Page 1 of The Wedding Run
CHAPTER 1
Libby
Ihave a confession to make. I don’t believe in happily-ever-after. I don’t cry at sappy commercials. I don’t scroll through social media, oohing and ahhing over puppies, kittens, and fainting goats. I don’t weep at Colleen Hoover’s best sellers. (Sorry about that one. Truly.)
I realize it’s a strange confession, especially today of all days, and considering what I do for a living. Life is what you make of it. Until the universe conspires against you. My coping mechanism, to accomplish as much as possible in whatever time I’m allotted, is making lists—lots of lists. And I check them more than Santa checks his.
But my immediate problem is not the universe; it is my two younger sisters, Charlie and Elle. They stole my iPad and my lists, saying, “Libby, you need to enjoy your wedding day!”
They don’t understand that ticking off tasks brings me joy. Now, instead of peace and serenity, my insides are tied in knots.
Or maybe it’s that I’m missing my mother even more today, of all days.
Now that my sisters have gone to shower and dress for the ceremony, I’m stuck in a chintz-covered chair, my fingernailsdrying and my toes stretched at impossible angles in a spongy torture contraption. At least, they think I’m stuck.
This is my one opportunity to get my lists in hand.
They left Charlie’s goldendoodle, Bailey, a seventy-pound teddy bear, to guard me. Yet, Bailey trots to the wide window, keeping watch for squirrels and butterflies. The window looks out onto the Bookmark B&B’s manicured lawns, which my fiancé chose for our wedding. It’s just outside the north Georgia town of Storybrook. To be honest, Derek wants to buy the B&B, but Delia, the owner, isn’t about to sell her family heirloom.
Carefully and cautiously, I stand in my fluffy white robe, wobbling on my bare heels since I can’t put my toes down for fear of ruining the polish. The towel around my head tilts precariously, and I stumble forward. Bailey tracks me to the door, sniffing at the strange scent on my toes.
“Stay, boy,” I say. He sits, looking up at me with gentle, intuitive brown eyes.
The hallway is empty and quiet. My sisters have retreated to their rooms, and even Delia has gone to handle last-minute details. This is my one and only chance.
Bailey looks at me anxiously as I step into the hallway, and he follows.
“No, Bailey,” I whisper and attempt to close the door, careful not to smudge my drying fingernails, but he slips out and scampers away.
The stairs prove challenging for my hobbling gait, heels first, toes flexed. Bailey bounds ahead, his nails clicking on the hardwood. He turns and comes back, crossing in front of me, then behind, and I’m sure he’s going to knock me off my feet and plunge me to my death. I can imagine the headline, “Bride dies on her wedding day.”
Somehow, I make it to the last step where I teeter, the towel tipping my head this way and that. With my palm on therailing, I regain my balance and practice the breathing exercise Charlie taught me—in two, three, four, out for eight counts. Then I waddle to the landing without anyone being the wiser or breaking my neck.
Now, to get my lists!
Bailey wags his tail in anticipation as I aim for the front door.
“Stay,” I repeat, but he ignores me.
I turn the knob with the heels of my hands. He squirts past me, nearly knocking me over and blowing my robe upward. I do a ‘Marilyn Monroe,’ knees together, hands blocking skirt move, which doesn’t look as elegant with my toes flexed and contorted.
“Fine,” I murmur, “let’s fetch my lists.”
He must have understood the word ‘fetch’ because Bailey barks and leaps off the porch as if he’s going after a tennis ball.
I totter outside, thankful it’s a beautiful spring day. I’ve checked the weather app on my phone a million times in the last week, as our wedding will take place in the gazebo at the lake’s edge.
Using the heels of my hands to close the door, I can't get it to latch. But I’ll be back soon—with my iPad. A quick glance left, then right, and I head for the parking area. No guests have arrived, and neither has my fiancé, but he’s not due for another hour or so. It's on my list.
A couple of days ago, I rode in Charlie's Jeep to the Bookmark B&B, leaving my car at my apartment in Atlanta. When Elle stole my iPad, she gave it to Charlie, who brought it out here. Her Jeep's windows and top are off, so this will be an easy retrieval.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch…” I wince as my buffed and moisturized bare heels crunch the gravel on the driveway.
Bailey blocks my path, chest down and butt in the air, ready to play. When he barks, I fuss at him. "Shh!"
He leaps up, his nose poking under my bathrobe.
“Hey, stop that!” I wave him away, but he circles and twirls on his hind legs, bouncing and leaping like the Easter bunny has arrived.
