Willow
Itake a deep breath of cool air as we walk to Noah’s truck. There’s a conversation we’ve carefully avoided but it’s not like we can push it back much longer.
“So…What are we going to tell everyone? About why we got married?” By everyone, I mean our friends.
Noah takes my bag from my hands and opens the passenger door for me, sets our luggage in the back seat, rounds the truck, climbs in, starts the engine. “Whaddaya mean?”
“Noah,” I semi-snap. “You don’t even really like me.” Before he can argue to the opposite (because he’s a nice guy), I proactively counter. “You think I make rash decisions, have little consideration for propriety, am an airhead, have no education. Which is all true, by the way, but mostly—mostly—you like thin blondes. Which I am most definitely not.”
“What makes you think I like thin blondes?”
“Anika?” The name slides coldly out of my lips. It wasn’t her fault, but she’s who crushed my stupid hopes.
“Maybe I don’t like them anymore.”
My belly does a little something funny, but I shut that shit down right away. “Okay, you’re not superficial like that, but—”
“We fell madly in love, couldn’t wait to get married, so we eloped.”
What? My jaw slackens, my tongue trying to form words. Clearly, it isn’t working.
“It happened during Colton and Kiara’s wedding,” he continues. “We realized we’d had feelings for each other for a long time, just like them. Except we weren’t as clumsy, irrational, or immature as they were. Once we realized we were it for each other, we didn’t want to wait any longer.”
He takes my hand and brings it briefly to his lips, the gesture meant as part of the play but still making me all woozy. “You are now my wife, for better or worse. Of course the worse will come soon enough.”
I nod while he continues. “We’ll both realize we made a huge mistake and we should have waited for an eternity like Colton and Kiara before entering the sacred vows of marriage. Fortunately nothing is sacred anymore and we’ll get a speedy divorce. I’ll be too grumpy, you’ll cheat on me, and—”
“I am not a cheater!” I can’t believe this would cross his mind. “And no, I will not cheat to create a reason for us to divorce.”
He glances at me, his brow furrowed but his mouth twitching. “Okay, okay, chill. Nobody needs to cheat. We’ll just… realize we were better off as friends.”
“We were never really friends, but sure.” Why did I need to say that? It’s not a nice thing to say. “I didn’t mean it that way—I’m sorry. I guess I’m just rattled that you would think I could cheat on someone.” We stay silent for a while.
I try to picture us as a married couple in Emerald Creek. There’s lots we avoided talking about. Pushing the conversation out isn’t going to help. “We need to practice looking totally in love.”
He quirks an eyebrow, seeming amused.Funny, I used to think he was so serious and borderline stuck-up.“You’re really relieved you’re married, aren’t you?” I ask him. He does seem to have a huge weight off his shoulders, even if his worry frown seems to be deepening as we approach our hometown.
His grin broadens. “Honestly? I’m thinking I was pretty inspired when I chose you as my wife. You’re very resourceful. You’re making this whole fake marriage thing seem… doable.”
He keeps going on and on about stuff, but my brain is stuck on just a few words.When I chose you as my wife.And I know he didn’t choose me in the sense that he didn’t spend days and months thinking this over. No, he saw desperate Willow and figured he could turn that to his advantage while offering to help her out. And kudos to him. I’m not complaining. Him taking care of Mom’s medical bills is going to be a huge help while I wait for the insurance to get their act together. Regardless of how hard I tried to push back on that, I’m grateful.
But it’s nice to hear, “when I chose you as my wife.”I’m firmly rooted in the twenty-first century and I consider myself a strong woman, but who doesn’t want to hear those words, especially coming from the most eligible bachelor on whom Iused tocrush hard?
“So, what were you thinking in terms of looking totally in love?” he asks casually, although his voice catches on the last words.
I look out the passenger window. “Um, you know, holding hands and stuff.”
He clears his throat. “Right. You’re right. That seems important.” He clears his throat again. “And by ‘and stuff’ youmean… ?” His voice ends in a question mark, inviting me to go further.
Oh, you know, you could throw your arm on my shoulders on the regular, letting your hand graze my breast. Or French kiss me in the morning in front of the whole town as we casually stroll to Chris’s bakery for croissants.“Just, whatever.” Like give me a shoulder rub at Lazy’s and bring my back to your front when all our friends show up and we need to huddle in a booth, or even have me on your lap and, like, let your hands casually glide up and down my thighs as we have a beer.“Natural, you know. Everyday stuff newlyweds do.”
This time he full-on coughs.
I huff. “I mean in public. Jesus, Noah, your mind is in the gutter!” Oh that was nasty—Willow the prude. But I had to do something to offset what I’d just said. Because now we’re both thinking about the same thing. And it’s mortifying.
“Speaking of which,” Noah says, and his jaw clenches as he thinks through his next words. “Lane is staying at Lilyvale for the summer. And Beck technically lives above the barn, but he’s in and out. The place is large, but still…”
“I’m aware,” I say, my voice strangling a bit. I’m going to let him make suggestions about that situation.We probably need to share a bedroom.
