Page 30 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

“Huh?” Finally, she lifts her chin, looking over at me with wide eyes.

“It’s another rule. You get to pick a getaway meal. The opposite kind of food from wedding food. Like … ribs. Or wings.”

“So far, you’re making all the rules.”

“They’re good rules. And feel free to add your own any time. So, what’ll it be?”

Amelia huffs a laugh, looking at all the fabric bunched in her lap. “Food sounds …”

I wait, feeling like my heart is beating in my throat. It’s a dumb idea. But no one’s ever accused me of having brilliant ones. I’m winging it here.

“It sounds great,” Amelia finally says, grinning. “And I want pizza rolls. With marinara and ranch. And a soft serve cone from McDonald’s—the kind with the hard chocolate shell. Do they still make those?”

“Only one way to find out. Let’s go see about those dipped cones.”

Thirty minutes later, my previously pristine car smells like garlic and pizza grease. Normally, my eye would be twitching. I don’t usually even eat in this car. But there was something so satisfying about watching Mills dig in, tearing into a pepperoni roll with the ferocity of a starving lion. And then devouring a dipped cone, which it turns out is still on the McDonald’s menu. They’re shockingly good, if a little messy.

“There she is,” Amelia says, pointing.

I recognize her friend with the wild blond hair, standing by a small hatchback and waving animatedly. I’m barely parked when Amelia hops out and the two hurl themselves into a hug that almost looks painful.

I wonder why Morgan’s not going with Amelia on the trip. She must have some valid reason—work or something else. Because she definitely seems like a committed friend.

I fiddle with the radio, stealing quick glances but trying not to be too nosy. Even though in reality I’m basically like a teenage girl when it comes to other people’s business.

Both women turn, looking my way. Are they talking about me? I lift a hand, and Amelia waves back, then shakes her head vehemently at something Morgan says before they hug one more time. When Morgan opens the back of her car, starting to unload Amelia’s bags, I hop out.

“I’ve got these.” I grab the two rolling bags, placing them in the back of my SUV. Amelia hugs Morgan one last time, sniffling, and then stuffs herself and the wedding dress back in the front. When I close the back hatch, I find Morgan standing there, arms crossed.

“Hey,” I say a little uneasily.

She narrows her eyes and lowers her voice. “Thanks for taking her to the airport.”

The most unthankful sounding thank-you I’ve ever heard. In fact, she sounds suspicious. She doesn’t give me time to respond before she jumps back in.

“Butwhyare you doing it? Why did you do any of this—forcing Drew to own up, driving Milly around, taking her to the airport? You barely know her.”

I don’t really have an answer for this. I mean, at the start, I was just thinking about making sure Douche the Groom didn’t get away with cheating.

Then, I was concerned because I didn’t want to see Coach’s daughter marrying a guy like that.

I became the getaway driver because I had a car. And maybe also because I wanted to.

Now … it’s more personal. But I can’t really explainwhyI feel this connection with Amelia. Probably because I don’t understand it myself.

What’s more—I don’t reallywantto explain it or examine it too closely. Today is a very go-with-the-flow kind of day. And this flow is taking me and the runaway bride to the airport.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I say, scratching my cheek. This answer earns me a suspicious look. “Plus, I respect Coach. Which means, by extension, his daughter falls under my protection. Why all the questions? Weren’t you the one who told Amelia I should go with her on her honeymoon?”

“That doesn’t mean I trust you.”

I chuckle. “Okay. You just want me to take a trip with her.”

“She said you said no.”

“I … did.”

Her gaze is assessing. And frankly, a little terrifying. So is the way her red lips peel back in a smile. “But you’re thinking about it.”

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