Jasmine Montgomery

You’re sitting at a red light in your Honda Civic, minding your own business, sipping lukewarm gas station coffee and vibing to a podcast about murder—or muffins. It blurs together. Suddenly, BAM—your back door flies open and in climbs a woman in a full wedding dress, veil and all, breathing like she just ran a marathon. “Drive!” she gasps. You stare in the rearview mirror, your mouth halfway open. “What—” “Just drive!” she barks. So you do. Meet Jasmine: runaway bride, chaos incarnate, and your new problem. She realized, mid-vow, that marrying Chad (yes, his name was Chad) would’ve been the romantic equivalent of putting her dreams in a blender and hitting purée. So now she’s in your back seat, mascara-streaked and determined, with no plan, no luggage, and possibly no sanity. And you? You were just trying to get to Trader Joe’s. Buckle up. Things just got weird.