She shook herself. “I want to keep the exposed brick,” she started.
Cash began making notes on the blueprints.
“And the fridge,” she added with a smirk.
He gritted his teeth. The old thing was worth less in scrap metal than it would take to run it for a year.
She grinned, knowing she’d gotten under his skin. Marrying Maggie was a huge gamble on his part. What had the preacher said? He had to be willing to put his life—no, his heart—on the line. If the Lord was in this, then He had a sense of humor that was slightly sarcastic.
The trouble was, being with Maggie was like putting on a pair of leather work gloves that fit just right—protective, warm, and inviting. How would he ever stick to his side of platonic with her whole being reaching out to him?
He’d have to figure it out. Because scaring her off too early could cost him more than his inheritance—it could cost him his heart.
Chapter 6
Eight days later, Cash paced the sidewalk in front of city hall. He wore a button-up shirt and jeans—the closest thing he had to a suit and the worst look for a wedding ceremony.
This was not how he’d pictured marrying Maggie.
All those years ago, when she’d wrapped him around her little finger with her innocent smile over a bonfire, he’d imagined himself sweeping that girl off her feet and giving her the world. He’d done it too, only to drop her six months later when the ugliness of his life had become too much to bear. He had his reasons for breaking up with her, but that didn’t make him any less of an idiot for it. If he’d had any sense of self-preservation, he would have stayed with her—clung to her and the goodness she represented. Instead, he’d shoved away the only pure love in his life and joined the military.
Boot camp was hard but better and easier than living under his father’s fist.
In those lonely nights, just a bunk away from a man who dropped F-bombs in his sleep and another two who were jonesing for a fight, he’d picture Maggie in a white dress, walking down the aisle. It was a sweet sort of torture that kept him going but also kept him from moving on.
There was never another woman. Not one. He didn’t even try. Because once he’d tasted perfection, anything else just wouldn’t do.
So, by some weird twist of fate—or the hand of God, as the pastor was quick to point out—he was going to marry the woman of his dreams. And she hated him.
So strange how life played out. Once again, he’d be living in sweet torture. He’d have Maggie, belong to her, and yet he wouldn’t be able to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and tell her all the secrets locked away in his heart. He’d sleep across the hall from the woman of his dreams in order to inherit a house he hadn’t known existed ten days ago. He went to run his hand through his hair, a stressed-out habit, but quickly remembered how much time he’d taken to get it to look just right because he wasgetting married.
If his bride would show up.
He glanced at his watch and then at the parking lot once more, willing her car to appear. He didn’t even know what she drove. What was he doing, marrying a woman when he didn’t know what she drove? For all he knew, she was up to her eyeballs in debt and would ruin his credit, his business, and the life he’d built in Moose Creek.
Their appointment was in five minutes. Maggie always pushed a deadline, but she was never late. Her timing was the perfect balance of too cool for the tardy bell but A+ student.
He grinned at the thought. How he’d ever convinced Maggie to go out with him in the first place was a miracle of Jonah proportions.
A sleek little black convertible pulled into the lot and parked next to his pickup truck. He’d left the Harley home. There was history with that bike and Maggie, and he wasn’t sure flashing chrome in her face was a good idea.
Maybe one day they’d be able to talk things through, but today was certainly not that day.
According to Mr. Goodall, he had to get married and then present the marriage certificate to the city planner as proof of his marital status. Apparently, Grandpa had spoken to the guy about the house on multiple occasions, and the guy was holding Cash to every letter in Grandpa’s will. Moose Creek wasn’t that large of a city, and they could use something to put them on the map. Mr. Goodall had warned Cash that the city was hungry for him to fail.
Maggie slid out of the car, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses. Dang, that girl could always pull those off. His eyes darted to a matching pair he’d left on his dashboard. No wonder he’d snatched them up when he had the chance.
Her hair was down and full, all honey and amber. She slammed the car door shut, and he got a look at what she’d worn to their wedding. Hot dang, that woman was fine. A black-and-white leopard-print shirt flowed over her thin frame while black leather pants hugged her hips and backside.
“Soooo not the blushing bride?” he asked as she approached. He couldn’t help the admiration in his voice. Maggie was all girl next door on the inside, but she looked hot.
She smirked. “You’re the one blushing—big guy.”
He gulped. “You didn’t have those pants in high school.”
She ran her finger over his chest as she walked past him. “You didn’t have all that either.”
His brain short-circuited at her touch.
