She pulled open the heavy door and did her best to look calm and collected. The floor was covered in warm brown and sand-colored tiles that shone with the care of a dedicated janitorial staff. Dark wood paneling ran halfway up the walls and framed the welcome window, where a bored secretary played a game of solitaire, the cards lined up like kindergartners waiting their turn.
Evie’s gait was even as she crossed the small space. She was proud that she appeared so confident when her heart pinballed around in her chest. To her right was an imposing door. As with the pearly gates, you didn’t walk through that door unless you had permission and knew where you were going.
She smiled at the secretary as she approached the window. “Hi, I’m here to meet my—” The words stuck. Every time she’d tried to talk about what she was about to do, her throat closed off. Conversations with Maisie had been greased with a bucket of ice cream and marshmallow topping. Maisie thought she was nuts. She could be walking into a marriage with someone who had a comb-over.
All the better, as far as Evie was concerned. The uglier her husband was, the easier it would be to refrain from physical contact and to focus on serving the congregation.
Like any good friend, Maisie had tried her best to talk Evie out of the wedding. She’d used persuasion, logic—even blackmail at one point. But Evie wouldn’t be moved. The life Seth had described sounded like heaven on earth. How could she pass that up?
And if it all went south, she could get the marriage annulled. Not that she liked the idea—marriage was sacred and not to be thrown about like popcorn. Since she was in this for the long haul and expected to grow old and die with Seth, she was confident in saying her vows.
Quitting had been easy. The owner’s daughter had just graduated from tech school and needed a place in the company. Evie trained her for two days and walked out the door without a backward glance.
Her apartment was also easy to vacate. The manager agreed to sever her lease three months early and even gave her the deposit back.
Like Seth had said, it was all too easy. She had to believe that the obstacles that would have been in her way had been moved by the Lord, because this was the path He wanted her on.
If that was true, if God was behind this, then why had her tongue gone rigid?
“Ma’am?” the woman behind the counter prompted her to continue.
“M-my fiancé.” She forced the word out. “We’re to be married. Today.”
“That’s usually why fiancés meet here,” said the woman with a drawl. “Fill this out. You can wait on the bench. The judge will be back in three minutes—finding your guy is up to you.” She waved to the empty waiting area, which contained nothing but a hard-back bench.
Evie took the clipboard and headed to take a seat. She started filling out the form and quickly realized she didn’t have half the answers. She could fill in her full name, but she didn’t know Seth’s. Heck, she hardly knew his first name, much less his Social Security number, his address, his mother’s maiden name …
Doubt crept in like a spider, moving slowly and sending shivers up her back.
The doors flew open, allowing the wind to whip at her skirt again. She grabbed the hem to hold it in place and glanced up at the stranger. A handsome young man worked to get the door shut, straining against the last few inches that wouldn’t budge.
The weather wasn’t cooperating. The sidewalk had turned dark with rain. She sighed at the sight. Was this a sign of turmoil and upheaval that would enter her life when she said “I do”? At least she’d arrived before the clouds opened up. She patted her hair. Would the storm slow Seth down and make him late for their wedding?
The stranger strode across the room and up to the window. He hadn’t seen her—or, if he had, he didn’t acknowledge her at all. “I’m here to get married,” he told the receptionist.
“You and everybody else.” She flicked her fingers toward Evie.
Evie snickered. The receptionist must get that statement all the time to be so flippant. What an interesting job, helping people get married. What other types of couples came through here? Surely there were some who were too eager to wait for a church wedding with all the trappings.
She’d once dreamed of a beach ceremony, with nothing between her and her husband and God but surf and sky. Those dreams had died—killed off by Owen’s betrayal. In a weird way, she was okay with that. Trading one dream for another wasn’t so bad, and becoming a preacher’s wife was a grand adventure.
Hannah Stevenson had been the wife of her preacher growing up. The woman was giving and always had it together. Her long brown hair fell in gentle beach waves, and she had a cute wardrobe—professional yet fun with skirts that looked a lot like the one Evie had picked this morning. Hannah had answers for every question, whether it be scriptural, spiritual, or about life in general. She’d been a beacon for the teen girls to look up to—someone Evie would try to emulate as she stepped into this new role, though she doubted her ability to meet the standard Hannah set.
The receptionist handed the guy a clipboard. “Fill this out and have a seat. The judge will be back soon. You’re in line after her.” She pointed her pen at Evie, and the man turned.
Evie ducked her head, embarrassed to be caught watching him. She filled in her driver’s license number on the form and left the one for her intended’s ID number blank.
The man came and stood by her legs, where she could clearly see his shiny brown shoes just over the edge of her paperwork. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
She followed his legs up to his lean torso, then up his blue striped tie, and finally met his dark chocolate gaze. He was handsome. So much more so than Owen. She’d thought Owen’s chiseled jaw and prominent cheekbones made him irresistible, but his lies told another story.
This guy had a nice jaw too, but his face was rounder, less harsh. He had medium brown hair that stood up in the front. But it was his eyes that caught hold of her and wouldn’t let go. Dark brown and full of warmth, they caused her to feel as though he were the first person to ever look—really look—at her.
“May I sit here?”
She blinked at the casualness of his question. Here she’d been drowning in his gaze, sinking into the depths of his soul, and he wanted to sit. “Of course.” She pulled her purse closer to her thigh and scooted over to make room for him.
“Thank you.” His voice was nice, the kind that could project across the room and make every person in it think they were talking right to him.
