Page 7 of Runaway Bride's Guide to Love

“Okay, it’s just us,” Mom says, her voice gentle and soothing. “I thought you might have pre-wedding jitters, but something tells me there’s more to this than cold feet and a hideous dress.”

I don’t know why, but my mom calling this dress hideous makes me laugh. Demetria Banks is as properly southern as they come, so a direct insult means you know it’s bad.

“It’s...” My words trail off because I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to tell my family about Duncan’s stupidity? I mean, I will and I should, but now doesn’t feel like the time.

What I want to admit is how I’ve been feeling since Duncan and I got engaged. A feeling I’ve pushed down for months but is now bubbling at the surface. How I’ve never been truly excited. How sometimes I’ve wanted the wedding more than the marriage. That I think I’m only getting married because he’s the first one to ask.

I want to ask them about every doubt that seems to be rapid firing in my brain. But I don’t say or ask any of that. Instead, I say the only question I can properly articulate.

“Mom? How did you know?”

The question is vague, but from the look on my mom’s face, she knows exactly what I’m asking.

“I wish I had these great words of wisdom, but I don’t,” she says. “I just knew. Though that was probably because since the day we met, your daddy was telling me he was going to marry me, so after a while I didn’t have a choice.”

We all laugh, knowing that my dad might talk a big game, but when it comes to my mom, the man does whatever she wants.

“I know that doesn’t help much,” she says, motioning me to stand up with her. “But I want you to do something for me.”

My mom positions me back in front of the mirror. Unfortunately the dress hasn’t gotten better in the last ten minutes. My hair and makeup still look flawless, though.

“I want you to look in the mirror. Just at your face. Not at the dress.” This makes everyone in the room chuckle. “Now I wantyou to think about walking down the aisle to Duncan. Think about holding his hands as you say your vows. Think about kissing him for the first time as his wife. Think about all the good moments you’ve had before and all the memories you’re going to make in the future. Can you see them? Because if you do, then you’re going to be just fine. If you can’t, then maybe this isn’t just cold feet.”

I nod and do as she says, closing my eyes and thinking.

But I don’t think about the wedding or anything that hasn’t happened. No, I think about the day when he became more than just a lawyer who worked at my firm.

As the office administrator at Carter, Banks, and Fairchild, it’s my job to know every employee. And not just their names. What makes me the best at my job is that I remember everything—law specialties, coffee order, marital status. And those are just to name a few. You want to know it? I can find out for you in three to five business days. Background checks have nothing on Stella Banks.

Duncan Hughes was an associate who was on a fast track to making partner. His specialty was in contract law, and he was making a lot of money for the firm. He was single, no wife or kids, and never had a girlfriend. At least, he never brought a woman to the office parties, and his social media was woman free beyond the pictures with his mom. His go-to lunch order was a turkey club, he drank exactly two cups of coffee a day, but when the days were a grind, he’d slam a Red Bull in the afternoon.

Basically, he’s your standard late twenties/early-thirties lawyer in Nashville. Which is probably why I never really paid attention to him. He just blended in with the rest of the associates. In fact, and I’ll never tell him this, sometimes he looked so young a few of us thought he was an intern. I mean, he’s five-foot-seven on a good day, in his good shoes, and has a face that takes two weeks to sprout stubble. On the outside, he wasn’t my type: he wasn’t at least five-foot-ten with perfectlystyled blond or brown hair who could rock a suit during the week and had his country club look down for the weekends. In college I went after the frat guys who smelled like daddy’s money. As an adult, they became finance bros. The more expensive the cologne, the more attracted I was. And if he was a few years older? Your girl was down bad.

Duncan had a few of those qualities—he’s three years older than me, has sandy brown hair, and is from a well-to-do family—but that’s where the list ended.

That was until the day I realized that a list is nothing more than an arbitrary piece of paper.

It was the company Christmas party on December 23, nearly four years ago. Everyone at the firm was laughing, drinking, and dancing. Everyone except me. I was sulking at the bar.

Why? Because yet another of my sorority sisters had gotten an engagement ring for Christmas.

That was six so far during the holiday season, with ten days to go before the new year. Then there were the three weddings I’d been in that summer and the four others I went to as a guest—a dateless guest, nonetheless.

And there I was. So single I didn’t even try to get a date to the party. Hadn’t even been on a date in months. Serious relationship? Never heard of it. While my friends were leaving the University of Tennessee with their M.R.S. degrees, I was leaving with a degree in marketing and memories of good times but not long times.

But that was the story of my college experience. In a sorority, but not on the board. Good grades, but not graduating with cords. Good internship, but didn’t feel real because my dad set it up with one of his clients.

So when it came to my personal life, I felt on the outside looking in—again. Granted, I thought I was good with being single. I loved my life. At the time, I was twenty-three, living in Nashville, working a job I loved. I had friends, went to concerts, and saw my family frequently. I had the occasional date, and theoccasional overnight guest, but no one I was bringing home to Sunday dinner. But deep down I had wondered when it was going to be my turn.

Normally, I was good about keeping those feelings of loneliness and “why not me” at bay. That Christmas, I couldn’t do it anymore. When was it going to be my turn? Why hadn’t I met someone? Was something wrong with me? Was I too short? Too blonde? Not pretty enough? Too pretty? Did I go too hard on the halcyon ho days of college and my early twenties? Was I not smart enough? Did I have a piece of toilet paper permanently stuck to my heel?

Seeing yet another engagement social media post was a wakeup call. A slap in the face that it was time for me to get serious about dating. I wanted the happily ever after, I wanted what my friends had, so that meant I had to be done with my wild days. It was going to become my New Year’s resolution to start seriously looking for a relationship and moving into the next part of my life. Becoming a real adult.

And like he could hear my thoughts, there came Duncan sliding up next to me at the bar. His shy smile hit me right in the heart, and all I could think was that Santa had brought me an early Christmas present.

He made me smile. He made me laugh. And me made me grow up, which was a good thing. I couldn’t be crazy party girl Stella forever. And I was good for him. If for no other reason than I started making him style his hair and expand his tie collection.

We took trips. We went to wineries and drove to Knoxville to tailgate for UT games. He was a good guy with whom I’d share a good and comfortable life. Stable. Sure, there weren’t a ton of sparks or fireworks, but who needs that when you’re planning for the rest of your life? He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

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