Page 45 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

W ith the scent of freshly baked cookies filling the apartment with gooey warmth and memories of home and family, I share the story of Momma and me making cookies.

“I remember that tea party,” Charlie says. “Or maybe it was another one.”

“We used to have them often,” I tell her.

“I don’t remember.” Elle pouts. “But I should pull out Momma’s recipe book and see what I can find.”

I prepare instant coffee and start the kettle to boil water for Charlie’s tea. I consider telling them about my conversation with Aunt Barb but decide to keep it to myself. “Chasing after that teabag,” I tell them, “stirred memories about Momma. I should share more of my memories with you.”

Charlie lightly strokes Bailey’s head.

Elle gets out plates, napkins, and coffee mugs. “I’d like that. Of course, you could let me read Momma’s letter.”

“I don’t think so.”

Charlie rolls her eyes at Elle and shoves a cookie in her mouth. “What’s this?”

“A wedding present from Dad. I’ll return it.”

Elle carries her mug of instant coffee into the living room. She peeks at the edges of the taped paper and rips a corner. “Oops! Now you have to open it.”

She was never patient on Christmas morning or birthdays, tearing into packages like Sonic the Hedgehog and scattering paper as if a tornado had swept through the house.

With both sisters assisting, I unwrap the large box. It’s a barista espresso machine that handles everything from grinding beans to steaming milk. Perhaps it will clean itself and the apartment, too.

“Like you’ve always wanted!” Elle cries, giving me a quick hug.

“I have?”

“There’s a reason Dad and Elle wanted it for you,” Charlie explains, sniffing disdainfully at the instant coffee in Elle’s mug.

“This must have cost a fortune.”

“It’ll be worth every penny.” Elle sets her mug aside. “Let’s get this bad boy out and give it a whirl!”

“Dad needs to return it.”

“Why?” Elle argues. “You still drink coffee, don’t you?”

As the kettle begins to whine, Charlie returns to the kitchen but calls, “Maybe it will convert me to a coffee drinker. Luke’s coffee wasn’t half bad.”

“It was fantastic!” Elle gushes. “If you drank coffee regularly, caffeine wouldn’t bother you so much.” She digs into the box, tossing packing paper and foam everywhere. “This better have a huge owner’s manual.”

“Preferably in English,” I say.

She laughs. “There’s probably videos on YouTube.”

“Call Luke,” Charlie says from the kitchen, “to show us how to set it up.”

“We’re smart,” I protest. “We can figure this out.”

“Where’s your tea?” Charlie asks.

Elle squeals. “Oh, look at this!”

She begins to fiddle with buttons while I flip through the instruction manual. It’s in English, but it reminds me of my car manual, which could take me a lifetime to read.

“Did you tell her?” Charlie joins us with a steaming cup while munching on another cookie. Bailey follows, hoping she’ll drop a few crumbs.

“Tell me what?” I ask cautiously.

"Haven't you checked your texts?” Charlie asks.

“We called you like three times this morning,” Elle complains.

“I turned off my ringer,” I admit, not revealing that I was avoiding Derek’s calls. “Is everything okay?”

“Dad wants a family meeting,” Elle says matter-of-factly.

I go very still.

“Probably details about the wedding,” Charlie says, finding what she’s been searching for on her phone. “There’s something else.”

“Show her,” Elle encourages.

Charlie shows me a picture from social media of Derek partying with several scantily clad women. “We thought you should see this.”

She reaches over and places her hand on mine. But I don’t feel anything—not irritation, not anger, not even jealousy. If there is any emotion flitting around like a bumblebee inside me, it’s regret followed closely by the sting of embarrassment.

“Confirmation that I made the right decision.”

Charlie reaches for her teacup. “What about Luke?”

Elle’s blue eyes shine with hope. “Maybe,” she taps the coffee machine, “this is a sign.”

“It’s a sign my father overindulges me. What’s wrong with instant?”

She scrunches up her nose, then starts swaying to imaginary music. “I saw the way you and Luke danced together. What if he’s the one?”

“This is not a Friends’ episode,” I argue. “We’re not crustaceans.”

“Lobsters,” Elle supplies.

“Luke’s best friend is Derek,” I explain. “Enough said.”

“He’s not like Derek.” Charlie lifts the teabag in and out of hot water.

Elle studies me. “You’re not telling us something. Maybe we should go after Luke ourselves. At least I could. Charlie’s seeing… what’s his name again?”

Charlie shakes her head. “Not anymore.”

“Really?!” Elle looks intrigued. “We never did meet him.”

Charlie sips her tea and then makes a face. "Exactly."

“We never meet any of her temporary boyfriends.” I try to shift the focus away from Luke and me, especially since there’s no ‘me and Luke.’

Charlie sets her teacup aside. “I could use a hot date. And Luke… well, he is hot.”

They’re teasing me. At least, I think so.

“He had me at, ‘what kind of coffee do you want?’” Elle laughs.

I roll my eyes. “Go for it. He’s not interested in me.”

“What?! How do you know?” Elle questions me like she’s a police detective seeking a full confession. “Did he say that? Outright say it? Or was it more implied?”

I feel annoyed by it all. “Derek owns over half his business! He could take his investment and let The Brew fold. Not to mention, I’m a bad risk.”

Charlie nods. “Running from the altar and all.”

Elle crosses her arms over her chest, ready to defend me. “How’s that?”

“Who in their right mind wants a runaway bride?” I ask.

“Probably makes her attractive to some men,” Charlie says. “Men like a challenge.”

“You should know,” I fire back. If anyone poses a challenge, it’s Charlie.

“Just because you ran away once does not mean you’ll do it again,” Elle argues. “Maybe Luke is giving you time to heal from your last relationship.”

Charlie nods sagely. “Sounds like love to me.”

“The sacrificial kind,” Elle agrees. “Protecting your heart. So sweet!”

I shake my head, denying everything until I focus on Charlie. And her teacup. She’s dunking the teabag—Momma’s teabag—up and down again. “Charlie!”

“What?” She jerks, nearly spilling the tea.

“What’s wrong?” Elle asks. “What’s happened?”

Bailey jumps to his feet.

I grab the cup from Charlie. Momma’s teabag is floating in the hot water.