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“Looks like it,” Ethan replied under his breath.

Morrison snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I realized I hadn’t blinked in several seconds. Mikey had already moved to stand in front of the clerk.

Err, our officiant.

“Right,” I muttered, moving to stand facing him.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice quivering. “We can come up with a new plan.”

I shook my head hard. “No. I’m marrying you. Today. Like this.”

“Are you sure, Cal? ‘Cuz you look kind of pale.”

“It’s winter, and I’m always pale.”

“I just mean⁠—”

“I know what you mean, Mikey,” I told him, holding out my hands. “Now, are we getting married or what?”

Mikey pushed his shoulders back and pulled in a deep breath. When he let it out, he turned his head to face the clerk. “We’re ready.”

Over the next couple of minutes, we both said “I do,” though I didn’t remember precisely what I’d agreed to. The clerk’s voice was just background noise. What I did register was how cool the ring was as Mikey slipped it over my knuckle, the slight flush on his cheeks and the flecks of gold in his eyes when I did the same, and the absolute, unshakable belief that we were doing the right thing when the Clerk said, “By the authority vested in me by the State of Maine, I now pronounce you married.”

I didn’t wait for her to tell me I could kiss my groom or whatever the line was for a wedding like ours. I simply reached out, grabbed hold of the lapels of Mikey’s suit jacket, and hauled him forward. One of his hands came up to cup the back of my neck, his other arm hooking around my waist as our mouths crashed together.

Dimly, I was aware of the sounds of hands clapping, and of Bell’s piercing whistle. Then we were pulling back, and I was telling Mikey how much I loved him, his eyes shining brightly up at me.

“Hey, Husband,” he breathed out.

“Hi,” I whispered right back.

FORTY

MIKEY

Cally and I were sprawled diagonally across his bed, breathing hard. “Holy fuck,” he rasped, draping an arm over his face. “Is it possible to suck someone’s soul out through their dick?”

I huffed out a laugh. “You’re the one who went to medical school—you tell me.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” he replied drolly.

I snickered, extending my arms overhead and pointing my toes—really digging into the stretch—until my spine popped.

Ah, that’s the stuff.

He snagged my hand out of the air, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the wedding ring he’d slid on my finger a week ago. “I was thinking about getting a tattoo,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere.

I rolled onto my stomach, propping my chin in my palm. “That’s quite the pivot, Cal.”

“It tracked in my head.” His eyes slid to me, his lips quirking to the side in a wry half smile.

“Lemme guess—it’s one of those Thought A leads to Thought B until eventually you land on Thought E, and that’s what comes out of your mouth?”

“See? You get it.”

I got the idea of it. I spoke the language of Hunter Callahan, just not fluently. Yet.

“Walk me through it.” I scootched over, curling up against him.