Page 52 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

S torm clouds linger on the horizon. The air feels heavy and humid. Sweat beads on my forehead. I stand outside the church, scanning the parking lot for Luke’s beat-up old truck. There’s no sign of him. He must have left, and that has me wiping away more tears.

With no car of my own, my options are limited.

I sneak into the church through a side door, not wanting to interrupt the wedding ceremony again.

The minister’s voice carries through the hallways as he drones on about commitment, love, and marriage, which evokes another sob of pain and regret.

I veer toward a side hallway and enter the bridal room where we stored our personal effects.

I grab my purse, dig through it for my cell phone, and call Elle.

But she doesn’t answer. Then I call Charlie.

I can barely get the words out through my hiccupping sobs. But before we disconnect, she’s on her way.

I wait outside the church, not wanting to run into any guests or the wedding party. If the minister is wise, he’ll jump right to the vows and declare them husband and wife before anything else happens.

It doesn’t take long before Charlie arrives in her Jeep with the top down. Bailey sits in the passenger seat but moves to the back to make room for me.

“PTSD of weddings?” Charlie asks as I climb in. She shifts gears and takes off while I scramble to fasten my seatbelt.

“Luke showed up,” I explain, “to stop the wedding. He thought I was marrying Derek.”

She slams on the brakes, jolting us all forward, then stares at me. “You better wait to tell me more. Elle is meeting us at your apartment. This has gotta be good.”