Page 64 of Runaway Bride’s Husband

“The mere mention of her on paper won’t necessarily mean anything. You do know that, right? Those pictures were taken over seventy years ago. There might not even be a full paper trail at all anymore. Plus, if no one has known about her until now, it can wait another day.”

“That’s what I thought when we left here weeks ago,” she murmured, straightening up with a stapled pile of papers in her hands. “I need to at least find some actual clues to follow while we’re here, Ryan. As soon as we leave again, I just know this will go straight to the backburner.”

“For a reason.”

“Go.” She finally looked up and pointed at the door. “I’ll be fine. If a ghost appears, maybe they’ll even be able to help me.”

I laughed. “I never should’ve gotten you going on this whole hauntings and ghost thing. I’m starting to think you care more about that than your own wedding.”

“Then you’re starting to think right.” She winked and dropped the stack of papers on the chair, exhaling a heavy breath as she finally met my gaze. “I thought I might’ve found something, but nope. Those were just registration papers for a company that doesn’t even exist anymore.”

I pushed up from the couch. “Okay, well, good luck, but I’m going to go find our vendors before your father has a coronary.”

“I’ll call you if I find a secret tunnel that ends in a shrine to her.”

“Please don’t.”

“Spoilsport,” she muttered, pulling out a chair and sitting down as she reached for yet another stack of papers.

I waited for a minute, trying to see if she was going to change her mind about staying behind, but when she leaned back on the chair, I realized she was serious. Maggie Pembroke was more interested in solving in a seventy-year-old mystery than being involved in her own wedding arrangements.

Odd, for someone who was so insistent that she wants control, but okay.

Sighing, I grabbed my keys and left her to it, driving to a bakery one town over. I’d found it online last night and I knew what Maggie wanted for the cake. If this place’s website was anything to go by, they would be up for the challenge.

Still, when I walked in, I was ready to be met with a heavy dose of skepticism as I explained what I wanted. The woman behind the counter listened carefully, lighting up when I mentioned the bride had requested wild colors and flavors.

“Oh, this is fun.” She clapped her hands a few times, grinning when she lifted her gaze back to mine. “Something unconventional for a change. You have no idea how many white vanilla cakes I make.”

“Uh, okay.” Surprised by her enthusiasm, I studied the album she’d pushed toward me of what would be possible, flavor combinations and colors she’d tried before. “Lemon and blackberry. Is that good?”

“It’s divine.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I murmured, turning to the next page. “Right, let’s do that with dark chocolate and salted caramel for the next tier.”

She beamed at me. “That’s an excellent choice. I’d recommend pistachio-raspberry for the final tier. It’ll be incredible.”

“I trust your judgment.”

After filling out the necessary forms, I left the bakery, praying like never before that I hadn’t just made a giant mistake, but the baker had great reviews. At this point, I was just going to have to hope they hadn’t only come from her friends and family.

I strode across the parking lot to my car, already pulling out my phone again to check the next item on my to-do list, but a thrift store on the other side of the lot caught my eye before I’d even clicked into the list. Specifically, a yellow dress hanging in the window.

Slowly sliding my phone back into my pocket, I walked straight past my car, finally understanding what it felt like to be a moth seeing a flame. That dress was exactly what Maggie had described that night on the train, butter yellow and vintage, with a soft, flowing silk skirt and a fitted top.

Tiny buttons covered in white and gold silk ran down the back. The little card in front of it claimed that the dress had been designed in the 1950s. A smile spread on my lips and I pushed open the door, ignoring the tinkling bell and heading directly to the counter.

While I told the shopkeeper that I wanted the dress and waited for her to slide it into a protective garment bag, I got the distinct feeling that I’d lost my mind, but I ignored that too. If Maggie wanted to burn the damn dress if it wasn’t what she wanted, she could do it, but I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself for finding exactly what she’d said she wanted.

When I got back to the cottage, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by boxes. She’d found more papers and books, it seemed, and she’d pulled her hair up into a super messy bun that looked like it was being held by a wish and a prayer, but fuck.

She’s still gorgeous.

I sighed, quickly holding the garment bag in front of me when she looked up and arched an eyebrow at me. “What did you do, Thayer?”

“I found something I thought you might like.”

She stood up, curiously drifting closer as I unzipped the bag. Once it was open, I pulled the protective covering away and laid the dress out on my arms, smirking when I realized she was speechless. For once in her life, Maggie Pembroke was just staring, not capable of uttering a single sound.