I fumbled for my water bottle. “Mmhmm.”
He flipped a few pages. “Any products of this union—real estate, business ventures, offspring—”
“Offspring?”
He held up his hands and let them fall to his lap. “Obviously that’s unlikely in our circumstances but it’s standard for these agreements.”
I toyed with my water. It was a good place to fixate. “Okay.”
He traced the edge of the paper, silent a moment. “You should have your own counsel review this before signing.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
“No, Shay, I’m telling you what’s in the document but I don’t represent your interests. You should have someone else.”
“Like the guy in Florida who explained Lollie’s crazy will to me?”
Noah rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “He definitely doesn’t represent your interests. No. Not him.”
“Would’ve been nice for him to mention that,” I mumbled.
“Your mother,” Noah started, “she must have—”
“Even if she does, I’m not calling her,” I interrupted. “I don’t have anyone. If we need to wait so I can find a lawyer, we’ll wait.” I motioned to the long checklist at my right. “You know where to find me.”
He glanced at the list and then at me, his gaze shifting from my eyes to the crab earrings. An inkling of a smile pressed at his lips. “I cannot be objective or impartial, and I’d be lying if I said I could be, though you should know it’s a fair agreement. Anything I added beyond the standard language is intended to protect and benefit you. But I won’t fault you if you want to wait.”
I noticed for the first time the sun-kissed highlights in his dark hair. Another thing hidden under those hats. “Do you think I need to wait?”
“No.”
I flipped through the pages, reading each line and comprehending a decent amount of it. When I came to the end, I asked, “Should I sign this one? Or your copy?”
He pulled a pen from inside his suit coat, handed it to me. “Yours. You first. I’ll take care of everything else.”
I could not be the only one hearing this.
Then, “Nice earrings.”
“Don’t make fun,” I replied.
“Give me some credit.” He futzed with his cuffs. “I’m not about to insult my wife on our wedding day.”
As impossible as it should’ve been, that was the first time someone had referred to me as their wife and that knowledge blindsided me. The ex never used that word. It was always girlfriend or fiancée, and I should’ve noticed that red flag a long,longtime ago. Though in this moment, I hated the amount of mental energy I’d spent on the ex today. He didn’t need it and he didn’t deserve it from me.
When I didn’t respond because I was busy rewinding the game tape on the past year of my life, Noah added, “I’m truly not teasing you. They’re cute. They’re”—he skimmed a gaze over my romper—“not what I would’ve expected.” He cleared his throat. “But they’re you.”
We stared at each other for a moment, me with his pen clutched in my hand and him with that loosened tie I itched to straighten for him.
Then, the bubble burst.
Noah pointed at the document. “If you want to sign that today, do it now. We need to get there before they close for the lunch hour.”
I uncapped the pen. Time to hurry up and get married. “Right.”
* * *
The driveto Providence didn’t take long and I appreciated the hell out of that. Neither of us knew what to say and I couldn’t be the only one with the same questions playing on a loop in their head:What the hell am I doing? Why the hell am I doing this? What if it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made and I screw up everything with Twin Tulip? What if it’s not the worst decision? What happens if this works out?
