Page 41 of Working for the Runaway Bride

Carter. Molly’s hand drops. Every muscle in my body tightens before I turn. My son stands several parking spaces away beside his silver SUV. He’s holding a bouquet of red roses wrapped in plastic.

He had the same idea. Except he brought flowers. I brought ice cream. The absurdity of it might have been funny if Carter weren’t staring at me as if he wants to kill me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Leaving.”

“Looks like you’re talking to my fiancée.”

“I’m not your fiancée,” Molly says.

Carter barely glances at her. His attention stays fixed on me.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he tells her.

Molly’s face hardens. “I ran out of our wedding. I think that makes the decision clear.”

“You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

“You cheated on me.”

“And I apologized.”

“No, you blamed me.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“After you told me I should be grateful you were still willing to marry me.”

The roses crinkle in his tightening fist. Rage moves through me.

I step forward. “Don’t.”

Carter’s eyes flash. “Stay out of this.”

“She said no.”

“She was talking to me.”

“And she said no.”

Molly moves between us slightly. “Grayson, please.”

I look at her.

The fear in her face is enough to stop me. Carter notices. His gaze shifts from her to me, then back again. Suspicion enters his expression.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Molly says.

“Why is he here?”

“He brought me ice cream.”

Carter looks at the carton in my hand. Then he laughs. It’s a bitter, ugly sound.

“My father brings you ice cream and suddenly you can’t marry me?”