Page 41 of The Wedding Run
“It’s nice knowing where you come from. My dad isn’t into genealogy. Maybe my grandparents said, but I wasn't listening as a teen. I have an aunt, but we don’t see her much. I’m not even sure why.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “One should know where one comes from. It gives a foundation.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m determined to figure out the teabag Momma left. You have a good family. But what if you found something not so great in your family history?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of rascals we don’t know about. But I would want to do better, to make a better name for my family and those coming after me.”
I nudge his shoulder with my own. “You’re an idealist, Luke Maine.”
He chuckles. “Haven’t ever been accused of that. I always thought of myself as a realist.”
“Is that what Derek saw in your family? A foundation? His parents were always off, traveling. He wasn’t their priority.”
Luke shrugs. “You know, Derek, he doesn’t divulge much. But my parents accepted him for who he was, not the depth of his financial portfolio.”
My mind drifts as I watch the dancing buttercups brighten the landscape. Derek and his parents tossed stock market numbers around at the rehearsal dinner like baseball stats. I understood then the chasm within him, how we connected. We were both missing something. For him, it was his family; for me, my mother.
I shift in my seat to eye Luke. “How do you see yourself?”
“As a guy trying to enjoy life.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“There are easier ways to have fun, Luke, than running a coffee shop and helping a friend’s ex-fiancé on some wild goose chase. Not to mention, picking up somebody else’s wedding dress.”
“Handing out coffee every morning might seem small to you,” he says, “but I provide a service that some might consider essential.”
“I didn't mean?—”
“Folks can and do make their own coffee." He cuts his gaze toward me. “Even instant. But Andrea met her husband in The Brew. Maybe they would have met at the Realtors Roundtable, but maybe my shop played a part in their love story.”
“Be careful,” I warn. “Now you’re sounding like a hopeless romantic.”
He levels me with a steady gaze. “Not hopeless.”
I place a hand on his arm, enjoying our new connection. “For the record, you do more than hand out coffee, Luke.”
“Yeah?”
“Like you said, you bring people together—marriages, business meetings, friends hanging out, and reconnecting. You’re building a community, an authentic community of hearts and minds. So maybe not just a guy who’s looking for fun.”
“Nowyou’resounding like the romantic. It’s okay to have fun, Libby, even if you are accomplishing things.”
“You’re right. I do take life and myself too seriously. With all my endless lists and micromanaging. I don't like to leave things to chance. People usually depend on me and pay me to pull off an event or wedding. Without a hitch. Hopefully, under budget.”
He chuckles. “So, what is it that you want, Libby?”
I ponder it. He doesn’t offer suggestions like Derek might have. He simply waits for my answer.
I realize it’s been a while since I considered my wants and needs, other than flowers for my bouquet. “At one time,” I finally say, “I knew. I always had running lists of things to accomplish. In case…”
“In case you didn’t have time?” Luke sees right into my heart.
“I thought that by marrying Derek, we could do a lot together—help build places and communities—but I was fooling myself. We were only pursuing Derek’s Alexander-the-Great-takeover of the world. Or at least the western hemisphere.”
Luke’s eyes alight with humor, but he leans toward me, the tip of his finger touching my hand. “Maybe,” he says, his voice rumbling through me, “you were looking to be a part of a community yourself.”
