Page 40 of The Wedding Run
Aline forms outside a train that reminds me of the Hogwarts Express. I look to Luke. “We’re taking a scenic tour?”
“It’s the quickest way to get to Nickel Mine,” Luke explains. “And the most fun.”
“There’s not going to be a murder, like on the Orient Express, is there? Or dementors stopping us on our way?”
“It’s more like Thomas the Tank Engine,” he says. “My folks used to take Sophie and me on the train. We loved it.”
“Do I get cotton candy?” I ask, noticing a mom corralling two toddlers and their plastic bags of blue and pink sugar clouds.
“If you want some.”
“My sister Elle used to love cotton candy,” I tell him as we inch along in line. “She has quite the sweet tooth, which is probably why she became a cake connoisseur.”
“And your other sister?”
“Charlie is like Ringo Starr.”
“A drummer?” he asks.
“To her own beat.”
He nods with a smile.
He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and a light stubble covers his jaw. It looks good on him. That thought needs banishing, so I ask, “What about your sister, Sophie?”
A wistful look crosses his features, and then he grins. “She stole my cotton candy.”
We share another laugh, board the train, and find seats.
The plush fabric has lost its shine, but the faded red has been well-maintained. It occurs to me that Derek would replace it, but I like the vintage appearance, as if it can transport us to another time.
Maybe my nostalgia is why I like being here in this mountain escape. Atlanta has the hustle and bustle of moving on and moving up, with new shiny buildings interspersed with a few relics from the past. But here in Storybrook, it’s like a time capsule of a simpler time, where a leisurely pace is admired, chatting with neighbors is a priority, and helping another person is rewarded with a smile.
Other passengers crowd onto the coach, storing bags and luggage and then filing into seats. Some look like tourists as they stop to take group photos and selfies, but others look like locals who use the train for transportation through the valley.
A whistle blows, and the train chugs forward.
Luke and I slide into vacant seats, and our shoulders brush lightly with the train car’s rocking motion. We stare out the big windows at the pines blurring past. The forest grows denser, blocking the sun for a moment, and then the train bursts into the valley. Sunshine pours through the windows as we curve along the tracks. The mountain’s crest touches the blue sky, and wildflowers wave a greeting.
“It truly is a beautiful area,” I say.
“It’s what kept me here after college,” Luke says. “That and family.” He clears his throat. “Derek fell in love with it, too.Although I'm not sure he would admit it. He tends to see potential in real estate. He's a good investor.”
I catch Luke’s reversal as he pumps up Derek’s qualities. “Derek,” I say, “always thinks he can improve on a place.”
“He’s usually right.”
Protective barriers around my heart rise. “Doesn’t that mean Derek sees flaws instead of the natural beauty? Maybe it’s perfect the way it is.”
“We locals like to think so. But in all honesty,” Luke leans close, “and you know I love Storybrook, but a few updates wouldn’t be tragic. The timing of traffic lights. Plumbing. Potholes.”
“Gives it character,” I contradict.
“Tell me that when the toilet stops up during the wedding.”
I make a quick mental note. “How long has your family lived here?”
“My great, great, great-grandfather came over from Wales. I may be short or long on the greats. He settled in the valley, married a Cherokee widow, and built a family and a life. He said the mountains and lush valleys reminded him of home.”
