“Yeah, but I’m notactuallyyour wife.”
“The papers we’re signing and the rings we’re exchanging say otherwise.” I leaned toward her, my voice pitching low. “And this goes both ways. You need something…taken care of…while we’re married, you come to me.”
Her breath caught before she could hide it. A flicker of something she definitely didn’t want me to see crossed her face, and she refocused her attention on her clipboard. “Don’t worry about my needs. I’ll be fine.”
“No expiration on that offer, hellcat. You just let me know.”
She froze mid-note, her pen hovering over the page as she flicked her eyes up to me. I hadn’t meant to drop my voice that low, but judging by the flush creeping up her neck, it landed anyway.
The air tightened between us—something sharp and undeniable sparking to life. Then she blinked it away with a shake of her head.
When she glanced at me again, the look she shot me could’ve stripped paint. Yeah. I was getting to her. Good, maybe she’d finally get a taste of what she’d been doing to me for years.
“There’s really no way of telling how long we’ll have to keep this up for,” she said, back to all business.
I shrugged, unconcerned. “I figured it’d be a few months.”
“At least. Maybe as much as a year, depending on the timeline for the grant.” She looked up at me, her expression suddenly serious. “Just so we’re clear, if you back out when you get bored, I’m screwed.”
I met her gaze, mine unflinching. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She cocked her head to the side, all the ire and frustration and exasperation replaced by suspicion. “What do you get out of this?”
Besides daily torture?
“A tax break, fresh eggs, and delicious jam. Not to mention a grumpy wife to keep me humble. You’re always telling me I need more of that.”
“Lincoln,” she said. Quiet and direct. No more games.
I grabbed the rag from my shoulder and wiped down the part of the bar I’d already cleaned twice. “You need help. I’m helping.”
“That’s still not an answer.” She stared up at me, not budging an inch.
That was the Willa I knew. Strong. Steady. Sure. When things needed to get done, she did them. Usually by herself, without asking anyone for anything.
Which was why, when her brother was struggling with whether or not to join Doctors Without Borders, I’d told him to go. That she’d be fine without him here.
And I’d been spending the past three years watching her circle the drain, knowing she was breaking. But also knowing she’d never accept an ounce of outward help, so I’d had to figure out sneaky ways to do so.
This? Not so sneaky.
“Because I’m the one who told Beau to leave. And because no one should have to carry everything alone.” I cleared my throat and shrugged. “And I still owe you for that time you drove me to the ER after we turned my mom’s backyard into a giant slip and slide with plastic sheeting and dish soap. My knee never saw that jagged rock coming.”
She was quiet for so long, I thought for sure she was just gearing up to rip me a new one. But instead, she said, “And don’t forget about when I stopped you from getting a tattoo of the bar’s logo on your ass.”
“You swore you’d take that secret to your grave.”
“Keep this deal, and I might.”
I set aside all the teasing and met her gaze, steady and sure. “You know I will.”
She took a deep breath, then gave me a subtle nod. We weren’t close anymore, but once upon a time, we’d been thick as thieves. For all the taunts and sneers and thinly veiled threats of murder, we could count on each other, and we knew it.
After shoving her clipboard into her bag, she hooked it over her shoulder and stood, pausing as she glanced back at me. “You really think this can work?”
Something shifted in her expression then—a flicker of uncertainty under all that toughness and grit.
“No idea,” I said. “But I think we might have a better chance at success if you stop trying to claw my eyes out every second of every day.”
