“What did Owen say?” I ask once we’re at a safe distance.
Noah glances behind us. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he says, “That he doesn’t believe our marriage is real.”
“So?” I whisper back. "Why do we care about Owen?"
“ He represents developers, and I’ve turned down offers that came through him in the past. When he said he was warning me about our marriage, he made it sound like a threat. I can’t even talk to my lawyer about this.”
“I never liked Owen.”
“I should hope not.”
We reach the end of The Green and make the left onto Elm street, nearing the store. The awning is rolled back. In the dim inside lighting, the display windows have the potential of showing soft coziness—if the accumulation of stuff there didn’t look so haphazard. I removed the umbrellas and placed theboard games back where they were, which made me extremely unhappy. “Who normally does the windows?” I ask Noah.
His voice is clipped when he answers. It’s something I’ve noticed whenever he talks about the store. He seems stressed. “Whoever has time. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time we did anything to it.”Yes, the layer of dust attests to that.
“Maybe I could take a stab at it?” I could see thematic displays by season or occasion. Cute kitchen items displayed at varying heights. A pine shelf with bath products and fluffy towels artfully arranged. Toys piling out of a painted chest. Clothing is trickier—but I’m sure I can figure it out.
“Knock yourself out,” he says, turning his gaze straight ahead as he takes us at a fast clip away from the store and toward Lilyvale.
Glancing behind us, he removes his arm from around my shoulders. “Coast is clear,” he announces with a grin. My hand slips out of his pocket as he sidesteps to a respectable distance.
“Phew,” I joke, wrapping the shawl tighter around my shoulders, unable to repress a shiver as a gust of wind penetrates through the thin wool layer.
Noah moves closer to me, as if to warm me up, and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking up to the star-filled sky. “Can’t believe we have this cold spell now.”
Then as we reach the house, he holds the door open for me, and I brush against him as I make my way in, bracing myself against the feeling of safety he gives me. Against the feeling of being cared for. Reminding myself that I can’t fall too deep for Noah.
I kick my shoes off while Noah turns some lights on. Beck and Lane were still at Lazy’s when we left. “Chloe almost busted us. I can’t believe I didn’t think about the lease on my apartment.” Where am I even going to live after this is over? “How long… how long d’you think we need to stay married?”
His gaze registers something like pain, and yeah, I get it. It must be a real pain in the ass for him. He sleeps on a couch each night, for fucks’ sakes.
“Would be great if we could stretch it until after my birthday. If it’s okay with you.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t dare ask me, and his vulnerability slices through me.
“Of course,” I say. I’ll think about the rest of my life later. “But we have a problem. We don’t know each other well enough. Something’s bound to come out between now and then.”
Noah takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Nah.” He sets his gaze on me, effectively rooting me to where I’m standing, while a sad smile softens his expression. “I’d say we gave them a good show tonight.”
A pang of desire mixed with sadness stabs me. It was all a show and yet… I let myself believe it was real. And it felt so good.
Idiot.
“You don’t understand,” I counter, my outer self insisting on being all fiery, when inside I just want to curl up in a sad little ball. “What if… what if someone contests our marriage and-and-and we’re asked to testify or something? You know how they ask parents going through a divorce the name of their kids’ best friend or favorite stuffed animal?”
“They do that?”
Pretty sure I saw that in a movie, but that’s beside the point. “What if they did that for us? You know how Owen can get. Always looking to create trouble. It’s like he can’t stand to see other people happy.”
He huffs “What do you suggest?”
“We need to study each other.”
twenty-one
Noah
Ido enough of studying Willow. In my mind at the store. The eternal hour she spent on my lap during dinner, chatting with our friends, her hair caressing my cheek, her perfect ass on my crotch, her laughter ringing deep inside my being. The three minutes’ walk from Lazy’s to the store where she fit so perfectly under my arm it was like I was made to hold her. The fraction of a second where I held the door for her and memorized the moment as an example of the perfect life I’ll likely never have. The four seconds it takes me to carry her from the couch to the bed, each night. The one-point-two seconds when she’s still sleeping and I set her coffee on her nightstand and softly say, “Rise and shine,” because she’s my wife and that’s how I talk to my wife—fake or not. Sheisthe sunshine. That’s what wives always are for men. Their sunshine.
For some strange reason we both walk into the kitchen when we get home. “What kind of studying are you suggesting?” I askas I busy myself pouring a whiskey and purposefully don’t offer her a drink. This whole evening is dangerous enough as it is without the implied connotation of me offering her a drink.
