Page 3 of The Wedding Run
Bailey prances alongside us as Luke whisks me up the few steps to the porch, nudges open the door to the B&B with his foot, and carries me?—
“Wait!”
He stops mid-stride. “What?”
Bailey sits, his tail sweeping the floor.
I glance overhead at the door jamb, then down at the threshold. Luke seems to realize thefaux pasat the very same moment.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says.
“Of course not,” I agree. But I wave him onto the porch.
Luke steps back, then takes another. For a long minute, he holds me as if I don’t weigh a thing.
“You can put me down.”
“But your feet…” For a longer moment, we stare at my painted toes in the contraption that forces them to point in different directions. “They look uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, well…” I feel more awkward by the second. “I made it down the stairs this way. I’ll be fine going back up.”
He peers inside at the long, curved staircase. “You could have fallen.”
“I didn’t.”
“But it’s not safe.”
“I’m fine.”
Then, without further ado, he ignores convention, carries me over the threshold, and climbs the stairs, taking me to the bridal suite like he knows the way. Bailey races up the stairs ahead of us. He sits at the top and barks.
Suddenly, a door along the hallway swings open. It’s Charlie. Her long, wet hair clings to her head. She’s wrapped in a towel after her shower. I wave to her with my big toe and tilt my head toward Luke as if to say, "Here he is! Pay attention!"
We sweep past her. Unfortunately, Luke doesn’t glance in her direction. But there’s time later at the reception. I’ll get her to put down her camera and dance with Luke. I gesture toward his back to draw her attention to his strength.
But Charlie’s no longer paying attention. She’s pulling Bailey into her room.
She doesn’t seem to care that I’m being carted through the house like a damsel in distress. Which I most certainly am not. Or like one of those ancient gothic romance novels where the hero ravishes the heroine.Nope! Stop that kind of thinking!
Another door opens. Elle, dressed in her usual stylish way, follows us.
I smile at her, tilting my head toward Luke to say, "Look at this one!"since she usually has several men lined up to date her.
The towel covering my hair tips forward and bops Luke in the head.
As we enter the bridal suite, he sets me on my feet, er… heels. I wobble, and he steadies me with a hand at my waist.
“You good?” he asks, his voice deep and sincere.
“Huh?” My thoughts tumble over each other.
“Nails intact?”
I glance at my fingers and toes. The polish is smooth, silky, and un-smudged. “Perfect.”
“Great.” Oddly, even after hauling me up the stairs, he doesn’t seem out of breath. Yet I do.
“You need to change,” I call after him. “And shave!”
