Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Theo
Iset the glass of white wine down on the coffee table in front of Cora before taking a seat beside her, my glass in hand.
It feels strange to sit directly beside her, close enough to touch, but also weird to take the opposite end of my large, plush couch.
So I opt for an in-between option, about a foot of space between us.
Thankfully, Cora seems oblivious to my internal struggle, picking up the glass with a grateful smile and taking a small sip.
The setting sun shines through the living room window. The days are getting longer.
The immigration paperwork is already pulled up and mostly filled out on my laptop on the coffee table.
The only thing left is the immigration interview.
I lean forward to scroll through the forms, mainly because it gives me something to do.
Something to keep my mind off of last night—Cora sitting in the dark kitchen, oversized T-shirt, bare legs tucked up on the stool, telling me about her nightmares.
And if I think about that too long, I’ll start thinking about everything else I shouldn’t want.
Because last night only cemented the fact that I absolutely cannot tell her about my feelings. Thatcher Ranch is the first place since her mother died that feels like home. And I’m not about to ruin that home for her just because I happen to be in love with her.
I’m just going to have to shove those feelings deep, deep inside of me and hope that … they go away some day? Although that seems unlikely.
“We should start with the timeline,” I say, grabbing the laptop and resting it on my thighs.
I pull up a blank Google Doc. I’ll take notes here and share it with her later.
“How long we dated, when we got engaged, wedding details … that kind of thing.” We need to make sure we go into our immigration interview on the same page.
Cora absentmindedly swirls the wine in her glass. “Right. Our totally normal, Hallmark-approved courtship.”
I smirk. “Six months for the dating timeline?” I offer.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Six months is fast.”
“We got married in forty-eight hours,” I remind her. “This actually makes us look like we exercised restraint.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Fine. Six months.”
I type it into the doc.
“How we met is actually just how we met, so that’s easy,” Cora adds.
I nod. “Where did I propose?” I ask next, even though the word hits me in the sternum like a damn boot.
“In my cabin …?” she says uncertainly.
I shake my head. “No, we need a better place than that.”
She thinks, then shrugs. “Um … the ridge behind the south pasture? The one with the cottonwood tree?”
I look up at her, and for a second, I forget to breathe. “That’s where I would’ve done it,” I say before I can stop myself. It’s the most beautiful place on the property. I’d shown it to Cora within her first week on the ranch.
Her eyes flick to mine, and something in my chest tightens. I clear my throat and look back at the laptop, typing the answer down.
We work down the list I found online—wedding details, dates, when she moved in, etc.
“Random things about each other,” I read next. “Favorite things, mannerisms, habits, that kind of stuff.”
Cora smirks. “Like how you shower at night and use up all the hot water before me?”
This gets a smirk out of me. “I think yeah, actually.”
She chuckles. “Okay. What random things should you know about me?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I think I already know most things about you.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I’m just saying—I don’t have to make stuff up.”
She leans back, slow. “Oh really?” I don’t notice her telltale mischievous grin until it’s too late and she’s saying, “Then tell me my favorite position.”
My brain short-circuits so violently I almost drop my glass of wine.
“Cora.” I cough, clear my throat, and try not to look at her.
She’s giggling—that stupidly adorable giggle she does whenever the joke is at my expense.
When I’m covered in rain from an unexpected downpour, when I spill food on myself in the mess hall, when I put my foot in my mouth.
And I fucking love it every time. Fucking masochist. “What? Marriage intel,” she teases.
Her eyes are dancing, and all I can think about is how easy it would be to close the space between us and kiss that smugness right off her face.
Fuck, Theo, I chide myself. Stop thinking about that kind of shit.
“We’re not talking about that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“What if they ask?”
“I don’t think they’ll ask that.”
“I read online that they can ask some semi-sexual stuff,” she presses, her giggling subsiding.
“Semi-sexual?” I finally have the courage to look at her again.
“Yeah, like when we last had sex, if we want kids, if I’m on birth control …”
I swallow. “Are you on birth control?”
She flushes slightly at that, and my stomach dips. “I … have an IUD, yeah.”
My head is fuzzy. I clear my throat. “Should I … write that down?”
She snorts. “You gonna forget?”
Now my face is flushing. I grab my wine glass and take a big gulp. Fuck, man. Ignoring her question, I continue. “If they ask when we last had sex, I think ‘a week’ is an easy enough answer to remember.”
“If we were together, you’d only want to do me once a week?”
I feel like my head is about to explode. Cora is giggling again, and I’m contemplating downing my wine and getting another glass.
Because no, if Cora and I were really together, we’d spend an entire week straight in my bedroom while I memorized every inch of her body. And then I’d make sure I never forgot any of it.
A strangled laugh leaves my lips, partly because it’s the only sound I think I can come up with right now.
“I’m sorry, Theo,” Cora gasps between giggles. “Your face … it’s so …”
I’d be annoyed if she didn’t look so cute right now. Actually, scratch that. I don’t think Cora could do anything to annoy me, ever.
“Do you want kids?” I ask in a vain attempt to get the topic off sex.
She sighs, her laughter subsiding. “Probably. Someday.”
I smile. “Same.” Suddenly the image of a small child—half Cora, half me—pops into my mind, and my heart aches. I shake it away. “I think we’ve covered the semi-sexual questions.”
“Fine,” she says, grinning. “No more sex talk.”
Thank God.
“But,” she goes on, “if we were really married—”
“We are really married.”
It comes out too fast, too defensive, too true.
She freezes, her lips parting the tiniest bit.
I force myself to add, “Legally. I mean legally. On paper.”
“Right,” she murmurs. “Of course.”
I want to yank the words back out of the air and say them differently, say the version that’s been burning a hole in me for years. But then I remember what she said last night, and suddenly my throat is too tight.
We keep going, but the air between us shifts. Thickens.
“We still need a honeymoon story,” she says.
“Travel records must be easy enough to obtain, so we probably shouldn’t lie too much about that,” I manage.
“So a staycation honeymoon,” she says.
A muscle in my jaw ticks. “If we were really married …” I stop myself.
She tilts her head. “If …?”
I breathe out through my nose, eyes on my laptop so I don’t look at her mouth. “I’d take you somewhere better than that.”
Silence.
I feel it hit her because it hits me too.
She swallows. “Theo … they’re not gonna—”
“I’m not saying it for the interview.” My voice is low, rough, a little unsteady.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and searching, and—God help me—I almost break. I almost tell her everything. How long I’ve loved her. How badly I want this to be real. How I’d give anything to take her to that ridge, drop to my knees, and propose properly.
Instead, I say, “All I mean is that you’d deserve a real honeymoon. A real wedding too. Promise me …” my heart breaks just a little, but I’ve already started the thought and I can’t stop now, “that when you actually settle down, you find a man who gives you all that.”
Cora’s lips are fully parted now, staring me down like she’s trying to see through my skin. After a long pause, she finally answers, “Yeah, okay.” It’s barely above a whisper.
I nod once, staring down at the laptop. “Anything else we should cover?” I force out.
She takes a breath. “We can think on it and come back.”
I nod again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. “Good. Yeah. Good idea.”
She’s silent.
“I’m gonna … go to the gym,” I lie. I don’t have a gym membership. I get enough of a workout on the ranch every day. But if I spend one more second in this house with Cora, the tension might just kill me.
Or I’ll admit everything.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Have a good time.”
I nod quickly, beelining to the front door, hopping in my truck and taking off. And then I just drive.
And drive.