Page 20 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

I kick off my three-inch heels and slide into my flip-flops.

I’m on it. Don’t take your phone. They can track it. This is the right decision. Call me when you can. I love you.

I press my ear to the door just in time to hear Mom scream. Her heels click across the room. As I crack the door, I see her back disappearing down the front stairs. I run in the opposite direction. I hear Kit’s voice screaming “Jingle Bells.” Mom hates that song. Kit and I used to sing it in rounds to annoy her.

I make it out of the room and down the back stairs without being seen. Apparently, everyone’s left to see what’s going on in the main room. I hear mom yelling, “Katherine! Get down off that stage now! Katherine! Give me the microphone!” Kit’s voice gets louder. ‘Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells! Jingle all the way.’

I open the exit door and see the parking lot in front of me. It’s an endless field of getaway cars. It’s too bad I don’t have the keys to any of them. This is possibly the worst-planned escape ever. I have no idea where I’m headed—just somewhere other than here.

I make my way through the parked cars, dragging my long train with me. I told Mom I didn’t want a train, but I ended up with something straight out of Princess Diana’s wedding. I feel like I’m dragging a fifty-pound weight behind me. It’s hampering my escape.

I’m only about a hundred feet away from the building when I hear Steve’s voice. He’s standing at the back door with his groomsmen. They’re looking out at the parking lot, but luckily, I don’t think they’ve seen me yet. I duck behind the SUV to my right and try to open the hatchback. It’s locked. I look around until I see a truck with a tarp over its bed. It’s worth a try.

Steve’s voice gets louder. I open the truck’s gate and shimmy headfirst under the tarp. I’m desperately trying to pull my train in with me when I see two hands shoving it the rest of the way into the truck bed and then closing the tailgate. I look through a crack between the tarp and the side of the truck and see a man with wavy, brown hair.

I’m about to say something to him when I hear Steve’s voice—just inches from me. I throw my hands over my mouth.

“Nash Young,” Steve says. His voice sounds sharp like it gets when I disagree with him. I can tell without seeing him that his teeth are clenched. “I couldn’t believe when Mom told me you were coming to the wedding. I thought we’d lost you for good.”

I look through the crack again. Steve’s standing in front of my accomplice, whose name I guess is Nash. I’ve always thought Steve was a pretty big guy, but Nash towers over him.

“Stevie,” Nash says as he leans back on the truck. “Did I look at the invitation wrong? Isn’t your wedding about to start?”

* * *

---