Call me sentimental, but I don’t think my typical uniform of jeans and a hoodie, which is all I seem to have in my drawers and closet, would be appropriate. I’ve already rifled through Mima’s clothes, still packed away in the spare room. She actually had great taste, but nothing fits right, and I have zero seamstress skills. So even though I have a date at the courthouse in just under an hour, I’m still in my bra and panties and have damp hair.
Pulling on my fluffy robe, I hustle out to the attached garage, which houses clothes and other things in storage totes. Taking the lid off the first tote in the stack of two, I rummage through T-shirts and pajamas until I find something with a price tag still attached. Frowning, I carefully pull it from the jumble. When I see the white and pink floral print, I remember the sorority rush brunch I was invited to. I hadn’t been sure about going—and ultimately didn’t—but this dress called my name ina department store. I wasn’t sure where I’d wear it again, if ever, but it was too pretty to ignore and had been seriously discounted.
I take it back to my bedroom and slip it on; the dress fits like a glove, reaching down to mid-calf. The square neckline and spaghetti straps go perfectly with my shape, and a draw string tie gathers the bust. It’s a little on the sexy side but not inappropriate.
I’m just dabbing on some pale pink lip gloss when the far away rumble of tires on the dirt road reaches my ears. The nerves that had been sitting quietly in the pit of my stomach wake up and radiate throughout my body.
He’s here. Here to pick me up and take me to town to getmarried.
Deciding to face this head-on from the start, I open the front door. The crisp spring air greets me with a soft nip soothed by the warmth of the late morning sun when I venture out onto the smooth wood planks. I wait at the top of the steps for Wolf to turn off his engine, and when his door opens, I’m completely unprepared.
Wolf’s head is absent of a ball cap as he ducks out of the cab to reveal damp brown hair. While it’s clearly been combed, the long strands still try to fall in his eyes, and a few wayward curls are determined to stand out from the rest. Gone also are his usual relaxed blue jeans and in their place—black pants and button-down shirt.
My heart forgets to beat for a moment. I don’t know if it’s the look or what it represents: he’s taking this seriously. While this isn’t a traditional union, he didn’t want to cheapen it by showing up looking like he couldn’t give a shit.
He doesn’t seem to notice me as he slams the door and reaches into the flatbed. When he retrieves two tightly packedduffle bags, swinging one over the back of his shoulder, reality hits.
Right… He’s moving in. I’m about to marry this man I barely know, one who is so handsome, I can barely look at him straight. My world is such a surreal bubble of exhilaration, I try to quell it by grabbing onto one of the porch’s support beams.
Wolf turns away from his truck. He didn’t go completely formal—his shirt is untucked, and I like it. He takes two steps, looks up, and stops, staring up at me for a moment.
“Hey,” he finally says.
I try to get a read on the look in his eyes, hoping to not find any kind of nerves or hesitation. Instead, all I find are hints of curiosity and surprise, maybe? Several beats pass by on the gentle breeze, and when a few strands of hair blow into my eyes, the spell seems to pass, and I clear my throat. “I’m almost ready. Um…” I awkwardly turn—this has just become his home too. I shouldn’t have to invite him in.
Fortunately, Wolf reads my mannerisms just right and follows me into the house.
Inside, the air is still and the silence loud without the buffer of outside nature sounds, and the awkwardness of the situation seems to take over. I sit on the bench near the door and slip on my T-strap sandals.
Wolf sets his bags down out of the way at the end of the hallway, thankfully not asking for any kind of instruction. At this moment, I still don’t know what part of the house he should actually live in. My grandparents room here on the ground floor is full of boxes and the bed is gone – leaving only mine. Per my usual M.O., I’ve been putting that decision off in the hopes it will figure itself out.
I feel like I can’t get back outside fast enough, and once we’re in Wolf’s truck, I put the window down, clinging to the white noise and cool breeze as my anchors.
“You’re nervous,” he says from his side of the cab, his eyes still fixed on the road, his arm stretched in front of him with his wrist resting on the top of the wheel.
“Aren’t you?” I ask, pulling my hair away from my face.
“No.” The word is firm and a little clipped, but not harsh. The breeze from my window lightly ruffles his brown hair, his knuckles stiffen with his grip, and the tendons in his wrist flex, which make the dim little light low in my belly glow to life.
I ignore it. “Liar.” His body language says otherwise, and if he can decide I’m nervous just by looking at me, so can I.
He stays silent, but the tug at the corner of his lips is proof I’m right. My body lightens at the realization he’s full of shit, and I feel calmer the rest of the way into town.
City Hall is a four-story, red brick building with white trim that sits at the end of Main Street. Inside, the judge’s chambers are crisp, with dark wood and high-back armchairs.
I try to keep my hands from shaking as I sign my name and hand the clipboard to Wolf to do the same. He barely takes any time to look over the document before scratching his name on the line in a sharp scrawl.
“Okay, that’s all I need.” The judge quickly scans the document from behind her bifocals. While she’s dressed nicely in a magenta pantsuit, she’s not wearing any kind of robe or official garb except for the I.D. badge—her name is Judge Lafferty—clipped to her jacket. “I’ll have you both stand now,” she instructs as she does the same.
Wolf and I stand next to each other, both facing forward and waiting for what comes next.
Judge Lafferty’s mouth lifts in a crooked grin. “You may uh…face each other. Join hands if you like…” She looks amused as she prompts us to act like a normal couple getting married and not like we’ve got a gun held to our heads.
Oh for fuck’s sake.I mentally nudge myself to act like I’m in love, and Wolf must do the same because he reaches for both my hands when I turn to face him. Trying not to overthink anything or get too lost in my nerves, I focus on our connection while the judge takes us through our vows. It’s crazy how my hands feel like they’re being embraced and protected by Wolf’s despite the rough quality of his. They’re strong and capable as well as warm and comforting. My hands are at home in his… It’s such a wild-ass thought that somehow makes perfect sense.
“And this is the part where you’ll exchange rings,” the judge announces.
Shit!
