Page 84 of The Wedding Run
“You’re curious about what it is, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Guilty.” I glance around at all the cleared surfaces and sparse furniture. “You have a nice place.”
“I got rid of many of my things because I was moving into Derek’s penthouse. But now I’ll be staying put. I need to call about renewing my apartment lease.” She stifles a yawn. “The sofa folds out into a bed. If you want to stay the night.”
“I’m feeling that all-night baking session, too. But I’ll drive home. It’s only an hour.” My attention veers toward the sliding glass door. “You have a terrace?”
She turns on the outside light and opens the door. “My little garden.”
It’s a balmy evening, and I can hear the cheerful twitter of birdsong. She plugs in the lights strung along the fence, brightening the area and showcasing the empty flowerpots.
“I never got around to planting anything this spring. What with the wedding plans.” Cupping a drooping gardenia, she adds, “I need to water.”
A sunflower has pushed up from the ground. It’s not yet blooming. I quote, “Arise from their graves and aspire; Where my sunflower wishes to go.” Then I confess, “William Blake.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“I looked up that poem you quoted at my cabin. It made me think about life and the longing for happiness.”
“Yes,” she breathes.
I shrug, feeling uncomfortable, as if I’ve revealed too much. “Seems like you’re a lot like your mom. Since she used to garden as well.”
Her brown eyes radiate warmth and emotion. “Thank you for that. I thought understanding the meaning behind the teabag would connect me to her. But maybe I already am, and I’m only now realizing it.”
She seems small and fragile, like a wounded bird, so I loop an arm around her shoulders, tucking her against my side, where she fits perfectly. I want to say something to ease her grief, yet I know there’s nothing I can say. Grief can’t be disregarded or swept away; it must be walked through, one step at a time. And I realize I want to walk alongside Libby.
“Maybe,” she says, “that teabag doesn’t mean anything.”
I sense her heartbreak and pull her closer. She buries her face against my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist. Then she looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “Luke…”
I’m a terrible person, no longer considering her grief but instead wanting to kiss her. This time, I won’t pretend—not that I did before.
I disentangle from her embrace. “I should go.”
CHAPTER 42
Libby
Icatch up to Luke at the door and grab his arm. “Luke…”
He turns, and I nearly crash into him. He steadies me with a hand on my arm.
“I wanted to say thank you again. You know, for everything.”
“Of course. No problem.” He reaches for the doorknob.
“And…” I draw his gaze back to me.
Words stockpile in my throat. I know what Iwantto say, but I don’t dare. So, I look at him, not wanting him to leave. Confusion twists my insides and jumbles my thoughts.
“Libby?” he asks. “Are you afraid to be alone?”
“No, that’s… no! I’m fine.”
“Do you need something, then?”
Doubt feels like mosquito bites on my soul. I stumble over my thoughts and feelings, landing in what feels like quicksand that pulls me down. “Coffee before you go?”
