"You mean Todd," I said carefully, "your stepfather?"
"Yes."
One word. Clipped. Final. There was a story there, written in the tension of her jaw and the flatness of her gaze, but she wasn't offering it, and I wasn't going to ask. Not now.
"Okay." The words surprised me as they came out.
This wasn't the wedding I'd imagined. No nervous proposal, no joyful yes, no future built on love. Just two desperate people making a deal across a firehouse table. Gran would've hated it. Claire would've laughed. But they weren't here, and I was out of options.
"So how would this work?"
Riley didn't hesitate. She'd clearly been thinking about this, running the numbers, building the framework before she ever sat down.
"Separate bedrooms. No romantic involvement. We present ourselves as a couple in public and to the courts, but in private, it’s strictly business." She ticked off the points like items on a checklist.
"You really know how to make a guy feel special." The joke landed flat, even to my own ears.
Riley's expression didn't waver. "I'm not looking for a love story. I'm looking for a legal solution. Can you handle that?"
It sounded like a challenge—and, at the same time, exactly what I needed. A practical arrangement with clear boundaries and a defined endpoint. No messy emotions. No risk of getting hurt. No chance of ending up like I had with Claire, blindsided and broken in an expensive restaurant while my future crumbled around me.
"Yeah." I sounded like I was giving up, but then the words came. "I can handle that."
We shook hands across the table. Her grip was firm, her palm calloused from years of hauling hose and gripping axes. The hands of someone who worked for everything she had.
"I'll draw up a timeline," she said, already standing. "We should move fast. The sooner we're married, the sooner I can present the new living situation to the court."
Not the love story I'd wanted. Just the lifeline we both needed.
"Okay."
She nodded once at Cal, who hadn't said a word through the entire exchange, and headed for the door. Her stride was purposeful, efficient. A woman with a plan, already moving on to the next problem.
I watched her disappear through the bay doors, and then I felt Cal's eyes on me.
The silence stretched between us, thick enough to notice. I waited for him to fill it. Advice, maybe. A warning. Something calm and measured about the spectacular mistake I’d just agreed to make.
Cal didn’t rush it. He never did. He just sat there, elbows loose on the table, fingers wrapped around his mug like he had all the time in the world. His eyes stayed on me—not sharp, not judging. Assessing. Like he was watching a weather system roll in and deciding whether it was worth battening down the hatches.
Then he chuckled.
Low and knowing. The kind of laugh that didn’t come from humor so much as recognition. Like he’d seen this movie before, knew the plot beats by heart, and was already bracing for the part where things went sideways.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He took a long sip of his coffee, eyes still on me, the corner of his mouth tilted like he was in on a joke I hadn’t caught up to yet. “Just thinking.”
“About?” I pressed.
“About how interesting the next year is going to be.”
I frowned. “It’s a business arrangement. That’s all.”
Cal’s smile widened. He stood, clapped me on the shoulder, and headed for the door without another word. He didn’t have to say it. The look on his face said plenty—like he knew exactly how flimsy that line was and was kind enough not to call me on it.
I looked down at my phone. Her contact was saved as Riley Santos.
My fake future wife. She would be Riley Murphy if this went through.
