Page 114 of Wild Then Wed
The courthouse parking lot is mostly empty except for a few trucks and one old station wagon that’s been here for as long as I’ve lived in this town. It’s one of those winter days that tricks you—bright sun, clear skies, air just warm enough to pretend like it’s not still technically freezing. Montana gives you these days once every few weeks to make you forget the snow will be back tomorrow.
I’m in a white hoodie and a mauve-colored puffer vest, the one that always smells faintly like the barn no matter how many times I wash it. My jeans are stiff from air drying and my sneakers are scuffed at the toes. I didn’t think too hard aboutwhat I wore this morning, but now that I’m sitting here, I can’t stop wondering if people dress up for this. Do people wear nice shoes to file for a marriage license?
There are four days until the wedding. Four days until I stand in front of half the town and fake my way through a ceremony with a man who doesn’t even know my middle name. Between me, my mom, Loretta, and Estelle, the whole thing has been planned down to the last detail—a decorated venue, custom gluten-free cupcakes from Estelle’s cousin’s bakery in Missoula, a carefully arranged playlist with exactly zero line-dance songs per my request. It’s all happening. It’s all done.
And yet, somehow, this—thisstupid little appointment—is the part that makes it feel real.
Maybe because there’s no distraction here. No hay bales or cake tastings. No dresses or florists or layers of planning to hide behind. Just a form, a signature, a legally binding agreement that says we’re going to play house for the next twelve months.
Just as I start talking myself out of everything, a sleek black Audi SUV pulls into the spot beside me.
Sawyer. Of course he’s perfectly on time. Of course he looks handsome and put together and completely unaffected, like this is just another Tuesday and not the part where we make this thing official enough that undoing it later will still leave a mark.
I take a breath and push open my door.
The courthouse is nestled right in the middle of town, as if someone placed it there on purpose—like the centerpiece of a snow globe. It’s only a block down from the bakery that always smells like cinnamon and butter, and it sits directly across from the hardware store with the squeaky front door and the window display that hasn’t changed in at least a decade, except now there’s a plastic reindeer perched on a paint can.
Summit Springs has gone all in on December, like it always does. Wreaths hang neatly from every lamppost, garlands twistaround the porch railings of shops, and white lights run along the eaves of every roof like the careful piping on a gingerbread house—straight and delicate and almost too pretty to touch.
At the center of it all, a towering pine tree stands in the square, strung with fat red bows and mismatched ornaments. The bottom branches are already thinning—bare in spots where little hands have reached and tugged, rearranged, pulled one too many candy canes free. But it still looks magical in that imperfect way small towns always manage.
The sidewalks are busier than usual—people are heading toward the Winterfaire with paper cups of cider, parents wrangling toddlers in puffy coats, couples taking photos in front of the big sleigh display. It looks like a postcard but feels real. I always forget how much I like this time of year until I’m standing in the middle of it.
Sawyer gets out of his SUV just as I close my door. And—
Shit.
He looks nice. Really nice.
His camel-colored coat is folded over one arm, a soft cream sweater layered over a collared shirt, paired with crisp pants that fit him too well for my comfort. Sunglasses, watch, a clean-shaven jaw, the whole thing. He looks like someone who owns a vacation home in Aspen.
I glance down at myself again—hoodie, vest, sneakers. Comfortable, casual. Fine. Until now.
I guess peopledodress up for this sort of thing.
He walks over, all steady confidence, and flashes me a smile that’s too easy—charming, relaxed, like we’re two friends meeting for coffee instead of….this. “You ready for this?”
I huff out a breath and look up at the courthouse steps. “Absolutely not.”
He chuckles like he expected that answer.
I quickly glance around. It’s not busy, but it’s not empty either. Just enough people milling around that I can feel the nerves buzzing at the base of my spine. We’ve never been out in public together. Not as a…whatever we’re pretending to be.
I glance over at Sawyer and see him do a quick scan of the crowd, his jaw ticking slightly. He’s thinking the same thing.
He clears his throat and checks his watch. “We’ve still got a couple minutes.”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest, stepping a little closer to him so I don’t have to talk as loudly. “Maybe we should set some…rules.”
He looks down at me, one eyebrow lifting. “Rules?”
“For when we’re out like this. You know. Selling it.” My voice is quiet, and it’s ridiculous how aware I suddenly am of how good he smells. Like musk and bergamot and something clean that I’ve started to recognize as just…him.
He nods slowly. “Okay. Rules. I can do rules.”
There’s a pause, like we’re both waiting for the other person to go first.
Finally, he says, “Hand-holding?”
