Page 47 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

“Yes, but now you’re grown, and you’ve been to fancier places than mine. The Mag being one of them, I’m sure.”

I shake my head. “I’ve only ever been there once, and it was only for a moment. I’ve never stayed there.”

“Oh, I just assumed, sorry.”

“No problem.”

Mrs. Whitmore looks over the table at Lance.

God, this is so uncomfortable.

“Where are you two headed today?” Mr. Whitmore asks.

“I told you, the Twisted Stem in Sunrise Bay,” Lance says, sounding a little annoyed with his dad.

“Oh, why aren’t you using Bloom here in town?” Mrs. Whitmore asks, looking at me. I want to tell her that her son decided that.

“Because Kenzie needs more exotic flowers,” Lance says.

I turn my head to look at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve attended weddings for your family, and I may have called your mom.” He doesn’t look at me.

“You what?” Mrs. Whitmore and I say at the same time.

Mr. Whitmore laughs. “Excuse me. I see someone I need to have a word with. I’ll be right back.”

Lance shrugs and finally meets my gaze. “I remember you mentioning the flowers and I knew it would be important to you. Hibiscus and plumerias, right?”

I want to wrap my arms around him and squeeze, but I don’t. What is this warm feeling spreading through my chest?

Mrs. Whitmore leans back in the booth, holding her coffee cup close to her lips while she watches her son. She’s still so beautiful. She was always elegant and graceful, but now she seems even more so with age. Growing up, I was so jealous of her and her close family. Not that my family isn’t tight-knit, but when we lived here, it was only Mom, Dad, and me. All of our extended family was thousands of miles away.

“You’re so thoughtful.” She touches his hand.

He’s quick to shrug off the compliment. “It’s just me doing the job I was assigned.”

“I really appreciate it,” I say, cutting my eggs. I fork them into my mouth, unable to make eye contact with him again.

“Like I said, it’s my job.”

Mr. Whitmore returns and hands Mrs. Whitmore a plate with a chocolate croissant on it.

“I can’t,” she says, pushing it away.

“You can.” He slides it back in front of her.

She takes a fork and knife, eating it like a queen or something.

“I’m glad to hear things are coming along. I assume you’ll have some weeks before the wedding when there won’t be much to do. Are you planning on returning to New York?” Mr. Whitmore asks.

I shake my head. “My parents are renting a house for the holidays. I think they missed it here as much as I did.”

“But you’ll be settling in New York with your fiancé, won’t you?” Mrs. Whitmore asks. Her tone is one of certainty as if she’d better be right. As though Will would ever settle down here.

“That’s the plan. His dad is starting to travel more, and Will will be acquiring more of the business to manage after we’re married.”

She stares at me over the rim of her cup. “That’s a lot of change at once. You’ll be newlyweds. Make sure you don’t lose sight of one another. Especially with your podcast on the rise. I’m sure you’ll be busy too.”

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