Page 38 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)
Libby
S miles and more photographs accompany the joyful sounds of laughter and congratulations. The DJ plays Bruno Mars’ Count on Me . Even though it’s still before most folks’ rise on Saturday morning, these guests are energetic.
Luke keeps up with the demand for lattes and cappuccinos, preparing them for guests—nonfat, full fat, almond milk, oat milk, sugar-free, extra pumps of syrup, no syrup, extra shots of espresso, you name it, and he makes it—all while chatting with guests in a friendly, seemingly unhurried manner.
Roxie assists Elle with the hot quiches and scones. I hold a reflector for Charlie, then set up a scrim.
Finally, it’s time for the wedding cake. The guests gather around as Taylor lovingly offers Andrea a bite, then she playfully shoves a piece into his mouth, smearing it across his cheek. They laugh, smile, and share kisses. Then Elle swoops in to carefully dismantle her creation.
The DJ ramps up the sound for the couple’s first official dance, playing buttery-smooth John Legend’s All of Me . The wedding couple dances as if they are alone on a sunlit shore of a deserted island.
I notice Elle behind the counter with Luke, asking him questions about his equipment, and he tells her all about how to make the perfect latte. Well, la-dee-dah! Isn’t that something?
Is he interested in my other sister now? My nerve endings clang together.
Cindy walks up next to me. “You’ve done an amazing job.”
“Oh, hi,” I manage, dragging my gaze away from Elle and Luke.
There’s an awkward pause as Cindy looks at me. I realize she said something I didn’t catch.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy. But I’d like a few of your business cards,” Cindy repeats. “I want to refer brides to someone who really knows how to throw a wedding. And you sure do, even a last-minute one. Well done.” She takes a bite of cake. “This is delicious!”
“I had help.” I motion to my sisters and Luke. “Your dress should be on a Paris runway.”
“You are too kind.”
“Honest as the day is long,” I say, pulling business cards from the cover of my iPad and handing them to Cindy.
“You’ll be hearing from me.” She waves to Stacy and Wade before going to say hello.
When I glance over at the counter, Roxie and Elle are sipping drinks and relaxing while guests join the happy couple on the dance floor. Luke must have gone to the back of the shop.
But suddenly, he’s beside me, handing me a flat white latte. He taps his cup against mine. “Congratulations. A successful wedding. You really are an amazing wedding coordinator.”
“It was a team effort.” I check my watch. “It’s almost time to toss the bouquet.”
“Just drink.”
I do, and it’s the most amazing cup with a rich texture and a soothing aroma. “This is…”
“A winner?” he offers.
“Nice,” I finish. “Very, very nice.” My smile widens. “You should open The Brew for more events like this.”
“I don’t know if I could handle too many of those all-nighters,” he admits.
“It wasn’t too bad. Especially with your Plot Twist.”
“It helps when you have a team,” he agrees.
“Absolutely.” I notice the foam heart at the center of my latte. “How will I ever match your artistic abilities?”
“You haven’t been practicing for our competition?” he asks.
“I’ll get right on that.”
He sips his coffee. “See, my plan is working.”
“What plan is that?”
“If I keep you busy enough,” he says, “then I win. By default.”
“Did we set a timeline for our challenge?” Again, I check my watch. “I need to prod Andrea and Taylor toward?—”
“Let them enjoy their moment.” Luke grabs my hand.
“We need to move things along, don’t we?”
“They can stay as long as they want. But they won’t. Relax, Libby. Enjoy this moment. All is right with the world. The wedding is a success. The bride and groom are happy and dancing.”
I frown at him. Is it really so hard for me to relax?
The music changes to the upbeat It’s a Beautiful Day by Michael Bublé. Family and friends move tables and chairs to the far edges of the room so they can more fully ‘partay.’
“Come on,” Luke says. “Let’s join them.”
I’m startled by the invitation. “Aren’t we the help?”
“Not anymore,” he says.
“But I wasn’t officially invited,” I argue, even though it’s a delay tactic. I’m not sure I can handle dancing with Luke.
“I was invited. And now you’re my guest.” He takes my latte and sets it on a table. “You’re not going to say you don’t know how to dance, are you?”
“Actually, I’m pretty good.”
“Another challenge. Well then…” He leads me to the center of the gyrating guests.
At first, I feel conspicuous in the middle of everything. My preferred posture is against the wall, unnoticed and out of the way.
With a quick tug on my hand, Luke swings me around to face him and slides his hand along my waist, pulling me close. I can feel the warmth of his hand pressed against my lower back, guiding me, steady and firm—a hand I could lean into, a hand I could hold onto.
A smile curls his lips, tugging his mouth to one side as he softly brushes the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
“Foam,” he explains.
Flustered, I trip over his foot, but he catches me. Suddenly, our bodies are pressed up against each other.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
Does he? My heart flutters. I desperately want to believe.
In perfect rhythm with the music blasting from the speakers, he guides me around the dance floor, his gaze never leaving mine.