Right. Because this is a transaction, of sorts. A favor. A gift. It’s not a real marriage.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly while trying to build a wall around my heart. It would be far too easy to allow real feelings to get involved here. But that would be dangerous.
And it would make the ending of this even more painful. I can’t let that happen.
He turns his hand underneath mine and laces our fingers together. There’s something lighter about him now. I did that; my help did that. There’s a plan now, one that puts him on the right path to getting his farm.
Because that’s what matters now.
Not my heart.
“We should probably talk about terms and what paperwork we’ll need to ensure your farm is protected when,” I pause, hating what I’m about to say and try again, “when it ends.”
His eyes sharpen slightly, but I’m not sure why. “We’ll have to be married for the next year,” his voice drops and he mumbles something under his breath.
“I can do that,” I say the words, but my voice wavers slightly.
His eyes soften and then he’s standing and pulling me up with him. “I think you deserve a tour. That way you can think about where you want to put your things or what you want to move or replace.”
My mouth opens, but I don’t get the chance to protest before Rook is leading me from room to room. I can hear the pride in his voice as he shows me the farmhouse which has been in his family for generations.
Even though I stepped into the kitchen earlier to grab drinks and plates, I didn’t get the chance to really poke around. As much as I wanted to take it all in, I forced myself to be quick and not be overly nosey. It was incredibly difficult, but I managed.
Barely.
There are a few empty pots on the windowsill, and I step closer to them, my gaze curious. I can imagine them growing a few herbs, but it looks like they haven’t been used in a while.
Rook steps up next to me, his voice holding a reverence that stills my breath, “Grandma used to grow herbs in there. We tried to keep them alive after her death, but we couldn’t.” He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s kind of ironic that a farmer couldn’t keep a few small herb plants alive.”
I make a humming sound before stepping away and taking in the rest of the kitchen. “I love it. It’s perfect just the way it is.”
Rook seems to stand up a little taller, like it’s a relief that I love the space his grandmother called home. I don’t need him to tell me this was her space. I can feel it. There’s a warmth here, and an accumulation of things used over the years to feed a family. To feed this family, this legacy.
Every room has the same feeling to it. This house has been lived in. It has been used. There’s laughter within the walls.
The more I see, the more it feels like I’m in a daze. I was planning to stay for a while and maybe even talk about my fall menu, but I think I need a little bit of space.
As we make our way into the living room, it feels like the walls start to close in on me slightly. “I think I should head home. This has been a lot.” The laugh that comes out of me is just slightly hysterical. “I need to think,” I quickly add on with my hands raised, “not that I’ll back out or change my mind. I just need to process.”
The smile Rook gives me is soft. “I get it,” he murmurs. “Do what you need to do. I’ll call you in a few days about how you want to do the ceremony?”
“Oh,” I breathe out, “yeah.”
The ceremony.
“We can keep it simple and small. I’m more than fine with a courthouse thing,” I tell him.
It’s the truth too. I never really imagined the wedding when I was a little girl. It was the marriage, the partnership and love, I craved. I don’t care about the performance of the ceremony.
Or maybe that’s the wrong approach because none of this is real.
I shake my head slightly, needing to ignore those thoughts, all thoughts really, for a few moments longer. When I’m alone, I can let them out to play. Not yet.
I make it to the car after a brief hug with Rook, but this whole thing distracted me and I couldn’t fully enjoy it. Once I’m pulling away, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I mutter, “What the fuck am I going to tell the girls?”
Shit.
