The marriage license office is pretty bureaucratic, even an hour before midnight on New Year’s Eve. There’s a decent line, although it’s moving quickly. Apparently the application process has moved online, which only half the people in line know about, so everyone is passing the tip down the line that it’ll go faster if you fill that out on your phone before you get to the counter.
The form is in two parts, one for each applicant. It’s straightforward, asking for my name, my parents’ names, my social security number.
Then I hand Francesca my phone. “Your turn, Applicant Two.”
Her fingers fly over the screen, efficient and sure, and I’m reminded again that this girl is going to be a doctor. She’s smart in a way that makes me want to be smarter just to keep up.
When she hands it back, she’s advanced the screen to the final part, which is asking for where to send correspondence.
“It’s your birthday present,” she says. “You can put in your address.”
Since I’m rarely at home, I use my parents’ address in Minneapolis. I try not to think too hard about the fact that my mother is absolutely going to lose her mind if anycorrespondence about a Vegas marriage license shows up at her house. But that’s Future Logan’s problem.
And it’s a funny story.
When it’s our turn at the counter, the clerk is efficient. She finds our application in the system, processes our payment, and hands over an honest-to-God wedding license.
I manage to keep a straight face the entire time, even though I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Congratulations,” she says in a voice that suggests she’s said this about a thousand times tonight. “You have one year to use this. Have a happy New Year.”
I tuck the license away in my pocket. We both manage to keep it together until we’re outside, then we start laughing and don’t stop until we’re tangled in each others’ arms.
“This is definitely the kind of thing one celebrates with a kiss,” she breathes.
I tip her face up.
I’m only halfway through the agreed upon number.Fifteen. My pulse thuds heavy as I lower my mouth, keeping my gaze on her pretty face, her soft, open expression, until she turns blurry right up close.
And then I close my eyes and enjoy the first real press of our lips, the soft quiver of her mouth under mine, the flex of her smile and the hot little exhale as she parts her lips.
Just a little.
Enough of an invitation that I want to take it, I really fucking do, but I want to take my time with the next fifteen kisses. Make them at least last until midnight, when this bright light of a very good girl should get the best kiss of her entire life.
I know it will be mine, too.
I don’t feel cursed right now. Not at all. I feel like this might be the birthday I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
“A rose, sir?” A woman’s voice interrupts us. “A rose for your wife?”
We break apart and look sideways at the same time. There’s a vendor with a bucket full of long stem roses.
“Sure,” I say.
“No thanks,” Francesca says.
“Mywifewouldlovea rose,” I insist, digging out my wallet. When the vendor hands me the flower, I hand it over in an exaggerated way. “Because she’s a very good girl.”
That shuts Francesca up.
“Is she?” The woman waggles her eyebrows. “In that case, for seventy-five bucks, I’ve got a magic rose, if you know what I mean.”
Francesca laughs. “No, we’re all right, thank you.”
But I’m hooked by the sales pitch. “What’s a magic rose?”
“Don’t tell him,” Francesca says. “Come on, birthday boy. Time for us to find the next fun thing to do.”
