Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
LINCOLN
Willa:
I’ll meet you at the bar after egg deliveries to discuss logistics
That was it. No greeting. No punctuation. Not even a threat, which pretty much counted as affection from her.
We weren’t even married yet, and she was already bossing me around. Not gonna lie—I wasn’t mad about it. Especially if she did all that bossing while her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were narrowed little slits and her bee-stung lips were hurling insults my way.
Goddamn, I was hard up.
I set my phone on the counter, tossed a rag over my shoulder, and went back to restocking. Continuing on with my day like I wasn’t about to meet with the most stubborn woman in the entire state of Maine to discuss our soon-to-be fake marriage.
Just a totally normal Thursday over here.
The bar was still closed for another hour, which meant we would have the place to ourselves.
Willa would probably stroll in, her expression set to murderous, and bark orders like she expected everyone—me, specifically—to follow them without question.
She’d no doubt pretend this entire thing wasn’t a big deal.
Even though I knew she’d only go through with marrying me if she’d already mapped out every other worst-case scenario.
Which made me her best-worst option.
And, well…that was better than most things she called me.
The back door slammed open like it always did when Willa graced the bar with her presence. She strode inside with an actual clipboard in hand, her mouth pinched, her brows drawn down in a scowl that said it wasn’t too early to kill someone. And that someone would probably be me.
She wore what she always did—a faded T-shirt, old jeans that looked as soft as butter, and boots with mud crusted in the treads. And, as always, she made even that look hot.
Maybe it was her messy braid and how loose strands of hair framed her face—a small part of her that even she couldn’t control.
Maybe it was the ever-present impatience rolling off her in waves that loudly proclaimed to everyone within a three-mile radius to get the fuck out of her way.
Maybe I just had a thing for surly, unbearably hot women who could out-stubborn a mule and yelled at me like it was a sport.
Whatever it was, this woman had been getting my dick hard with nothing but a scowl for more than a decade.
I didn’t bother hiding my grin as I greeted her. Where would be the fun in that? “Morning, hellcat. You’re looking exceptionally grumpy today.”
She didn’t break her stride, just slid her gaze to me. “Yeah, well…you’re apparently breathing, so there’s that.”
“Ah, yes. Breathing. Truly, the highlight of my day.”
She pulled two cartons of eggs from the tote slung over her shoulder and shoved them into my chest. “They’re fresh. You’re welcome.”
“Restocking my supply after yesterday’s…encounter? Nice. I’m loving these farmer’s fiancé perks already.”
She ignored me completely as she grabbed a stool, set her bag aside, and placed her clipboard down in front of her. “Let’s get to it. I’ve got other shit to do today that doesn’t include you.”
“Probably gonna be the last time you can say that for a while…” I tipped my chin toward her papers. “You bring a prenup?”
“I brought a plan,” she corrected. “Try to keep up.”
She tapped her pen on the paper attached to the clipboard. On it was a checklist, underlined and annotated in her handwriting. Rules. Expectations. Timelines.
Jesusfuck, she was sexy.
“All right.” I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. “Lay it on me.”
“Rule one…” Willa lifted her eyes to meet mine, her expression dialed to do not fuck with me. “No funny business.”
The corners of my mouth twitched, but I cleared my throat and nodded like this was a perfectly reasonable ask. “What, exactly, is ‘funny business’? Just to make sure we’re both on the same page.”
She held up her hand, ticking off the restrictions on her fingers. “No kissing. No touching. No flirting.”
Her tone was firm, brooking no argument. But, unfortunately for her, I wasn’t a man who was easily discouraged.
“Afraid I’m gonna need clarification on all three,” I said. “Because unless you plan to avoid every human in town till you get this grant money, some of that is going to be unavoidable.”
She narrowed her eyes on me. “For starters, I mean you can’t flirt with me, jackass.”
I hummed thoughtfully and rubbed a hand down my stubbled jaw. “So it’s okay if you flirt with me?”
“I’m not going to flirt with you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” My tone was low, but she heard it, her attention snapping to me. “Those jeans are doing a lot of heavy lifting today, hellcat.”
She aimed the pen at me like it was a dagger. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
I shrugged. “Not my fault you’re hot. And as your husband, I’ll be telling you that. Frequently. You want honesty in this fake marriage, don’t you?”
“I don’t want this fake marriage at all!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “And you don’t have to broadcast all of your thoughts to the entire world.”
“Tell you what…” I braced my hands on the bar top and leaned toward her, my gaze skating over every inch I could see. “I’ll stop shouting my thoughts about how good you look when you stop being so loud in your hotness.”
Her breath hitched the tiniest bit as she stared at me. Barely there, but I noticed. Also noticed when her gaze dipped to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up like she’d touched a hot stove.
And there it was.
That ever-present spark between us she pretended not to feel or even notice.
But I noticed. Every fucking day.
“All I’m saying is if the goal is for us to look like a real couple, we’re going to have to do some things real couples do. Like kiss. Or, you know, touch. And I flirt with Mabel, so I’m sure as fuck going to flirt with my wife.”
“I’m sure we can convince the gossip hounds in other ways.”
I raised a brow. “Like what? Flashing them our marriage certificate anytime suspicions arise?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“And when people begin whispering about how it’s weird I don’t kiss my wife…ever? What, then?”
“Then we’ll—” She huffed. “I don’t know! We’ll come up with a special handshake. Or a wave.”
I stared at her, barely suppressing my grin. Okay, not at all suppressing my grin. “I have a special handshake with my niece. I’m sure Emma would love to have one with you too. And the only time I wave is at one of the many parades this town hosts.”
“Well, you’re going to have to crack out both more often for your wife.”
“Uh-huh. And you think that will satisfy the regulars here at the bar? Or Mabel? Or my mom, who will probably have baby name books checked out from the library fifteen minutes after we tell her the news?”
“Baby name books?” Willa nearly shrieked, the mask of horror on her face comical. “Kids aren’t part of the plan! That’s why we’re getting married. There’ll be no…” She cleared her throat and glanced away. “Procreating.”
“So, breeding is only done in your books.” I nodded firmly, grabbing a pen from the register and pretending to scribble a note on a napkin. “Only in books… Got it.”
She exhaled a frustrated breath, her nostrils flaring. “I’m being serious, and you’re being a jackass.”
I grinned at how easy it was to get a rise out of her and held up my hands in surrender. “I am being serious. And we’ll seriously need to act like we don’t hate each other for the next however long this grant shit takes.”
“I don’t hate you,” she mumbled, her focus on her task list as she checked off items one, two, and three.
“Careful, hellcat. That almost sounded like you said something nice to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I said I didn’t hate you. Don’t make it weird.”
“We’re planning our fake marriage, and you’re suggesting we wave to show our affection. It’s already weird,” I said. “But for the record, I don’t hate you either.”
She slid me the world’s most intense side-eye. “And yet you worship daily at the altar of annoying the ever-loving fuck out of me.”
“And yet you’re marrying me anyway.”
“I must be out of my mind,” she muttered, eyes back on her notes. “Okay, time to get our stories straight.”
“Nice. I’ve never discussed committing a felony on a first date, but I’m glad you’re the one popping my cherry.”
“I’m not joking. I don’t want your brothers to ambush me because you forgot what lie you’re supposed to be telling.”
I waved off her concern. “Atlas and Declan will take this at face value—Atlas because he trusts me, and Dec because he doesn’t give a fuck. Xander might be a little trickier to get things past, but we can do it. Your brother, however…”
Was absolutely going to kill me.
“We’re not telling him. Not yet.”
“That can only end well,” I said dryly.
“Let me handle Beau. As for everyone else, we’ll tell people we eloped. Spur-of-the-moment decision, which isn’t totally out of character for you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t one,” she said flatly. “Since this is highly out of character for me, that might be harder to sell.”
“I don’t think we’ll have an issue.” I braced my forearms on the bar, leaned toward her, and flashed her my dimples. “People aren’t going to have any trouble believing I charmed my way into the rest of your life.”
She stared at me blankly for a long moment. “God, you are so annoying.”
My grin widened as she shifted her attention back to her notes, checking things off as she went.
“Maine doesn’t have a waiting period, so we can get married tomorrow, if that works for your schedule.”
“You bringing that clipboard to our wedding?”
“Since you’ll be lucky if you remember to bring pants, I’m bringing the organized approach to our shared felony.”
God, she was hot when she was snippy.
“Anything else, wife?”
“Temporary wife,” she corrected, flipping a page. “Last thing… We need to keep up the whole in-love act while we’re waiting for the grant money.” She let the page fall and met my eyes. “That means you cannot sleep with other women while we’re in this little arrangement.”
I stiffened, offended she would even suggest that. “You think I would?”
“I think this is fake. And people who aren’t really married don’t usually follow married rules.”
“Well, I do,” I said, firmer now. “I’ve never cheated on anyone, Willa. I sure as fuck wouldn’t start with my wife.”
“Yeah, but I’m not actually your wife.”
“The papers we’re signing and the rings we’re exchanging say otherwise.” I leaned toward her, my voice pitching low. “And this goes both ways. You need something…taken care of…while we’re married, you come to me.”
Her breath caught before she could hide it. A flicker of something she definitely didn’t want me to see crossed her face, and she refocused her attention on her clipboard. “Don’t worry about my needs. I’ll be fine.”
“No expiration on that offer, hellcat. You just let me know.”
She froze mid-note, her pen hovering over the page as she flicked her eyes up to me. I hadn’t meant to drop my voice that low, but judging by the flush creeping up her neck, it landed anyway.
The air tightened between us—something sharp and undeniable sparking to life. Then she blinked it away with a shake of her head.
When she glanced at me again, the look she shot me could’ve stripped paint. Yeah. I was getting to her. Good, maybe she’d finally get a taste of what she’d been doing to me for years.
“There’s really no way of telling how long we’ll have to keep this up for,” she said, back to all business.
I shrugged, unconcerned. “I figured it’d be a few months.”
“At least. Maybe as much as a year, depending on the timeline for the grant.” She looked up at me, her expression suddenly serious. “Just so we’re clear, if you back out when you get bored, I’m screwed.”
I met her gaze, mine unflinching. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She cocked her head to the side, all the ire and frustration and exasperation replaced by suspicion. “What do you get out of this?”
Besides daily torture?
“A tax break, fresh eggs, and delicious jam. Not to mention a grumpy wife to keep me humble. You’re always telling me I need more of that.”
“Lincoln,” she said. Quiet and direct. No more games.
I grabbed the rag from my shoulder and wiped down the part of the bar I’d already cleaned twice. “You need help. I’m helping.”
“That’s still not an answer.” She stared up at me, not budging an inch.
That was the Willa I knew. Strong. Steady. Sure. When things needed to get done, she did them. Usually by herself, without asking anyone for anything.
Which was why, when her brother was struggling with whether or not to join Doctors Without Borders, I’d told him to go. That she’d be fine without him here.
And I’d been spending the past three years watching her circle the drain, knowing she was breaking. But also knowing she’d never accept an ounce of outward help, so I’d had to figure out sneaky ways to do so.
This? Not so sneaky.
“Because I’m the one who told Beau to leave.
And because no one should have to carry everything alone.
” I cleared my throat and shrugged. “And I still owe you for that time you drove me to the ER after we turned my mom’s backyard into a giant slip and slide with plastic sheeting and dish soap.
My knee never saw that jagged rock coming. ”
She was quiet for so long, I thought for sure she was just gearing up to rip me a new one. But instead, she said, “And don’t forget about when I stopped you from getting a tattoo of the bar’s logo on your ass.”
“You swore you’d take that secret to your grave.”
“Keep this deal, and I might.”
I set aside all the teasing and met her gaze, steady and sure. “You know I will.”
She took a deep breath, then gave me a subtle nod. We weren’t close anymore, but once upon a time, we’d been thick as thieves. For all the taunts and sneers and thinly veiled threats of murder, we could count on each other, and we knew it.
After shoving her clipboard into her bag, she hooked it over her shoulder and stood, pausing as she glanced back at me. “You really think this can work?”
Something shifted in her expression then—a flicker of uncertainty under all that toughness and grit.
“No idea,” I said. “But I think we might have a better chance at success if you stop trying to claw my eyes out every second of every day.”
She huffed and strolled toward the back door. “Then we’re doomed because that’s never going to happen, jackass.”