Page 63 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

What Morgan’s saying is smart. I should definitely take her advice. Totally.

“I’ve got to go,” I say, getting to my feet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No,” I tell her. “But I will be.”

Of this one thing, I’m absolutely sure. Everything else? As the Magic 8-Ball would say,Ask again later.

“You’re writing.” A pleased smile accompanies the statement.

A shirtless chest accompanies Van.

I glance away lest I get caught accused of ogling him again and stretch out my hand. It’s cramping around the pen from twenty or so minutes of nonstop writing.

The moment I hung up with Morgan, I came inside, opened up the new notebook I bought, and put pen to paper. I’m a little surprised to see that while Van was showering, I’ve filled four pages front and back about how to survive your wedding falling apart. It’s a mix of rules, inspired by Van’s suggestion yesterday, and stream-of-consciousness feelings.

“I guess I am.”

“Awesome.” He rubs a small, white towel over his hair, then tosses it in the general direction of the bathroom.

“For a man whose car is ridiculously neat, you seem to have a different approach to living spaces.” I nod toward the sweaty shirt, still on the floor, and then the towel.

Van picks up both. “I’m in vacation mode,” he says. “Or maybe I’m just leaving breadcrumbs behind so you can find me.”

I laugh, and as he approaches, I close my notebook, suddenly feeling shy.

“I don’t want to interrupt you,” he says.

“Yeah you do.”

“Yeah. I do.” He grins, nudging my bare foot with his own. “But seriously, if you’re in the middle of something, I’ll go out again. Give you peace. Or wander to another end of this giant suite and you’ll never know I was here.”

“Other than yourbreadcrumbs.”

He laughs. “Other than that.”

Honestly, the suite is big enough to share with another person and not know they’re here. This living area is bigger than the one in Dad’s house, and though the kitchen doesn’t have more than a sink, fridge, and some appliances, the dining table seats twelve. The sectional sofa could hold almost that many and there are a few chairs around as well.

The bedroom has its own seating area, and the bathroom is the size of my bedroom at home. I think the walk-in shower is the size of my whole bathroom.

Everything is done in pale pinks and turquoise, an upscale beachy feel with potted palms and flowers everywhere, gauzy curtains hang over the sliding doors in here and the private balcony off the master bedroom.

It’s gorgeous. But I couldn’t help but feel a tiny pinch of regret that it means now there will be a whole room and a closed door between Van and me. I won’t wake up a few feet from him, able to reach out and touch him if I wanted.

Sheesh. One night and I’m already thinking about withdrawal. Maybe Morgan was right.

I set down the pen and shake out my hand. “I need a break. My fingers might permanently freeze in this position otherwise. How was your workout?”

His eyes cut away. “Okay. The fitness center is decent.”

“But?”

He gives me a sheepish grin. “I ran into some Appies fans, which meant cutting things short.”

I remember the woman on the plane and her blatant overtures. I almost ask if they were male or female fans but restrain myself. “Does that happen often?”

Van plops down on the couch and rests his feet on the coffee table near my notebook. “More and more. Things changed a lot in the last eighteen months. It happened fast. The power of social media, I guess. Have you met Parker?”

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