Yellow appreciates order and logic.

Blue is for those who remain closed to outer strife and influences.

Looking back, I should have recognized some aspects of Derek from his expensive apartment, which was decorated in black, white, and gray.

A high-end decorator must have chosen the colors and selected the furniture and artwork, piecing it all together to create a chic and prosperous look.

Yet beneath this starkness, Derek’s need for control, independence, and self-reliance was evident.

Maybe tonight I’ll uncover a secret about Luke—something shocking, like dust bunnies or inappropriate magazines. I will search until I find a reason to dislike him, or at least not like him as much.

I mentally compile a list of things I don't like about Luke… I’m thinking, reflecting, scrambling for something to latch onto.

Number one: that’s a good start.

But my mind goes blank, as if a blinking cursor mocks me.

This is silly. Everyone has idiosyncrasies that annoy and irritate.

Wait! I found one! He’s not good at Monopoly—maybe a smidge better than I am—but still not great. Maybe it suggests he can’t manage his own money. Is he reckless? Is he in debt with maxed-out credit cards? Does he make poor real estate investments? I mean, he did go into business with Derek.

But I was engaged to Derek.

Back to my ‘What not to like about Luke’ list. Again, nothing comes to mind.

As we round the last bend and the quaint cabin comes into view, my mental list disintegrates.

The log cabin sits among a cluster of towering pines.

Sufficient land has been cleared for the flowering plants to receive ample sunshine.

Off to the side is a firepit with two Adirondack chairs for sitting and enjoying the evening hours.

It is the complete opposite of Derek, his high-rise apartment, and the life we had planned. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that Luke and Derek know each other, let alone that they are friends and business partners.

“Derek didn’t tell me your place is so lovely.”

“He made a bid on it.” Luke laughs. “Might be a sore point for him.”

“I can’t see Derek living here.”

“He was going to flip it. It’s a fixer-upper,” Luke says, almost apologetically.

“It’s more than that. It’s…” I search for the right word.

“Nice?” he supplies, hope gleaming in his eyes.

“Nice is not quite right. Not enough. It reminds me of a poem.” I tug the words from my memory. “ Who countest the steps of the sun: seeking after that sweet… golden clime… where the travellers' journey… is done. ”

Proud of myself for remembering at least part of it, I smile at Luke. But his expression causes a flurry and a flutter in my belly.

“Where did that come from?” he asks.

“William Blake. I read his biography in college, and that poem somehow reminded me of my mother.”

“You continue to surprise me, Libby.”

A wave of happiness washes over me.

Now, if he can surprise me with something dreadful, awful, and perhaps even unseemly, then these crazy feelings will disperse.

While Luke carries the grocery bags inside, I linger, looking over the porch railing at the raised beds in the side yard. They could be photographed for a seed catalog. Each four-by-four square is filled with lush plants, with name plates nailed to wooden stakes.

Luke joins me and leans against the railing. “My folks have helped on numerous projects. This porch was sagging until we lifted it and replaced rotted boards.”

Eager to walk after the drive and explore this paradise of Luke’s, I ask, “Can we look around?”

“Sure.” He leads me down the steps and walks me over to the garden area. “I may have been overly ambitious this year. Oh, look. The first blossom.”

His enthusiasm is endearing. “You might be able to feed the whole town of Storybrook,” I exclaim. “Look at the lettuce… and spinach. We should have picked our salad here.”

“Roxie taught me that I should plant during the waxing of the moon and harvest during the waning.”

“How do you know when the moon is waxing or waning?” I ask.

“That I have yet to learn.” He selects a few leaves, bows formally, and hands me sprigs of spinach like a bouquet.

“Thank you.” I flounce into a curtsy. “I’ll use it for dinner, kind sir.”

He studies me. “I figured you for a city girl.”

“Born and raised in Atlanta, but Momma always had a garden with lots of vegetables. I can remember helping her harvest, wash, and even can them. You should plant a bed of flowers; I bet they would grow well here in this patch of sunshine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You could take a bouquet for your dates,” I say, realizing this feels very much like one. “Benelope would love it.”

“Right.” He continues walking.

“Momma,” I say, changing topics, “loved growing zinnias and daisies. ‘Ah Sun-flower! Weary of time.’ ” When Luke looks at me, I explain, “That was the line I couldn’t remember. From the poem.”

“William Blake,” he states.

“You should plant sunflowers too. Momma arranged flowers to decorate the house. Charlie would pick off the petals, but Momma would collect them and make potpourri. When she died, Dad was too busy taking care of three growing girls and holding down a job to tend to the garden. But I remember the pleasure it gave Momma, using it to feed her family and bring sunshine into the house.”

I’ve said too much. Luke watches me, his gaze steady and open.

“I bet you feel that way helping others with their weddings or events,” he says, surprising me. “You watch a business grow through the years, as well as couples who marry and have families. You’re bringing sunshine into people’s lives.”

His words touch me. “I never thought of it that way. Honestly, I fell into coordinating events. In school, I was known for my organizational skills. Surprise, surprise. If someone couldn’t find their handout or notes, they always knew I had them.

In college, a friend was getting married and on a tight budget, and she asked me to help plan her wedding.

I did such a good job that another friend hired me, and word spread. ”

“We both started our businesses in college,” Luke says. Then his phone dings. “Excuse me. Need to see if it’s Roxie.”

“Of course.” I step away, giving him space. “I’m going to attempt to call that photographer again for Andrea.”