Page 16 of The Wedding Run
He shrugs. “Did your mom not like being married?”
“She loved my dad. And he loved her. From my seven-year-old perspective, that is. Maybe the cancer was the hot water.”
“Life can be that.” Luke studies the label. “This isn’t a typical national brand.”
“You own a coffee shop, right?”
“On the square in Storybrook.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “You could help me find out where the teabag came from.”
He appears uncertain. I dismiss any rational doubts in my mind. Instead, I concentrate on the teabag. There must be a reason, a hidden message Momma was trying to communicate. I need to uncover it so I can justify my actions today. I need her guidance to steer my future. And I will discover it.
“Luke,” I say, “you know distributors of coffee brands and tea companies, right?”
“Sure,” he says almost reluctantly as if he can tell where I’m going with this.
“I could really use your help.” I pause before asking, “Will you?”
He hesitates only a second before saying, “Of course.”
CHAPTER 7
Luke
How could I say no?
When she looked at me with those eyes, I couldn’t. That’s all there was to it.
I drive through my hometown of Storybrook. Libby perks up at the sight of quaint antique shops, a second-hand bookstore, and Cinderella’s Stockings, a lingerie boutique. Turning the corner at Storyteller’s Square, I say, “There’s a Storytellers Festival every summer.”
“I didn’t know Storybrook had so much to offer.” Her gaze roams over the old-fashioned light poles along Storyteller Lane. “Where’s your shop, Luke?”
“At the corner, next to the second-hand bookstore, Well Read Books. Storybrook is the hometown of Silas LaRoux. A few of his classmates started the festival in his honor.”
"Really? I read his book back in college."
"Didn't we all?" I laugh, and Libby joins in.
We turn into the neighborhood where I grew up, driving along Fantasy Lane and taking a right on Happily Ever After Drive. Large oaks stand guard in each front yard. Picket fences surround houses, and flowering vines decorate trellises. It’s aquintessential all-American town, where neighbors help each other in need.
I park at the corner of a one-story home.
“Yours?” she asks.
“My folks.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t want to impose.”
“They insisted.”
“They know? They know about the wedding and—” She looks panicked.
“Hey, it's okay. They were at the wedding, so… yeah, they know, and they want to help.”
My folks step out onto the front porch. They must have been watching for us.I introduce them as I open the passenger door. “Libby, these are my folks, Stacy and Wade Maine.”
Mom rushes forward and helps Libby as she maneuvers out of the truck, getting tangled in that massive skirt. “What a beautiful dress.”
