Page 98 of The Wedding Run
The bride and the coordinator rush to the nearest restroom, which turns out to be the men's. However, it'san emergency.
Derek takes my arm. “Don’t embarrass me.”
“All we have to do is walk to the front,” I explain. “And part ways. I’ll go left. You go right.” The couple ahead of us reaches the designated pew, and I step forward. “Let’s go.”
Derek drags his feet. “I’ll lead.”
“This isn’t a dance.”
But he stands as stiff as a statue until I relent. Then he steps out, taking long strides, and I double-step, teetering on my heels as I catch up.
We’re halfway to the altar, and I see Trevor waiting impatiently for his bride. He’s swaying from side to side, nerves getting the better of him.
A commotion erupts behind us. A door slams shut. A gasp echoes through the entry hall, filtering into the sanctuary.
“Hold on there, sir!” Nadine’s voice cuts through the sanctuary.
Derek glances behind us, but I tug on his arm. Unexpected things happen at a wedding, and the general rule is to keep everything moving.
Running footsteps make me hesitate. Someone rushes past us, bumping into Derek. It’s a man wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. He stops and turns back. It’s Luke.
The music comes to a screeching stop.
Luke’s face is red and sweaty, as if he’s run all ninety miles from Storybrook to Atlanta. Beneath the flannel shirt is a faded, dirt-smudged T-shirt. Has he been working in his garden? I have the strangest urge to ask what he’s planting.
But Derek speaks first. “Luke, what are you doing?”
“Libby.” Out of breath, Luke manages to say, “I can’t let you go through with this.” His blue eyes peer deep into my soul and take my breath away.
That look is what I imagined Derek would have when I walked down the aisle—the look I never saw. Not even when I showed up in my wedding dress at the groom’s cottage to tell him the wedding was off. Before he knew what I was there for, all he could do was rearrange a lock of my hair that had slipped out of a bobby pin. But that look I craved? Nope. Not even an inkling.
But now, Luke looks at me in a way I've never dreamed possible. It feels like an intimate embrace, drawing me into him, seeing me, the real me, and cherishing me.
“You can’t marry him, Libby," Luke says. "You know you don’t love him.”
“Luke—” I sputter.
He cuts me off. “This isn’t about me. I want you to be happy. And you weren’t happy with Derek, doing what he wanted and never pursuing your dreams.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Derek demands.
Luke takes my hand, which holds the dainty bouquet. “Libby, I wasn’t going to say this, but I love you. I do. I didn’t want to. God knows I tried not to. I didn’t want to betray my best friend. And you make the worst coffee imaginable, but I can’t help myself. I love you. I don’t care if it costs me my store or if Derek pulls his loan and shuts us down out of spite. I. Don’t. Care. You’re all that matters to me.” He moves closer. “Before you say your vows, I thought you should know.”
“Luke!” Derek seethes.
“Luke,” I keep my voice as low as I can, “you don’t understand?—”
“You’re a fool,” Derek interrupts. “This is unbelievable.”
I hold Luke’s desperate gaze as I break the news to him. “This is not my wedding.”
The earnestness in Luke’s face goes slack.
Maybe it’s the lighting in the sanctuary or his despondency, but how could he not see that I’m wearing gray and not white?
Luke glances from Derek to me before shifting his gaze to take in the seven hundred guests. Fourteen hundred eyes are watching. That doesn’t even account for the orchestra and wedding party already positioned at the front of the sanctuary. All remain frozen, leaning forward to catch every single word spoken. Guests stand behind Luke, rising on tiptoe to catch a glimpse. Some jump onto the pews for a better view.
“I’m not marrying her,” Derek says in a tone that conveys I’m the last person he would ever consider marrying. Then he shoves Luke. Hard.
