Page 13 of The Wedding Run
The cab becomes increasingly quiet. I consider turning on the radio but decide against it. I might accidentally land on ‘their song,’ whatever that might be. So, I drive. One glance in her direction shows me Libby is staring out the side window at the blur of trees and rocks.
A few minutes later, I turn into the parking lot of Once Upon a Pie. The diner’s marquee has faded to a dull green since it wasbuilt in the 1950s. It's changed names and ownership since then. The building looks like a silver streamliner.
“Hungry?” I ask. “It’s Storybrook’s finest.”
Slowly, Libby looks at me, blinking as if waking. Then she grins, her eyes crinkling with hope and sparking something inside me. “How’d you know?”
CHAPTER 6
Libby
Luke helps me out of the truck. My veil and skirt, heavy and cumbersome, trip me, and I fall right into his arms.
Our eyes meet. His blue eyes look startled but not alarmed.
“I gotcha,” he says, setting my feet firmly on the concrete walk.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have any other clothes with me. When I ordered this dress, I didn’t think I’d be on the run in it.”
Another contingency I should have factored into my plans. Next time,ifthere is a next time, I’m going for track shoes.
“Who’s going to notice?” he asks.
Famous last words.
We walk into Once Upon a Pie, and the bell over our heads announces our arrival as if it were Mendelssohn’sWedding March. The place breaks into applause. Clearly, customers must have seen Luke’s decorated truck, his tux, and my dress, and come to their own conclusions. Diners lean out of booths to catch a look. Others crane their necks. I consider making a break for it.
But Luke keeps a steadying hand on my elbow. From the corner of my eye, I catch him making a slashing motion with his other hand, and the applause sputters out.
An older waitress bustles toward us, her support hose making a swishing sound with each step. “Welcome, folks,” she says as if we are any ordinary couple arriving mid-Saturday for a weekend of antiquing. “Let me get you a table.”
“In the back?” Luke requests.
“No problem.” She grabs menus and silverware and then leads us through the diner, past booths and tables of gawking customers. I notice a few pursed, disapproving lips, hear whispers of ‘her dress is all dirty’, and a finger or two pointing in our direction.
Luke follows me, gathering the tulle train as I negotiate around a cart of syrup and ketchup-smeared dishes.
The waitress stops at the furthest booth, nestled close to the kitchen. “Coffee?”
Luke looks at me, and I manage, “Diet Coke?”
“Make it two,” he adds.
“Sure thing, hon.” And she’s off.
As I slide into the red vinyl booth, my back to the other patrons, I lay Momma's letter on the table. Luke shoves the rest of my overflowing skirt in with me. I start tugging on my veil, trying to pull it off, but it’s pinned so securely that a tornado couldn’t dislodge it.
“Here,” Luke says, “let me help.” He slides a knee onto the seat and leans over me, meticulously pulling out a cache of bobby pins. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and his broad chest close but not too close. His fingers are nimble and careful as they extricate the veil from atop my head.
“Are they still watching?” I ask, not daring to look at the rest of the dining room.
“Nah. Their pancakes and waffles are more interesting now.” His calm voice reassures me. He lifts the veil and settles it on the mountain of tulle. At least from the neck up, I resemble a regular patron now. Then Luke slides into the bench seat across the table from me. “What sounds good? Beau makes the best burgers around.”
“Extra cheese?” I ask.
“Extra everything. And amazing fries.”
“What about pie?” I ask, remembering the name of the diner.
