Page 32 of The Wedding Run
We freeze as if we don’t know what to do, as if we’ve never seen bare shoulders or feet. She’s carrying a wad of wet clothes. Her clothes.
“Let me,” I say, reaching for them.
“That’s okay.” She pulls them closer.
“I’ll toss them in the wash.”
We talk over each other in a rush of words.
We’re inches apart. I’m very aware of her, my gaze locked on those brown eyes.
Then she pushes the clothes into my arms, and I scoop them toward my chest.
But something goes horribly wrong.
The damp T-shirt on top of the heap slips. We both grab for it. Our hands touch. Our arms entangle. Which ignites a spark of something I do not want to recognize or acknowledge. Our gazes meet again. Her eyes widen with shock or awareness.
She lunges backwards.
And a cold breeze hits my backside.
It’s then that I realize she’s standing a few feet away, holding my towel.
Shock flickers and flashes between us.
I lower her cold, wet clothes to cover pertinent areas.
Slowly, I back away, down the hall, around the corner, and make a break for the laundry room. Unfortunately, I have to go through the kitchen.
“Luke Ryan Maine!” Mom screeches. “What do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER 16
Libby
Hiding in Sophie’s bedroom, I shove my limbs into dry, clean clothes and feel much more comfortable, completely covered up. Hopefully, Luke is dressed by now. I try to shake off the awkward embarrassment.
I don’t know what to do with my confusion. Sitting on the bed, I do what I've always done when I feel lost or perplexed—I open my iPad and look over my beloved lists, which ground me, calm me, and set me on the right path. Except for the list of ‘things to do on a honeymoon,’ which is passé at this point, so I hit delete.
Deciding I’m no longer comfortable with this game of flirting with Luke, I tamp down my awareness… attraction… or whatever you want to call it. I start a new list of safe topics to discuss when I see Luke.
Start with the weather—always a good neutral topic. It’s cold. Or hot. Depending on whichever it is. But, no. It’s not hot. Definitely not hot.Look at those clouds!
Jump to climate change. Yes, good. The ice caps are melting. That’s not so good.
Maybe… The economic summit? Or traffic? But there is no traffic in Storybrook. Definitely return to the economic summit.
With a few options in mind, I unpack my suitcase, trying not to think of facing Luke again. I’ll pretend nothing happened. I saw nothing. He saw nothing. We’re… good.
Inside my suitcase, I discover a Polaroid of my mother with Charlie, Elle, and me. Longing wells up inside me, an ache to be with my mother again. But there is also a yearning for simpler times, when my future seemed promising.
My cell phone buzzes, and I open the video call. “What are you two doing?”
“Calling you!” Elle answers, sitting in her sunny kitchen in Atlanta.
Charlie leans into the frame. “You have your phone finally.”
“Dad brought it with my suitcase. I also have my lists. And clothes! I’ve been wearing Luke’s sister’s.”
