Page 85 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Like when Mom died. My body felt like scorched earth, cracking but never releasing. I cried, sure—but it felt like I never could access the main area of grief. A few years later, I burst into tears at the gas pump when the screen asked if I wanted a car wash. A happy memory of Mom had bubbled to the surface, the two of us going through the car wash, “Bohemian Rhapsody” blasting through the speakers as we sang-shouted in our best singing voices.

I was crying too hard to drive home, and Morgan had to come pick me up. We left my car parked there overnight, and I wept on her couch until dawn.

Maybe I need space and distance to process. But for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to be risky. Wanting to simply go for what I want. Wanting to speak up for myself.

“Here is your dessert.” We scoot back from the table to give the waitress room, the moment broken as a single plate of dark chocolate ganache cake is set before us.

Van keeps his gaze on me even as the waitress lingers to refill our water glasses. But I can’t bring myself to look back at him. Finally, when she’s gone and it’s just us and an untouched piece of chocolate cake, I clear my throat, testing my words.

They come out as a whisper. “I don’t know what I want.”

More like … I know what I want. But I’m scared to want it and evenmorescared to say it out loud.

He doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t seem hurt. Almost like he expected this to be too hard.

Instead, he nods once and says, “Tell me when you do. I’ll be waiting,” and then removes his arm from around my waist. But only so he can pick up his fork.

I do the same, though I’m disappointed with myself, disappointed with the lack of his touch. Disappointed that Van chose this time to give me space rather than to push me.

Even though it says so much about his character to give me what he seems to know I need.

But when I lean my thigh against his, he doesn’t shift away. He gives me a sidelong look and smiles. Sweet. Not sad. Patient.

And when we get up to leave, I realize Drew and Becky left at some point without me even noticing them go.

CHAPTER 16

Amelia

After dinner,the scent of the ocean draws me toward the open patio doors along the back of the building. The breeze lifts my hair from my neck as I tug Van along with me. I stop just outside the doors and take a deep inhale. There’s music spilling out, another wedding happening in the same spot where they seem to happen daily at ten, two, and six.

A familiar weight lands on my shoulders. I open my eyes to see Van watching me with a tiny smile, amusement sparkling in his brown eyes.

“I’m going for a walk on the beach,” I tell him, feeling suddenly exposed. “You don't have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Are you sick of me?” he asks, gasping dramatically and pressing a hand to his chest.

I smile. “Not even a little.”

He leans close, lips grazing my ear. “Then stop trying to get rid of me. Want to stop for a drink first?”

I’ve avoided drinking alcohol almost the whole week, aside from the half a glass of champagne on the plane. I’m usually a total lightweight, but that didn’t affect me. Normally, a beer or a glass of wine and I get loopy.

But it’s the last night. It feels right. Celebratory.

So we stop by the little thatched roof bar by the beach and I order a piña colada.

Van looks surprised. “No Diet Dr Pepper tonight?”

I love that he knows my drink. Though I guess he watched me guzzle it all week long. “Feels like a good night for a piña colada.”

“I didn’t think you liked drinking.”

“More like … drinking doesn’t like me.”

“Morgan said something about that,” Van says, taking his beer and handing me my drink.

It has a little umbrella and a slice of fresh pineapple, which is delicious. “I’ll probably give half to you,” I tell him, taking a sip as we wander away from the lights and the noise.

---