Page 116 of Wild Then Wed
I blink, then glance down at myself.
Oh.
My arms are locked across my chest like I’m expecting someone to hurl tomatoes at me.
“Right.” I let them fall awkwardly to my sides.
We round the corner toward the clerk’s desk, where Dana Hansen—longtime Summit Springs fixture, wearer of too much blush—is already watching us.
“Well, well, well,” she says, her voice bright and polite in a way that immediately puts me on edge. “Sawyer Hart. I haven’t seen you in here since your last building permit.”
Sawyer smiles, easy and warm. “Good to see you again, Dana.”
“And Wren.” Her tone softens just slightly. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s good, thanks.”
Dana looks between us, and I swear I see her trying to piece it all together. Her eyes linger on the paperwork Sawyer slidesacross the counter like she’s expecting it to explode. I’d given him all of my documents just a couple days before so we’d have everything in one place.
She taps her red acrylic nails once on the edge. “Marriage license application, huh?”
Sawyer nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a beat. She blinks. Glances at me. Then at him again.
“Well, oh my,” she says, drawing the word out. “That’s quite the surprise.”
She doesn’t mean it rudely, but she’s not wrong either.
I manage a tight smile. “Yeah. Guess it was all a little…sudden.”
She hums and starts typing, the clack of her keyboard echoing in the quiet. “Both born in Montana, correct?”
We nod.
“Any previous marriages?”
I shake my head automatically. “No.”
But at the exact same time, Sawyer says, “Yes.”
I turn to look at him so fast my neck twinges in pain. I school my face into something neutral—no wide eyes, no flared brows—but inside, everything slams to a halt. Like my brain just yanked the emergency brake and forgot to warn the rest of me.
Yes? Is that what I just heard him say?
What the actual hell?
Dana doesn’t seem phased. She just types away and keeps going. “Okay, Mr. Hart, we’ll need the date of dissolution or divorce decree.”
“Almost five years ago. December twenty-fourth.”
I stare at him for a second longer, then force my eyes back to Dana’s desk, pretending to be absorbed in the slightly dusty bowl of candy canes sitting by the stapler.
He was married.Married. And never said anything.
Which—fine. I know this whole thing is fake. We’re not in a real relationship. He doesn’t owe me details about his past, and I’m not his therapist or his best friend. But still.
Still.
