Page 4 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

Kenzie

Nico, the owner of Pappa’s Tavern, rushes over to shake my hand as soon as I walk in the door.

I still haven’t grown used to the treatment I get sometimes just because of who I’m marrying. But Will likes it when we’re recognized. He likes the special tables, the luxury treatment. I don’t much care for the attention, but I never have enjoyed being at the center of anything—it usually means trouble for me.

I’m seated in a corner booth, waiting for Will to show up. I’m always the first one. Always. When the busboy comes to fill my water, I look up and my eyes catch a ghost from my past. How did I not notice Lance when I walked in?

He looks suave, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him while he lifts a drink to his lips. He really did deserve that bachelor piece in the magazine. I mean, he’s always been gorgeous, all chiseled jaw and bright-blue eyes. His dirty-blond hair is cut short, making it appear so much darker than when he wore it a little longer as a boy. And the way he fills out his tailored suit—Jesus. I’m an engaged woman and should not be feeling this ache between my thighs. Will there ever be a time that I see Lance and don’t think what if?

He nods, and I give him a small wave.

I’m not sure whether or not to go over, so I bury my head in my phone. It’s already five minutes past the time Will should have arrived when he texts me.

Will: Dad called an impromptu meeting. Sorry babe. Maybe stop by after. Bring me lunch?

As if I have all day to bring him lunch.

Me: Sorry babe, I have a meeting with Blake and the producers after lunch.

Will: Skip it. I keep telling you, you don’t need that silly podcast anymore.

I exhale a long breath and try to remember that this is just the side of Will that was raised by a stay-at-home mother. It’s all he knows and what he expects in his wife-to-be, even if I’ve made it very clear that’s not what I want.

Me: And I keep telling you, I love it and want to make my own money.

Will: lol… okay. I wave the white flag. See you at my place tonight.

Me: Yes we have to go over some wedding stuff.

Will: My dad says more press the better.

Me: How intimate.

Will: I know. I know. I’m working on him. Gotta go. Love you.

I don’t bother responding because I know him and can guarantee his phone is already back in his pocket.

I set down my phone and look up when the waiter appears in front of my table, a glass of rosé in hand. “From the gentleman.”

Lance lifts his pint of beer.

“Oh, what the hell,” I mutter and slide out of my booth, taking the wine with me.

Our eyes catch and Lance’s shy smile, the one that starts slow and creeps into full wattage, emerges. I love that smile. Loved. I loved that smile.

“Hey,” he says when I reach his table. There’s more than one menu on the table, so he must be expecting someone else to join him.

Great. How stupid do I look with my drink in my hand as if he invited me over to lunch with him?

“Oh, sorry, you’re expecting people. I thought if you were here on your own, we could maybe…” I shake my head, not even bothering to finish my sentence.

“It’s Brinley and her boyfriend, Van. They’re visiting.”

My stomach sinks. “Oh, really? So that all worked out for her? I read something in Buzz Wheel about it.”

The only way I’ve caught up on the goings-on in my small hometown in Alaska—where Lance and I are from—is the gossip app Buzz Wheel, which reports on all the happenings in town, usually with photos as proof. Since they don’t touch anyone under eighteen, I’m thankful I’ve never been in it. Lance, his cousin Easton, and I were gossiped about enough in high school without it being broadcast to the masses.

“Yeah, don’t say anything, but I think he’s going to propose to her on the trip. He was asking me a lot of questions before they came.” Lance puts his hand out toward one of the chairs, offering me a seat.

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