The hostess placed their menus on the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“He’ll have a beer,” Libby said with saccharine sweetness, remembering his earlier comment in the bathroom.
The hostess shook her head. “Sorry. We don’t serve alcohol.”
Noah shuddered. “Thank God. I’ll have a water.”
Libby couldn’t resist a small grin. “Water too, please.”
The young woman looked eager to get away. “Your waitress will be right with you.”
“You frightened that poor girl,” Libby said, trying to ignore all the people staring at them.
“Why? Because I cringed when you ordered a beer?”
“No! Me. This dress. You coming on so strong.”
“Please,” he scowled good-naturedly. “Why would someone be afraid of a wedding dress? I wrestled it and lived to tell the tale. Now you . . . you’re on the cranky side tonight. She’s probably frightened of you.”
“I’m entitled to be cranky! I ran out on my own wedding!” The words came out louder than she’d intended, catching the attention of the people at the tables nearby—not that they hadn’t been openly staring in the first place. “How did we end up in Junction City? How far are we from Kansas City?”
“About two hours.”
“Two hours?”
“Like I said, we’re here because you told me to keep going.”
“Yeah,” she waved her hands around in circles. “I meant drive around. Not take a road trip.”
He shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I made a judgment call.”
She pursed her lips and stared at the menu without really reading it, berating herself for her mistake. How could she have done this to Mitch without stopping to consider his feelings?
“Lib.”
His soft tone caught her attention, and when she looked at him, she was surprised by the seriousness in his eyes. She was used to teasing and humor from Noah, not this resolute side of him.
“What happened?”
Did she really want to admit what an idiot she’d been? Wasn’t the fact that she was sitting here in Junction City, Kansas, on her wedding night proof enough?
She opened her mouth, unsure of what exactly to tell him, but their waitress appeared and saved her from speaking. “Welcome to the Golden Cowboy Café. I hear you two are celebrating your wedding.”
“That’s right.” Noah’s wide smile returned. “We decided to make the wedding dinner an experience to remember.”
She put her hands on her hips. “So you came to the Golden Cowboy Café?” Her tone suggested she was calling bullshit.
Noah laid on the charm thick. “I hear your fried pickles are to die for. How about we start with those. Then I’ll take your eight-ounce sirloin, medium, with a baked potato, and the lovely bride will take the same.”
Libby started to protest that she could order her own food. But they had eaten enough meals together for him to know what she liked. Besides, hadn’t she made enough stupid choices lately to last a lifetime? Might as well let Noah decide on her meal.
The waitress walked away and Noah’s grin fell, his concern returning. “Libby, what happened?”
“I made a stupid decision, okay? Does that make you happy? You tried to stop me and I blew you off. Do you want to gloat now?”
“No. God, no.”
A tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. She wasn’t prepared for the shot of electricity that zipped through her. Of course, it wasn’t the first time her body had reacted to his touch, but in her emotional state, she was worried she lacked the strength to restrain herself.
“Libby, you’re my best friend. I’d rather be dead wrong than see you hurt like this.” He left his hand in place, spreading his fingers to cup her cheek. “Now tell me what happened.”
Should she tell him about the curse? It was obviously a figment of her imagination. No sense looking like an even bigger idiot, but his touch was making it difficult for her to concentrate. “Megan, Blair, and I made a pact to get married by the time we were thirty.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “My birthday is next week.”
His eyes widened in surprise and his hand dropped. She felt a strange sense of loss without it.
“Really?” he asked, shaking his head. “Blair doesn’t seem like the type of woman to care about that sort of thing.”
“She’s not. We were all nine when we made the pact.”
“And they seriously went through with it? That’s why they got married?”
She shook her head and released a sigh. “No. They forgot about it. It was purely coincidence that they planned their weddings when they did.”
“So they got married according to the pact”—his voice trailed off as his eyes met hers and held them— “and you felt compelled to do the same.”
She glanced down at the table. “Something like that.”
“Oh, Lib.”
“It was stupid, I know. Idiotic. Moronic. I’m the—”
“Stop. It’s so you. I love it . . . even if you picked the wrong guy.”
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for the but. “You’re kidding.”
“Libby, I’ve never met anyone with more gusto for life. I love your quirky ideas and beliefs, and I love that you believe in palm reading and pacts made by nine-year-old girls. It’s who you are.”