Runaway Bride: A laugh out loud funny and feel good rom com

‘I like it. Very… alliterative.’

‘Er, thanks.’

‘Got a bit of a secret identity vibe,’ he said. ‘Not a superhero, are you?’

‘Maybe. But if I tell you I’ll have to kill you.’

Not the world’s most original joke, but the best I could manage in my current state. Anyway, it got a laugh.

‘So would that be short for anything?’ he asked.

‘No. It’s usually for Catherine, but my mum just liked Kitty.’

I started when I heard a little bark. Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of a tubby yellow mongrel curled in a dog bed, eyeing me with suspicion.

‘Oh, and this is Sandy,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t mind dogs, do you?’

‘No, I love them.’ I squinted at the tubby dog. ‘Er, he certainly looks well-fed.’

‘She. And it wasn’t the diet that caused the belly, it was the randy Jack Russell back in Settle.’

‘What, you mean she’s—’

‘Yeah. Less than a month to go now, I’m reckoning. Looks about ready to pop, doesn’t she?’ He turned the ignition key and the engine phutted into life. ‘Right, now we’re all friends, let’s get going.’

So he really had asked me back to his van to see his puppies… hmm. Still, in a way it was sort of comforting. A man who travelled with a pregnant dog couldn’t be too dodgy, could he? Maybe that was the logic of desperation but all the same, I relaxed slightly.

I could see him eyeing me curiously in the rear-view mirror as he drove, taking in my streaky mascara, my ballgown, my big green wellies.

‘You look like you don’t want to talk about it,’ he said at last.

‘God, I really don’t.’

‘Okay so. Then I won’t ask.’

I shot him a relieved smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘We’ll have to have some small talk though,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the charge for this particular taxi service is scintillating conversation.’

‘Not sure I can pull off scintillating today. I can just about manage to form words, I think.’

‘Want to tell me why you’re going to Wastwater?’ he asked. ‘I mean, really? Hate to break it to you, but the dress codes for farmers’ dinners don’t tend to include wellies, whatever stereotypes might suggest.’

I examined Jack in the mirror. His expression was relaxed and careless, as if he’d be equally comfortable whether I chose to open up or not. He certainly had an easy face to trust.

There didn’t seem any harm in sharing my immediate plan with him, I eventually decided. I was heading for someone I knew I could depend on; someone who’d put me up until I’d sorted out my unholy mess of a life.

‘Okay, if you really want to know, I’m going to visit my aunty,’ I said. ‘She’s got a cottage in Wasdale Head.’

He glanced at the ballgown. ‘Must be a posh family.’

‘Yeah. She’s big on dressing for dinner.’

‘Muddy too, is it?’ he asked, eyeing my boots.

‘Something like that.’

We were on dangerous ground again. I tried to push the conversation back towards him. I just needed to kill a bit of time…

‘So, er, what do you do?’ I asked, the ultimate fallback conversation starter.

‘Human trafficker. I scour the highways for lone women and sell them into sex slavery. You?’

I laughed – the first real, genuine laugh I’d managed all day.

‘Serial killer,’ I said, matching my deadpan tone to his. ‘I lure men into laybys then hack them to bits. Although that’s really more of a hobby.’

He nodded soberly. ‘Always good to keep yourself busy. What do you do the rest of the time?’

‘I’m a project editor for this publishing company my stepsister Laurel runs, Whitestone Press.’

At least, I had been until about an hour ago. I think I’d effectively handed in my resignation when I’d decided to do a runner. My current occupation, if I was asked to fill in a form, probably amounted to ‘bum’.

‘What type of thing?’ Jack asked.

‘Travel guides. You know, things to see, restaurant reviews, handy phrases, all that.’

‘Sounds interesting. I suppose you get to travel quite a bit?’

I shook my head. ‘Someone else does. Then they write it up for me to edit and do the photo research.’

‘Still, must be fun. Bit of armchair travelling.’

I let out a little snort.

‘What?’ he said.

‘You know what I dreamt last week?’

‘Was it about a hunky Irishman with a devastating smile and abs you could grill a steak on?’

So we were doing a bit of social flirting now, were we? Okay…

‘It was actually. I love Aidan Turner.’

‘Funny,’ he said, eyes fixed on the road. ‘Turner can bite me.’

His reaction made me smile. If I’d tried that joke on Ethan, it would’ve been a three-day sulk at least.