Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“I’m not nervous.”
Her eyes go wide. She licks her lips, unable to stop her grin from returning. “Did you really think I was with you against my will, waiting for the hour to strike so I could run out of here?”
“Yes . . . No. I know you love me, babe, but I feel shitty for forcing you to spend time with me.” Moving around the counter, she stands with our knees touching and looped fingers hanging from my waistband. So casual, like this is a normal Sunday for us. I want it to be. So badly.
“Truth?”
“Truth.” I run my hands along her shoulders, needing to touch her and always be close to her.
“I would have answered the door if you had come back. I would have taken your call. I would have gone to Deer Lake if you asked. That’s the thing, Shane. You gave up on us, but I never did.” She leans against me, so I dip my hands down her back, keeping her close. “I didn’t date. Although I was mad at you and hurt, I was no good for anyone else.”
“You’re perfect to me.” Holding her in my arms, I stroke the back of her head, so fucking grateful to have her here. “So you’re taking off in . . .” I tap the phone again. “Thirty-one minutes?”
Lifting, she kisses my chin. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I dip her down to kiss her neck, slowly working higher under her musical laughter. I kiss her lips, then look into her eyes. “It won’t be easy being my wife, but if we can get through the toughest days, I’ll give you a beautiful life.”
Bringing her upright, I cup her face and kiss her again, never tiring of this second chance I’ve been given. And then my phone buzzes. Fuck.
Every time it does that, dread fills my gut. I never want to see her upset or jealous over another woman again. She doesn’t deserve that.
Cat reluctantly backs away, resting her hip against the counter. I turn to look at my phone beside me. “Mr. Waldrip,” I announce with relief washing through me.
Her reaction matches mine. “What does the text say?”
Hovering over it, I rest against the cold stone and read, “It was a state government statistics project. We were researching . . . oh, uh.” I glance over at her. “Marriage and death certificates in California.”
She takes off running and flops on the couch, pulling her laptop onto her legs. She types faster than me, so I sit beside her as she pulls up the information for the state of California. While she scans, I point at a link about obtaining marriage licenses. “There.”
Clicking the link takes us to a new page. “No to courthouse ceremonies. It wasn’t at a venue. No to church.” She glances at me and smirks.
“I’d burn in the pews for all my sins.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “I still love you, though.”
Wrapping my arm around her back, I say, “That’s all that matters.”
Dragging her finger in front of the screen, she pauses again and shoots me a nervous look. “This one? Online?”
“I think so. It’s the only possibility that works for us.”
When she clicks, it takes us to another page of information. We both take a few minutes to read, and then I sit back, giving her room to finish. “I didn’t know you could get married online. Did you?”
“No.” She huffs, sounding defeated. “This doesn’t give us any helpful information. Where do we go from here?”
“This happened thirteen years ago last month—”
“Online licenses seem really advanced for that time period.” She switches to a new search bar and enters online marriages in California to see what pops up. “It’s been around for fourteen years.”
“That’s a little coincidental.”
“But even if we did it online, we would have been required to appear in person to make it official. That’s changed since.” She falls back on the couch cushion and sighs. “We’re never getting this solved.”
“I have an idea.”
Angling her head, she asks, “What?”
“We need to talk to Roberta.”
My phone vibrates against my leg, and hers by the glare I’m shot. “Jesus, Shane. You’re going to kill me with the texts.”
I’d chuckle, but I think she’s serious. Pulling it from my pocket, I see a message from Tommy:
The car will pick you up at ten a.m. on Wednesday. Enjoy the day off tomorrow.
I look at her. And though she’s feigning complete disinterest, I know she’s on edge from it. “It was Tommy, my manager. We have two shows next weekend.”
“When do you leave?”
“Wednesday.”
“The county offices open on Tuesday. I can’t go this week, though. My schedule is booked full.” She sets her laptop on the coffee table, then slides onto my lap.
I slip my hands up the back of her T-shirt, and say, “What if I go?”