Page 23 of Merlot Marriage

Grabbing the top one, I rinse and stack. “Okay, maybe a little distracted. But it’s no big deal.” If I say it out loud, maybe I’ll start to believe it.

Sarah finishes making the drink, while I rinse equipment as a lull in customers settles in. I’m drying and putting away a stack of clean mugs when she steps beside me. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it? Might be nice to have a neutral party weigh in.”

“Are you a neutral party?”

“Well, the closest you’ve got, baby girl.” Sarah laughs just like my mom—she would love her. “You look like you need to get it off your chest. And I promise not to tell.”

Maybe I should confide in her. She’s not wrong. I am dying to talk to someone, but I know that any of my friends, or Maggie, would stop listening once I said Philip kissed me, and I’d neverget a sensible word from them. But how much do I share with her? Do I tell hereverything?

“So…do you remember how I went to Vegas for Spring Break?” I blurt out the words before I can second-guess the wisdom of confessing my crimes.

“Of course I do, since they brought stupid Jeff in to cover for you.” We both shudder at the mention of our old teammate and his penchant for drinking expired milk. “Did you and Cassie get in a fight or something?”

“No. Her sister was an ass, but everyone got along okay. Maybe too well.” I pause and grab a towel to wipe down the counter behind me, but Sarah pokes my arm and takes it from me. “Philip and I may have gotten along a little too well.” I mumble the words as I grab another cloth for myself.

Sarah whirls to face me. “You and Philip? You finally got together?”

Red-hot flames lick my cheeks. I shouldn’t have said anything. Dammit, does everyone think Philip and I should be dating? “No, we didn’t hook up in Vegas. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She snatches the cloth from me with surprising strength. “Ophelia, you can’t start telling me that and not finish the story. What happened in Vegas? Or was it after?”

I reach for the trash can to empty the overflowing bag, but she slaps my hands away. “Uh-uh. You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. I can tell you need someone to talk to. It’s written all over your face.”

I shake my head, embarrassment closing my throat. She must be able to tell I can’t talk because she gently sets the trash aside and pulls me to lean against the counter beside her. We watch the customers in the store for a moment in silence before she squeezes my arm.

“Come on, tell me what’s going on. I promise not to say anything until you get it all out.” She mimes zipping her lips. “I’m a vault.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. You know I live vicariously through you. Besides, who am I going to tell, my cat?”

That gets a laugh out of me. Sarah may be barely old enough to drink, but she’s an old lady at heart, and her cat is her baby. My parents are both only children, so I’ve never had cousins, but I like to imagine that Sarah and I could be.

“Fine. But you can’t tell anyone except Momo. And no getting excited.” I point my finger at her face until she nods with a grin. “Right. Um, Philip and I kind of got married in Vegas.”

Her eyes go wide at my words, and I can see her physically fighting not to say something, so I pause and wait for her to absorb my news. After the longest minute, she swallows and shakes her head. When I still say nothing, she circles her hand in a “continue” kind of motion.

“The reasons aren’t important—” I’m not going to make her an accessory to immigration fraud. “—but obviously, we haven’t told anyone. Nor are we planning to. Everything was fine, totally normal, until graduation two weeks ago.”

I fill her in on Philip’s apartment fire, running into him in the bathroom, and the accidental kiss in the car.

“You what? Fell into his face and kissed him?” Sarah finally interrupts me. The more I’ve said, the more ridiculous the whole story sounds. Who falls face-first into their friend and kisses them? In real life, not in a movie?

“Technically,hefell onmyface. But yes. That’s not even the weirdest part.” I turn my back to the coffee shop and lean on the counter, burying my face in my hands. “We went and got lunch afterward, and the hostess was checking out his ass. I think I must have temporarily lost my mind, because something in mesnapped, and I got all possessive and made a big deal about him being my husband.”

The word is just as unfamiliar on my tongue now as it was this morning. And the same jealousy that had eaten at my stomach as I watched the hostess’s eyes drop to Philip’s, admittedly very fine, ass burns at my chest. The way she’d bitten her bottom lip had been the final straw. That ass and that smile are mine, not some teenage wannabe influencer’s.

“So, you got jealous? You obviously care about each other—that’s clear to anyone who sees you two together. Why do you think it affected you so much this morning?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what’s different today. But it feels like everything is spilling over. How did I not know how strongly I felt about Philip until now? And I haven’t even told you the worst part.”

“There’s more?”

A customer walks in before I can elaborate. I hurry to the register to take their order, Sarah jumping into action behind me to make their drink. When we’re done dealing with their order, another customer comes in, and we’re kept busy crafting drinks and pulling pastries. By the time we hit another lull, Sarah has eyed me so many times I’m afraid her face is going to get stuck like that.

“What could possibly be worse?” she asks as soon as the counter clears of people.

“Worse may not have been the right choice of words…” I stall, trying to sort out how to tell her. “So, I was wearing my white button-down shirt, and you know I’m not exactly flat on top.”

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