Page 22 of The Wedding Run
“Oh, it’s all right,” she chirps. “I do need space. That was a good suggestion. I need to explore…” Her swooping glance shades her eyes with long eyelashes. “…other possibilities.”
Other possibilities?Suddenly, my jacket feels like it’s made of burlap. I stare at her a second too long, then my gaze jerks toward the road and a semi braking. I stomp on the brake, and we both fall forward, then back.
While we stare out the windshield, past the writing on the glass to the semi, and wait for it to move forward, I offer my phone to Libby. “If you want to call Derek, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
She waves it away with the flick of her wrist. “We need space. Besides, isn’t Derek on a flight to our exotic honeymoon destination this morning?”
“Imagine how hard that must be.” I attempt to conjure sympathy for him.
“He’s probably flirting with the flight attendant,” she says without an ounce of bitterness. “Besides,” she adds, “he’ll feel much better after he secures the deal.”
What was Derek thinking? Why take your bride to a business deal? Libby deserves a romantic honeymoon destination and undivided attention.
A car horn blasts theWedding Marchtune.Here comes the…HONK.
I lift my hand in a conciliatory wave to the trucker, but I notice Libby shaking her head.
“Go along to get along?” she asks.
“Seems easier,” I answer. “Not like I can explain why my truck is all decorated. We’ll get it cleaned this afternoon.”
“Think we could pick up my stuff at the B&B then? I am missing my iPad, something fierce. And, of course, my phone.”
“Sure, no problem.”
I park in front of The Brew, which has large plate glass windows beneath a red and white striped awning.
“I like it,” she says. “Very inviting.”
I check to see if she’s being sarcastic, but I read sincerity in her expression. “It’s a work in progress. Derek told me you have a good eye for decorating and such. Maybe you can give me a few pointers.”
Maude, the owner of Cinderella’s Stockings, exits the shop and blows me a kiss.
“Looks like you’re doing fine,” Libby says. “But I’m happy to help.”
I open the truck’s door for Libby and remember my promise to Derek to ‘talk him up.’ “Derek helped me finance the shop when we graduated from UGA.”
Something in her expression changes, like a shuttering of a window. “Trust funds are handy to have, aren’t they?”
Detecting full-scale sarcasm, I toss back, “He could have financed anyone, but he was a good friend. I’ll be grateful forever.”
She looks up at me. “Do you feel like you owe Derek something?”
“No, I mean, well, I am paying him back. Every penny. With interest. We have a contract.”
“Derek loves starting businesses,” she adds as we move toward the entrance. “I'm not sure he has the stamina for a long-term commitment.”
It feels like we’re playing a game of chess. “Actually,” I say, “Derek wants to expand into a bookstore, soda fountain, even a pharmacy. That’s very forward-thinking. Rock solid commitment to our partnership and the community here.”
“Oh, Derek always has plans,” she says. “Hospital. Learning Center. Retirement home. Cemetery. Soon he’ll own the whole town. Then he’ll sell it all for a profit.”
With an I’ve-got-you-now kind of smile, I say, “He’s a visionary.”
“Or an oligarch,” she tosses out.
Which makes me falter.
“After all,” she continues, “why stop with a coffee shop when you can take over and own the whole town? Or county? Or even the entire state?”
