Page 44 of The Wedding Run
“Oh, we, uh…" I stutter.
“Thank you!” Luke replies before I can get the words out.
But they’ve moved on as some antique treasure grabs their attention.
“That keeps happening,” I lament.
“Probably because you’re either in a wedding dress or I’m carrying one.”
“Luke Maine!” a voice shouts and stops us cold.
A woman marches toward us, her hair bouncing around her shoulders with each purposeful stride. Her face is pinched into a scowl. Her hands are fisted at her sides.
“Who is she?” I say under my breath.
“Just a friend,” Luke says. “Bethany. How are you? This is?—”
“How am I?!” Her voice sounds shrill. Her gaze bounces between us and the dress. “I heard it. But I couldn’t believe it. But now! Now I see whosheis.”
Luke looks flustered. “It’s not what you?—”
The slap comes so fast that Luke’s head snaps in my direction. Bethany winces and shakes her hand.
“So… there!” She pushes between us and storms off down the sidewalk.
Luke rubs his reddened cheek.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He works his jaw. “Guess I won’t be asking her out again.”
“Oh, Luke,” I grasp his arm. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t you apologize to him!” a woman, wearing a battered cowboy hat, demands.
A gentleman in overalls and a straw hat waggles his finger at Luke. “Shouldn’t be asking another woman out on the town with your woman standing beside you.”
“He been cheating on you?” asks a tatted-up teen like we’re in some kind of Emily Henry novel.
I glance around and realize we’ve garnered quite a crowd. Apparently, we’re more interesting than the bedpan vintage art.
An elderly man strikes his pipe against his boot heel, knocking out the old tobacco. “You best do right by your gal there. Kiss her! Declare to the world that she’s your woman and no other.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, but everyone starts talking simultaneously.
Luke adds, “It’s not like?—”
“She don’t deserve you then,” the teen pipes in. “Dump his sorry?—”
“No, no,” I try to explain. “Luke’s a great guy. He’s not?—”
“Listen to her defending that rascal. A real man would do right by the lady,” someone else comments.
It’s beginning to feel claustrophobic with the nosy bystanders circling us like vultures.
And then, I get the giggles. I pinch my lips, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole situation.
“Is she crying? You've made her cry!”
