Page 97 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

This could be an invasion of personal space, overstepping to the nth degree. But there’s something so wholesomely endearing about her that I don’t even mind.

She makes it easy to forget all the anger I’m holding onto, which is a feat. But with her wide smile and sparkling, sincere eyes, she’s like a black hole of happiness, sucking up all my negativity.

If she could find a way to bottle this up and sell it, she’d make millions.

“Sorry,” she says, still beaming as she releases my arms. “I’m just happy to have another woman around here. Before Summer—you’ll meet her later—it was just me, choking on the fog of testosterone in this building.”

“I’ll bet.”

Though I also bet she can’t mindtoomuch. I didn’t miss the engagement ring on her finger. Her fiancé is one of the Appies, and I kind of regret not paying more attention so I’d know which one.

We’re standing inside the staff entrance to the Summit—a building until now I’ve just driven past and never actually been inside. Already, my body is on high alert. It was even before I saw a mud-crusted Jeep in the parking lot and remembered a conversation we had about Van having two cars.

He’s here. Like I knew he would be. But it’s a whole different thing to know it and then be here knowing he is somewhere in the building.

I swear, the little hairs on my arms are standing at attention, like they’re just waiting for a sighting.

Thankfully Parker pulls me away from my paranoia when she gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m also excited because you’reyou,” she says. “Have things calmed down with your articles?”

I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. “It’s still out of control. Awesome, but insane.”

The silver lining to all the dark clouds in my life lately was having my “Rules for Runaway Brides” article blow up.

I spent the plane ride back from Florida channeling all of my energy into the final draft, writing in my little yellow Walmart notebook through the blur of tears. My forceful handwriting ripped the pages in a few places. That notebook and enough pain to fill a stadium were the only things I took with me when I snuck out of the hotel room. Then, locked in my room at homewith Taylor Swift’sEvermorealbum on repeat, I edited and hit publish.

What I did not expect was for the post—and my previously unknown little Substack—to go viral.

I mean, itwascatchy. Full of dark humor and more relatable than I realized it could be. I had no idea how many comments and shares I’d get from women and friends of women who called off a wedding or had been left at the altar or just before a wedding. Even some runaway grooms reached out.

When I posted a storytime article giving the actual details with not real names, the momentum only grew. I had no idea how many people walked away from their weddings.

My inbox is overflowing. I’m trying to answer every single message and each comment, but it might take me a year. Or two.

While I wish so many people didn't relate to my experience or the posts, I’m so happy to help people feel seen and heard. Knowing mywordsdid that—well, it’s literally a dream.

The best part, though, was the influx of job offers. Some were just temporary things—writing part-time for various publications or penning paid guest articles, some of which I might still do.

But I couldn’t turn down this job. An actual, full-time, with-benefits job for an organization that’s nationally known. Most AHL teams don’t have the kind of clout or name recognition the Appies do. It would be stupid to say no.

Even if it means being in the same building as the two men who are the focus for all of my volcano rage.

It’s not lost on me the irony that Drew—the guy who cheated on me throughout our engagement and in the very church we were supposed to get married in—doesn’t make the top two of people making me angry. He’s barely a blip.

Honestly—while what he did sucks and I’m still hurt about Becky’s involvement, I feel like I dodged not just a bullet but awhole firing squad. Marrying Drew would have been a colossal mistake.

Bigger than marrying Van?a tiny, nasty voice in my head asks. I drop-kick the thought right out of my head.

Parker hooks her hand through mine and starts to tug me down the long hallway, our footsteps echoing on the concrete floors. “Well, I am beyond stoked we get to have you. ThatIget to have you,” she amends. “I promise not to work youtoohard.”

The evil laugh that accompanies her words makes me wonder if I’ve misjudged Parker’s sweetness. Her enthusiastic smile and brown glossy waves give off cheerleader vibes, but there’s clearly a dark little edge hiding under there somewhere.

It only makes me like her more.

“Paperwork first,” she says. “Then I’ll show you around and then we’ll meet everyone.”

I stumble a little, and she steadies me. “Everyone?”

She laughs. “I mean, everyone in the office. The players are kind of on their own schedule. Especially the next few weeks with the playoffs coming up. We’ll still do some things with them, but I stockpiled a lot of content so they could focus.”

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