Page 46 of The Wedding Run
I capture her mouth. At first, I press my lips to hers, waiting for her to soften, which she does, and then she yields.
It’s no longer me kissing Libby; instead, she’s kissing me. We’re truly kissing. Right here on Main Street, with God and everyone… and I mean, everyone watching.
Amid the haze buzzing through me, I realize I don’t want this kiss to end. I want this kiss to go on and on. The realization makes me withdraw.
As suddenly as it began, it’s over.
It feels like Libby and I are in a protective bubble. I can hear her breathing and feel her heart pounding in rhythm with mine. I become aware of my hands on her waist and hers around my neck. Gently, I tug her hands free. “You can let go now.”
She jerks back a step, breaking contact, wobbling. As I steady her, I become aware of the loud whoops and applause from the crowd. Car horns blast. The crowd of faces spins around us in a blur.
I turn to the man in the overalls. “Thank you, sir.”
He hands me the dress, and I hook it over my shoulder. Libby looks dazed and confused. I take her hand, and the crowd parts as I lead her to the train depot.
CHAPTER 23
Libby
What was I expecting? A brush of his stubbled cheek against mine. A quick peck. Something like Harry Potter kissing Ginny Weasley, sweet and tame. But it felt more like that kiss of Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy in their snow globe universe, oblivious to the cold and the people and noise.
I don’t return to my full cognitive abilities until we sit on the train again. Luke drapes the wedding dress over the seat in front of us.
We sit side by side, not looking at each other, not speaking, definitely not remembering. At least I’m trying not to. And yet, how can I not?
The first thing that pops into my head is: “I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What?” he asks.
I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. Maybe my mental abilities are off. “That woman,” I explain, “she must have had some claim on you. After all, she slapped the fire out of you.”
“Yeah, well… Some things mean more than they should.”
“What does that mean? Did you sleep with her?”
“What? No. We went out once. I didn’t even kiss her.” He looks at me then, and the weight of his meaning is apparent.
“We,”I say, emphasizing the word, “haven’t been out once.”
“Technically,” he says, “we have. I bought you lunch. You even called it a date.”
“That doesn’t count,” I argue. “I was wearing my wedding dress. For another man.”
“That says more about you than me.” He winks.
I can’t help but laugh. “Fine,” I say, settling back into the seat. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”
“What exactly?” he asks. “Getting slapped? Or are you talking about our kiss?”
Ooh, the kiss. I swallow hard. The kiss is a topic we should avoid. Mainly because of what he said right before. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.’ How long exactly had he been wanting to kiss me? Is that my fault? After all, I flirted with him every time he praised Derek. What did I think would happen?
But if I’m being honest with myself, and of course I don’t tell Luke this, I’ve wanted to kiss him since he carried me up the stairs at the Bookmark B&B.
He leans in close, making me want to graze a finger along his jaw and kiss him again. This time, without an audience.
“You taste like cotton candy,” he says in a low, sexy tone.
“Too sweet?” I ask, more playful than I intended. I feel confused, uncertain if I want to flirt or if I want to create a steel barricade between us.
