Chapter 3 Wrenley #3
I glance back at him. He shakes his head, letting me know Remi is wrong about his sweater… I hope.
Alright! Remi exclaims with far too much enthusiasm. Let’s get this show on the road!
She whips a U-turn. I clutch the door, already dreading the day I have to drive this beast of a vehicle.
Back in Vancouver, I drove Captain Skinny-Dick’s Honda Fit, which felt more like a roller skate compared to this truck.
It was another piece of stability that disappeared with him after the breakup.
About three minutes later, we reach the outskirts of town, if you can call it that. A corner store boasting wine and spirits, a tiny church, and something called a Fur Gallery. Is that real? Or a historical sign they never took down?
Remi pulls into a small parking lot beside a squat brown building with a faded sign that reads Alpine Harbor Municipal Services.
This feels both official and not, I mutter as I climb out of the truck.
I know our buildings aren’t as fancy as Vancouver, but I swear this is legit, Remi says as we walk up the path to the front door. Ruger holds it open for us, and I murmur a thank you.
Inside smells faintly like old paper, coffee, and the industrial cleaner every government building on Earth apparently shares.
A woman behind the counter looks up from her computer. She’s probably late forties, maybe early fifties, with enormous curled blonde hair, rhinestone reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, and lipstick so pink it could guide an aircraft safely to its gate.
Her shrewd eyes lock on Ruger and Remi as she leans forward on the desk, narrowing them ever so slightly before a smile spreads across her face. Well, lookie here! The Seale twins, she says brightly in a raspy voice that suggests a lifelong commitment to cigarettes.
Oh my God. Bonnie, Remi says, sounding excited and vaguely horrified at the same time. Where’s Agnes?
You didn’t hear? Agnes retired last week.
Bonnie looks around the mostly empty office before motioning for us to lean closer.
Between us, she whispers, her hearing was getting real questionable near the end there.
Because she couldn’t hear what people needed, she basically just had them grabbing their forms and pushing ’em through without a second look.
Remi smiles weakly as she leans toward me. I was kind of banking on that, she mutters under her breath.
Bonnie straightens. Anyhoodles! What can I do for the Seales and your… Her gaze slides to me. Friend?
Right. Remi clears her throat. This is Wrenley. She’s from Canada, and we’ve been friends for a few years, and, uh… She looks helplessly between Ruger and me.
Ruger looks equally unprepared.
We were hoping to keep this quiet for a little while, Remi says carefully.
Fat chance now, Ruger mutters.
Bonnie’s eyes narrow with far too much interest for my comfort.
Remi winces. These two need a marriage license.
Bonnie looks between Ruger and me again, clearly suspicious. I can see the problem. Remi is standing between us, and Ruger and I currently have the romantic chemistry of two people waiting for the same bus. A marriage license?
Remi elbows her brother.
Right, Ruger says quickly. Cat’s out of the bag.
Then he walks around his sister so he’s standing beside me, sliding an arm around my waist.
Heat floods through me, and even through layers, I can feel the solid weight of him against my side, warm and steady and distractingly good-smelling.
We were trying to keep things private for a bit, he says smoothly, looking down at me with a softness so convincing it sends my pulse skittering. Wanted some time together before the whole town got involved.
Bonnie still looks suspicious, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. How’d you meet? The question is more demanding than curious.
Ruger smiles at me. When she was visiting Remi.
Bonnie sets her sights on me, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.
How long have you two been together? she asks as she reaches for the papers on her printer.
Eighteen months, I say at the same time Ruger says, One year.
I feel Ruger stiffen beside me as Bonnie’s brows knit together in confusion.
I rest my hand on Ruger’s chest in an attempt to look loving and let out a breathy laugh. I always count from when we met, and he counts from when we started talking about me moving here.
Long-distance relationships, Remi says with a laugh.
Bonnie hums, unconvinced. Who proposed?
Me, Ruger answers without hesitation.
When’s the wedding? Have you picked the venue?
Remi lets out an uncomfortable laugh beneath her strained smile. What is this, twenty questions? We can’t answer those without a license.
Bonnie ignores her and looks directly at me. What made you fall in love with him? Bonnie asks.
Oh shit.
This should be a simple answer. I remember the moment I fell in love with Captain Skinny-Dick, even if I’d happily erase every other memory of that relationship.
It was when he wore one of my designs to a small London fashion show, which was already enough to solidify in my mind that I loved him, but when a reporter asked who he was wearing, he smiled into the camera and proudly said, Wrenley St. James.
Then he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and added, This innovative designer right here who I’m lucky enough to call my girlfriend.
It was the first time in my career I didn’t feel like someone working behind the scenes, but front and centre.
I’d always thought the spotlight was about him, and my job was to keep him in it, but without saying it outright, he insisted I deserved one of my own.
My falling in love with him, no matter how undeserved on his part, didn’t come with fireworks or some grand declaration that took months of planning, but in a moment where he showed me, without a doubt, just how much I mattered.
Which is exactly why, if I want Bonnie to believe my falling-in-love story, I couldn’t steal some over-the-top movie confession and slap our names onto it. It had to sound like something that is so us-coded, it’s impossible for anyone to question.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, I say, tucking curls behind my ear as I pick my words carefully. I think it was when I started realizing that every time we’d hang up after a call, I’d catch myself wishing he was in the room instead.
I search Bonnie’s face for some sign that she believes me, but it’s impossible to tell.
When I look at Ruger, he looks caught off guard.
I give a sheepish shrug, then turn back to Bonnie.
She lets the silence hang between the four of us, then, almost as if deciding to save the mystery for another day, her smile returns.
That, she declares, is so romantic. Then she starts typing vigorously into her computer. Alright. Let’s get the ball rolling on making this legal. She looks at Ruger and me again. Oh, Ruger! I’m so excited for you.
Her tone is bright enough to fool anyone who didn’t just sit through what felt like an interrogation, but I still sense something beneath it. It’s almost like she has this whole encounter tucked into the back of her mind under a file named Things Around Town to Keep an Eye On.
I look at Remi, and the confident facade she had earlier is gone. She was the one who seemed to know how to navigate this in the quietest way possible. The fact that she looks concerned has me feeling the same.
She slides the paperwork across the desk and says, Well, let’s get started.
Twenty minutes later, we’re ready to go with paperwork in hand.
Thanks for the help, Bonnie, Remi says. And congratulations on the promotion.
Lateral promotion, really, Bonnie says with a shrug. But it sure is fun knowing everything happening in town.
I bet it is, Remi says with a wave. We turn and head toward the exit.
How long do you think we’ve got? Ruger asks quietly once we’re far enough away from the desk.
Remi looks over her shoulder. Ah, shit. She’s picking up the phone, and I’m positive it’s not work related.
What are you two talking about? I ask.
We step out into the cool air, but Remi stops walking and looks at me with such serious concern that I instinctively brace myself.
Bonnie, she says gravely, is the town’s biggest gossip.
Ruger nods in agreement. By a lot.
So everyone is going to know?
Worse, Remi says. We’re going to have to plan a town-wide wedding.
I laugh because that is objectively the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. When neither Seale twin joins in, my laughter dies a slow death.
Wait, I say. You’re serious?
Small towns operate differently, Remi explains. Everything becomes community property. Engagements. Breakups. Bad haircuts. I’m pretty sure Alpine Harbor only stopped requiring proof of marital consummation sometime in the last century.
That feels dramatic.
Ruger shoves his hands into his pockets. I hate to say it, but she’s right.
We have to get our shit together, Remi says. If we buckle under pressure like that, people are going to figure it out.
I wasn’t expecting the pressure to feel worse than the immigration office, I say.
Didn’t you read Remi’s study guide? Ruger asks with a teasing grin.
Remi glares at him. That guide got her here, didn’t it? She turns her attention to me. For the rest of the day, just remember to say we’ve been together for just over a year. We don’t have to go into detail. In fact, the less detail, the better. It’s more natural.
I nod as I mouth just over a year to myself, like that will help me feel less panicked the next time I’m put on the spot.
Remi groans. Why did Agnes have to retire? She was perfect for that job.
A deaf woman blindly approving government paperwork. That’s a huge liability, I point out.
And now Bonnie is our liability, Remi says with a sigh. I need a coffee the size of my head.
Walter? Ruger asks.
Remi nods. Walter.
Who’s Walter? I ask, following them to Remi’s truck.
He owns the coffee shop in town, Remi explains. And if news is going anywhere, it’s going to him first.