Page 128 of The Runaway Bride of Blossom Branch

When she could postpone the confrontation no longer, she opened her bedroom door. She found Brit standing in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I made enough for two.”

“Sounds good to me.” Her heart was knocking against her ribs so hard she thought he might actually be able to hear it.

Looking at him was a mistake. In a dark hand-tailored suit and expensive tie, he was gorgeous. She far preferred the rumpled traveler. This man, this impeccably dressed gentleman, made her feel inadequate and unsophisticated.

“I have leftover roast beef,” she said. “Would you like a sandwich before we leave?”

He shook his head. “You go ahead. I don’t feel like eating,” he muttered.

“Me either.” She couldn’t tell if he was grieving about Mr. Tom or regretting what had happened the night before. And she was too insecure to ask.

They drank their coffee in silence as the awkward tension in the room mounted. Brit leaned against the sink, looking like a model in an ad for expensive cars. Laney sat at the kitchen table with her eyes focused on her coffee cup.

Finally, Brit spoke. “I’ve been rethinking the funeral,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go to the church, but I’m going to sit outside in my car and watch the livestream.”

She lifted her head. “Why?”

His cheeks flushed. “This day is about honoring Mr. Tom and his life of service to the community. If I go inside...” He trailed off, visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh, right,” she said. “I understand.” She should have thought about that earlier. Brit’s evaluation of the situation was both candid and admirable. “Do you mind if I sit in the car with you?” she asked.

His expression lightened. “I’d like that very much.”

“If you want to,” she said, “we can drive out to the cemetery afterward. I know a place where we can park at a distance and still see the burial.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They ended up leaving the house around noon. It wasn’t far, but parking on the street would be an issue if they waited too late.

The day was warm with a light breeze. Laney had picked simple black sandals that were dressy enough to be appropriate for the occasion.

“I’m going to take the long way,” Brit said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” As he drove, Laney tried to eye the town of Blossom Branch through the gaze of a favorite son who now made his home on the opposite coast. What did this place look like to him? Incredibly rustic? Boring? Provincial?

The town had been built by people who had an eye for future development. In the middle of everything, a beautiful green space occupied two full blocks, creating an inviting rectangular park similar to a university quad. In the very center, an octagonal gazebo held the place of honor.

Surrounding the park, Blossom Branch’s businesses thrived, most of them with a peach theme. The nearby counties were filled with vibrant orchards. From May until August, tourists came in droves to buy fresh peaches and to indulge in parades and artisan showcases and, of course, the Peach Festival in early June.

For Laney, this town and its people were home. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. But then again, she’d never really had a chance to try. People who said any dream was possible had clearly never survived with less than ten bucks in their checking account and bills that regularly went unpaid.

At one time, when Laney’s mom had been hospitalized for a complicated surgery, they had been forced to exist on church donations and food stamps afterward. Laney had been too young to work, and there was no nest egg to fall back on.

As a child, she had never felt deprived, but once her father was gone, she had gradually come to understand all her mother’s struggles. One thing that had attracted Laney to Brit in the beginning was that he didn’t judge her for her circumstances. His family hadn’t been quite as poor as Laney and her mother, but close.

Brit drove aimlessly through town until it was time to grab a parking spot. He found one on a side street near the church. Laney watched as people she recognized flocked toward the modest brick building with the single stained-glass window over the double oak doors. “It’s going to be packed,” she said.

“That’s good. Mr. Tom deserves a big sendoff.” Brit opened his laptop, set it on the dashboard, and used his phone for a hotspot. When they were connected, the visual of the sanctuary was clear, and the sound good.

An organist played a medley of old-time hymns. “I’ll Fly Away.” “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.” “Precious Memories.”

At the top of the hour, the young pastor stood behind the lectern and began to speak with a calm presence and gentle reassurance.

“I don’t remember him,” Brit said.

“He’s new. I met him once when he and his wife opened an account at the bank. They have two elementary-aged kids. Moved here from Kansas.”

Brit chuckled. “That must have been culture shock.”

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