Page 95 of The Wedding Run
I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest as if I can hide my feelings.
“Needed to think.”
“You look like you’ve been digging in the yard.”
“I was.” I dust off dirt from my jeans and T-shirt.
“Did it help?” she asks, seeing right through me.
“No.”
She rounds the counter and pokes underneath, shifting boxes and tubs.
“What are you looking for?”
She rises and props a hand on her hip. “Your good humor. Now, what drink do you want?”
“Dark and Stormy.”
“A ristretto? My goodness. This is serious.” She starts by grinding the beans, the whirring sound fills the silence. “Now,”she says when it’s quiet again, “tell me what’s happened. Did Derek make some crazy decision about the store?”
“Not yet.”
“What does that mean?” She taps the grounds. “It’s Libby, isn’t it?”
I go stock still.
“Luke Maine, I’ve known you for most of your life, and it’s clear when you’re smitten.”
“Rox—”
“Don’t Roxie me.” She starts the extraction, and the machine sputters and burbles.
“She walked out on her own wedding. She’s not ready for another relationship.”
“She told you that?” Roxie slides the cup toward me. When I don’t answer, she adds, “Don’t you think she’s old enough to know what she’s ready for?”
“And I blew it!” I say too loudly.
Roxie slides my drink toward me, remaining calm as she wipes down the counter. “I figured. So, how are you going to fix it?”
I toss back the Dark and Stormy, which is a more concentrated form of espresso. It’s hot and bitter and harsh. Grimacing as the burn travels down my throat, I manage to say, “I don’t know.”
“You have a phone, don’t you?”
I take my phone out of my hip pocket and place it on the counter.
She glares at me. “Want me to dial?”
Doubts take hold of me. “What if she doesn’t want me to call?”
“Then she won’t answer. But you won’t know unless you call.”
Slowly, I pick up the phone and then look at Roxie. “Are you going to stand there and listen?”
“I’m going to supervise,” Roxie corrects.
With a huff, I turn away and dial Libby’s number. It rings three times before I hear a click, followed by a male voice I recognize. “What the hell do you want, Maine?”
