Page 20 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

“I recognize you from billboards.”

Blake’s smile could light up Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The man loves being recognized. Lance’s comment fills me with pride too, because it’s an indication of how far our little podcast has come.

“You know Kenzie?” Blake asks, playing dumb. He knows exactly who Lance is. The two of us were hunkered over the magazine in which Lance was named one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. I told Blake a little about Lance when he saw that we both were from Lake Starlight, Alaska.

“We went to high school together,” he answers, glancing at me. “You okay?”

I raise my hand. “I’ll be fine. Just a little embarrassed.” I can only imagine how red my cheeks are.

“You should never be embarrassed in front of me.” Lance meets my eyes, and I have to look away. There’s a time I wouldn’t have been, but those days are long gone. “I didn’t realize this was the studio you do your podcast from.”

“Yep. What are you doing here?” I ask.

He slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks and that shy, sheepish expression I used to love so much crosses his face. “Doing an interview about that most eligible bachelor article.”

“Ohhh… I thought you looked familiar.” Blake continues to act stupid.

“I never took you as someone who liked the spotlight.” I guess if I think about it, maybe he just always allowed everyone else to have the spotlight. He was the class president, which meant he had to stand and speak in front of our entire school all the time.

“The woman who does the podcast is a friend of my assistant, so I’m doing it as a favor to her.” His shoulders rise and fall in a resigned shrug. “I don’t bask in the spotlight like your fiancé.”

I raise both eyebrows. “Why don’t the two of you get along?”

“We’re just complete opposites. I actually wonder how—”

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” Ivy, the woman who rents the space after us, barrels through the door, almost knocking right into Blake.

I’m still hanging on to Lance’s last sentence, wanting him to finish, but the moment has passed.

“Hi, I’m Ivy. Lance Whitmore?” She looks at him with an appreciative smile.

“In the flesh.”

“And what nice flesh it is,” Blake comments, eyeing Lance.

I roll my eyes. “Let us get out of your hair.” I slide up out of the chair and grab my bag.

“Surprise!”

All of us turn toward the voice at the door. Will is there holding a bouquet of flowers. Roses, because they’re the only flower he’ll buy. But who complains about getting roses?

Will’s eyes scan the room. “Whitmore?” His mood visibly sours.

“Hey, Will,” Lance says with a tip up of his chin.

Ivy stares around the room, probably wanting Blake and me out. If she’s running behind, whoever comes after her will be mad if she digs into their time.

“Excuse us. Have a great interview. Make sure to pry, Ivy, because this one likes to keep his feelings close to the vest,” I joke, and Lance doesn’t say anything.

“How would you know that?” Will asks.

Oh shit. My stomach does a backflip.

Why the hell did I say that? If I’m honest with myself, I know it was out of some juvenile need for Ivy to be aware that I know Lance as some sort of claim over him. She’s attractive and sweet and totally Lance’s type. But why should I care? I’m engaged to a man I love.

“We’re going to go.” Blake pushes my back, so I bump into Will, and he shuts the door after us.

I didn’t even say goodbye. For some reason, that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I don’t know when I’ll see Lance again.

---