Page 73 of The Wedding Run
“We would have missed out on a truly great wonder of the world,” Luke adds.
“You mean blunders of the world,” Charlie fires back.
Luke laughs.
I feel jealousy gnawing at me as I imagine Luke standing before the leaning Tower of Pisa, pretending to lift, push, or kick it over while Charlie snaps photo after photo. Then they embrace and?—
I overexpose the image in my head because I’m being absurd. Charlie isn’t interested in Luke. Or is she? Luke’s only being friendly. Right?
What is wrong with me? I never felt this way about Derek, even when women flirted with him. And boy, did they! He even encouraged and relished the attention. But now I realize, I was never worried about having my heart broken.
And that’s how I know I’ve reached the point of no return with Luke.
CHAPTER 37
Libby
In the pre-dawn hours, we gather in The Brew. The minutes tick by faster and faster like a snowball rolling down a hill. Luke makes us refreshing drinks with coconut water. Elle carefully crafts her masterpiece. Charlie takes pictures of everything. Roxie and I arrange a display of trays and baskets.
When Luke ducks into his office to change into a suit, Charlie leans in close to me. “What’s going on with you?”
My defenses rise. “What do you mean?”
“You and Luke. Are you two an item?”
“What’s happening?” Elle barges in. “You and Luke are?—”
“No. No, we’re not.”
Charlie props a hand on her hip. “Then why were you giving me the stink-eye when I was talking to him?”
“I wasn’t!”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Elle beams. “I like it.”
“You like what?” I ask, irritated by their intrusion into my personal life.
Elle waves her hands toward the stunning four-tiered wedding cake. It’s a marvel of icing and bubble-tea-straw engineering. Sugared pearls adorn the white buttercreamfrosting. Purple orchids, pink roses, and white peonies cascade down and around the tiers.
Charlie and I are left speechless.
“Too simple?” Elle worries.
“It’s gorgeous,” I assure her. We needed a cake—flour, sugar, eggs, and frosting. But this is worthy of Buddy Valastro’s approval.
Luke enters, looking sharp in a dark suit, with the white shirt accentuating his natural tan. And he shaved. “Bride’s here.”
That galvanizes us to work.
At five thirty, the bride isolates herself in Luke’s office with her mother and maid of honor. The groom paces along the counter while Luke prepares him a drink.
“I call this the Dubliner. Totally off-menu.”
I catch a whiff of whiskey. That should calm him down.
At six, darkness blankets The Brew. Luke sets up a chalkboard sign outside the front door:closed for private event. The florist arrives with bouquets, boutonnieres, and an arched trellis for the couple to exchange their vows. Slowly but surely, enthusiastic guests start to gather. The chilly spring air feels magical. Charlie snaps photos of the venue and the guests. In the kitchen, Elle arranges quiches and scones on platters with sprigs of dried lavender, while I tick off items on my list.
