Chapter 3 The License
THE LICENSE
CLARA
The courthouse steps were slick with ice at eight-thirty in the morning.
I stood at the bottom, clutching the paperwork I'd printed at home, watching my breath cloud in the December air. The marriage license office opened at nine. Eli was supposed to meet me here at eight-forty-five.
It was eight-forty-six.
Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he'd woken up and realized how insane this was—marrying a woman he'd known for less than twenty-four hours for reasons he wouldn't explain.
Maybe I'd pushed too hard last night, asking questions he wasn't ready to answer.
"You're early."
I spun around. Eli stood behind me, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, gray eyes unreadable in the morning light. He looked like he'd slept about as well as I had.
"So are you," I said.
"Figured we should get this done before we lost our nerve."
We. Like this was something we were doing together instead of a favor he was doing for me.
"You having second thoughts?" I asked.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there for a beat too long. "Are you?"
"No."
"Then let's go get married."
The marriage license office was a sterile room with fluorescent lighting and forms taped to every available surface. The clerk behind the counter looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"Next," she called without looking up.
We approached the counter together. Eli's hand found the small of my back, a touch so brief I might have imagined it if not for the heat that shot straight through me.
"We need a marriage license," I said.
The clerk finally looked up, took in Eli's size and my obvious nervousness, and her expression shifted to something resembling interest.
"IDs and birth certificates," she said. "You both residents of the county?"
"Yes," Eli said, pulling out his wallet.
"How long have you known each other?"
I froze. We hadn't practiced this part.
"Long enough," Eli said smoothly. His hand pressed against my back again, steadying me.
The clerk raised an eyebrow but started typing. "Previous marriages?"
"No," I said.
"No," Eli echoed.
"Witnesses for the ceremony?"
Another pause. "We'll figure that out," I said.
Twenty minutes and sixty-five dollars later, we walked out of the courthouse with a piece of paper that made our fake marriage suddenly, terrifyingly official.
"That's it?" I asked, staring at the license.
"That's it." Eli stopped on the courthouse steps. "Clara."
"Yeah?"
"We need to talk about the ceremony."
"What about it?"
His eyes were serious, almost intense. "If people show up, they're going to expect things. Rings. Vows. A kiss."
A kiss. My stomach flipped at the thought of Eli's mouth on mine, even for show.
"Right," I said. "Of course."
"You okay with that?"
Was I okay with kissing a man who made my pulse skip just by looking at me? A man whose flannel shirt I'd slept in because it smelled like him?
"It's just for show," I said.
Something flickered in his expression. "Right. Just for show."
ELI
Clara was lying.
I could tell by the way her voice went tight when she said it was just for show. By the way her cheeks flushed when I mentioned kissing her.
Good. Because I was lying too.
Nothing about this felt like pretend anymore. Not the way she'd looked curled up on my couch last night. Not the way she'd smiled when she put on her old shirt. Not the way my chest had tightened when she'd asked about my past.
And definitely not the way I wanted to kiss her for real, not just for whatever audience we'd have at our wedding.
"We should find someone to perform the ceremony," I said.
"Any suggestions?"
"Nash Morrison. He's ordained—did his brother's wedding last year."
Clara nodded. "When?"
"This Saturday, maybe."
"That fast?"
"You said you had to be married within three weeks. Better to have extra time in case something goes wrong."
What I didn't say was that I wanted it done. Wanted her legally tied to me before she could change her mind or realize she could find someone better.
I kept telling myself it was fake. Kept telling myself it didn't matter. But I was already planning forever like a fool.
We were walking toward the parking area when I heard my name called.
"Eli Hayes, is that you?"
I turned to see Dolores Finch bearing down on us, her curiosity radar clearly pinging. Dolores ran the post office and knew everyone's business before they did.
"Mrs. Finch," I said.
Her eyes went straight to Clara, then to the courthouse behind us, then back to Clara with the kind of calculating look that spelled trouble.
"And who's this lovely young lady?"
"Clara Chen," Clara said, extending her hand. "Mae Chen's niece."
"Oh, Mae's girl! Of course!" Dolores beamed. "I heard you were back in town. And at the courthouse with our Eli, no less."
I watched Clara's face carefully. This was the test—could she lie convincingly to the town gossip?
"We just got our marriage license," Clara said, and I nearly choked.
Dolores's eyes went wide. "Marriage license? Well, I'll be! When's the happy day?"
"This Saturday," Clara continued smoothly. "Small ceremony. Just family."
"How wonderful! And so romantic, getting married right before Christmas." Dolores turned to me. "Eli, you sly dog. How long have you two been—"
"We should go," I interrupted. "Lots to plan."
I put my hand on Clara's back and guided her toward her truck before Dolores could ask more questions.
"I can't believe you just did that," I said once we were out of earshot, but I was grinning.
"Was it bad?" Clara looked worried. "I just told the town gossip we're getting married on Saturday."
"It was perfect. Now we have a deadline and a story."
"Eli." She stopped walking and turned to face me. "What if people ask questions? What if they want details about how we met, how long we've been together?"
"Then we tell them it was fast. That Mae introduced us. That sometimes you know when something's right."
The words came out more intense than I'd intended. Clara stared at me, something shifting in her expression.
"Is that what you'd tell them?" she asked quietly.
"If they asked."
"And would you mean it?"
The question hung between us like a challenge. I could have deflected, could have reminded her this was all pretend.
Instead, I stepped closer. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Close enough to catch that faint scent of vanilla and antiseptic that was purely her.
"Clara," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I'd intended.
"Yeah?"
"Saturday. You still want to do this?"
She nodded, but her eyes were locked on my mouth. "I want it more than I should."
CLARA
I spent the rest of the day in a panic.
First about the ceremony—what to wear, what to say, how to act like a bride instead of a woman making a desperate deal.
Then about how real Eli had felt when he'd stepped close outside the courthouse, the way his voice had gone rough when he'd asked if I still wanted to do this.
By evening, I was wondering if I'd be able to let go after this ended. If I'd be able to walk away from whatever this was becoming.
My phone buzzed with a text from Eli: Can you come by? Need to discuss Saturday.
I was in my truck before I'd fully processed the decision to go.
Eli opened the door before I knocked, and I caught that now-familiar mix of soap and pine and something darker that was just him.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey." I stepped inside, immediately feeling the warmth wrap around me. "You said we needed to discuss Saturday?"
"Right." But he was looking at me like he'd forgotten what he wanted to say. "Have you eaten?"
"I'm not hungry."
"You're always hungry."
The casual observation made something flutter in my chest. How did he know that about me already?
"I made chili," he said. "It's good."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at his kitchen table with a bowl of the best chili I'd ever tasted, watching him move around his kitchen with easy confidence.
"This is incredible," I said. "Where did you learn to cook?"
"Trial and error. Gets boring eating out of cans every night."
“Have you lived alone a lot?"
Something shuttered in his expression. "Yeah."
"By choice?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "Mostly."
I wanted to push, but the careful distance in his voice warned me off. Instead, I focused on the chili and the way he kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking.
"About Saturday," he said finally.
"What about it?"
"The kiss."
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. "What about it?"
"We should probably practice."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Practice?"
"So it looks real. So we don't fumble it in front of everyone."
Of course. For the audience. For the show.
"Right," I said. "That makes sense."
But when he stood up and walked around the table to where I was sitting, when he held out his hand to help me up, it didn't feel like practice.
It felt like a claiming.
"Clara," he said quietly.
I let him pull me to my feet, let him step closer until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just practice," I said, but my voice came out breathless.
"Just practice," he agreed.
His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. His touch was gentle, careful, like I was something precious.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He leaned down slowly, giving me time to pull away. I didn't.
His mouth touched mine, soft at first, almost hesitant. Like he was asking permission.
I gave it to him by pressing closer, by letting my hands come up to grip the front of his flannel shirt.
The kiss deepened. His tongue traced my lower lip, and I opened for him with a sound that was definitely not pretend.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Good," he said, but his voice was rough. "That should work for Saturday."
My fingers stayed curled in his shirt like I didn't want to let go.
I wasn't sure I did.
"Yeah," I whispered. "Should work."
But as I stood there in his kitchen, his hands still on my face, his eyes dark with something that looked a lot like want, I knew we were both lying.
Nothing about that kiss had been practice.
And Saturday was going to change everything.