Page 21 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

Chapter Eleven

NASH

December 22

Los Angeles, California

“Are you a friend of the bride or groom?”

The old lady sitting next to me smiles as she pats my leg. I suddenly realize I’ve been shifting back and forth in my chair and probably hitting her.

“I went to high school with the groom,” I say, smiling at her. “Sorry if I hit your chair. I’m kind of a restless person.”

“No problem, dear. I’m a friend of the bride’s grandma. She and I went to high school together many, many years ago. She was the sweetest woman. Noelle reminds me so much of her. She’s much more like her grandma than her mom.”

I smile and nod. I’m trying to think of something to say back to her when I see a woman with long blue hair walk to the lectern. She takes the microphone and starts singing “Jingle Bells” loudly and very off-key. She gestures wildly with her arms like she’s playing to a packed house at the Hollywood Bowl.

She’s screeching out the lyrics. It’s more than I can take. I fulfilled my promise to Mom. I came to the wedding and now I’m leaving the wedding. My brain doesn’t try to resist. Apparently, it’s had enough, too.

When I get outside, I jog across the parking lot. Just as I’m getting in my truck, I catch a glimpse of something white and wispy disappearing behind a car about ten rows from me. At first, I think it might be a bird. It seems to be in distress.

I’m thinking about how I can help the poor thing when the white poof pops up again. It’s not a bird. The poof’s attached to a human head. The head looks around quickly and disappears. Then it pops up behind another car. I feel like I’m watching a really weird game of Whac-A-Mole.

The head gets closer to my truck and further away from the building. When it gets within twenty feet of me, I recognize that the white poof is a bridal veil. The head rises just enough above the car that I can see it’s attached to a woman wearing a wedding gown. I guess this is Stevie’s bride, although what she’s doing in the parking lot is not yet clear.

She makes her way behind another car and then freezes. She hears the voices I’m hearing. I look toward the building where I see a group of men in tuxedos looking out at the parking lot. Stevie’s in the middle of them. He points out in the distance, but I don’t think he sees her yet. I look back to her last location. She’s gone. That’s when I see movement in my rearview mirror. I duck down as I watch her open my tailgate and dive under the tarp that covers my truck bed.

I look up to see Stevie and his groomsmen getting closer. I walk casually around to the back of my truck. Her dress is caught on the hitch. It starts to rip as she yanks at it. I unhook it and push the rest of the white fluff under the tarp. I’m just clicking the tailgate closed when the posse gets to my truck.

“Nash Young,” Stevie says, trying to smile through clenched teeth. “I couldn’t believe when Mom told me you were coming to the wedding. I thought we’d lost you for good.”

“Stevie,” I say, leaning back on the truck. “Did I look at the invitation wrong? Isn’t the wedding about to start?”

A couple of his groomsmen laugh. Stevie lifts his hands and the laughing immediately stops. It looks like he still knows how to control his teammates with a quarterback’s authority.

“Yeah, the wedding starts in a few minutes. You should get in there. We’re just getting some fresh air before the ceremony.” His lip starts to tremble. He’s still a really bad liar.

“You’re not thinking about running, are you?” I stare at him as he shifts uncomfortably. I could always stop him cold with just my eyes.

“Well, he’s not thinking of running,” one of the groomsmen says as they all break out laughing. “You haven’t seen a bride anywhere, have you?”

Stevie whips around to look at them, but there’s no controlling the obviously liquor-induced laughing.

“What’s that mean?” I say as innocently as I can. “You lose your bride, Stevie?”

He takes a quick step closer to me—puffing out his chest. “Mind your own business, Nash. And I go by Steve now. You’d know that if you watch any college football.”

“Yep. Steve Walker, UCLA’s starting quarterback. Well, I mean until this year. That kid out of Fresno put you on the bench. Probably a good thing you’re getting out, huh?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who couldn’t get past high school ball.” He tries to stretch his barely six-foot frame up a little higher.

I smile. I’m done here. “Well, good luck with your hunt? I’m going in, so I can get a good seat for the big event.”

Stevie glares at me as he walks away. His bottom lip’s still trembling. That was always his tell when he was in over his head. I watch them turn the corner to the other parking lot before I open the tailgate. The dress spills out like a glacier melting in Antarctica.

“They’re gone,” I say as I sit on the tailgate.

There’s no reply. I sit there for a minute. Still no reply. I whistle a few bars of “Here Comes The Bride.” I hear some rustling under the tarp.

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