Page 5 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“The dentist moved.”

“Three years ago.”

“Finish the Ford.”

“Yes, boss.”

I leave before he can say anything else.

The August heat hits the second I step outside. Sunlight flashes off rows of windshields, making the asphalt shimmer beneath my boots. My black pickup is parked beside the garage, and the cab feels like an oven when I climb inside.

I start the engine, turn the air-conditioning as high as it will go, and pull up the school’s address on my phone. Luis is right. I do know where Sunnybrook is… kinda.

It sits on the east side of town in a neighborhood full of old oak trees, narrow streets, and houses painted colors no grown man would willingly choose. Pale yellow. Mint green. One place is purple with blue shutters.

I pass it twice before finding the school. A brick sign stands beside the driveway, decorated with painted sunflowers and a message spelled out in plastic letters.

HAVE A BRIGHT AND HAPPY SUMMER!

School started a week early because of snow days that are anticipated this winter. Carter mentioned it right before he spent twenty minutes complaining that Molly was too busy grading end-of-year projects to finalize the seating chart.

At the time, I told him chairs would still work whether his name was written on a card or not. He didn’t find that helpful.

I pull into the visitors’ lot and spot a small blue sedan parked crookedly near the staff entrance. Molly is standing next to it. Rick’s tow truck hasn’t arrived yet, so I park beside her car and get out. The first thing I notice is the smell. Hot oil. I crouch near the front bumper and spot a dark patch on the pavement beneath the engine. Not enough for a catastrophic leak, but enough to worry me.

I straighten and peer through the windshield. There’s a travel mug in the cupholder, a stack of picture books on the passenger seat, and a paper chain made of brightly colored construction paper hanging from the rearview mirror.

A child’s handwriting covers every link.

MISS MOLLY IS NICE.

MISS MOLLY GIVES GOOD HUGS.

MISS MOLLY MAKES SCHOOL FUN.

One yellow strip simply says:

I LOVE YOU.

I stare at it longer than I should.

Molly walks next to the car. Today she’s wearing a sunshine-yellow dress patterned with tiny white flowers. It reaches below her knees, modest and soft, with short sleeves that flutter in the breeze. Her long brown hair is pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, and colorful letters dangle from her ears. A pair of white sneakers complete the outfit.

She looks young. Younger than twenty-five. Too young to be carrying the strain I see on her face.

The cardboard box in her arms begins to tip, and she tightens her arms around it. I’m already moving before I think about it.

“Let me get that.”

Molly jumps. The box slips. I catch the bottom before it hits the ground, my hands closing over the cardboard inches below hers. She looks up at me with wide green eyes. Not hazel. Not brown. I’ve never been close enough to notice before.

“Grayson?” she asks.

Her voice carries the same softness I remember, but there’s something else beneath it. Surprise, certainly. Maybe relief.

“Carter called me.”

“Oh.” Her smile appears, hesitant but genuine. “I told him he didn’t have to bother you.”