Page 117 of Wild Then Wed
We’re getting legally married in four days. And no, I don’t live with him yet. I don’t know how he takes his coffee or what kind of toothpaste he uses or any of that shit, but I thought I had a general sense of him. Enough to know if he’d been married before.
Apparently not.
Which means one of two things: it either didn’t matter enough to mention…or it mattered too much.
Dana keeps working through the questions like clockwork. Maiden name, social security numbers, birthdays, mailing address. I answer on autopilot, trying not to look at Sawyer again, trying not to let my face show that the wind’s been knocked out of me a little.
Not because I care. Not because I’m jealous. But because I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me.
Unless…
Maybe it ended badly. Maybe he’s still not over it. Maybe she broke his heart and now he’s got it boxed up somewhere he doesn’t let anyone near.
Not even me. Especially not me.
“Alright,” Dana says, printing something and sliding it toward us. “Double-check your information here, and sign at the bottom. Full names. Both of you.”
We lean over the counter to read, and I scribble my name first, handing him the pen when I’m done. Sawyer signs without hesitation. His signature is neat. Sharp. Like he’s done this before.
Of course he has.
Dana stamps the top of the form with a heavy thunk. “Okay. You’re all set. This will be recorded today, and the license will be valid through the end of next year. Just be sure to file the certificate with us after the ceremony.”
She says it all matter-of-factly, like it’s no big deal. Like she didn’t just press a rubber stamp down on something that’s going to bind us together in the eyes of the law. Like it didn’t shake something loose in me that I wasn’t expecting.
We thank her and start walking toward the door.
The cold air hits me like a slap—dry and biting, scraping down my throat as I breathe it in. I don’t stop walking. Don’t bother looking around to see if anyone’s watching. Our breath curls in the air between us, but I barely notice. I just want to get to the car. Slide into the driver’s seat. Shut the door. And pretend this day never happened.
“Wren.”
I stop without meaning to. His voice is gentle, not sharp or defensive. Just cautious.
I turn, not all the way, but enough to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
He’s standing a few feet behind me, his hand dragging across his jaw like he’s trying to find the right words and not loving any of the ones coming to mind.
“I know that was probably…not what you expected to hear in there.”
There’s a beat, and then I laugh. It’s dry, humorless. “Yeah. No shit, Sawyer.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back. He looks like he might try to explain, so I lift a hand, stopping him before he can.
“Look. You don’t owe me anything,” I say. “This isn’t real. You don’t have to tell me about your past. That’s not the deal here.”
I mean it. Mostly. But also not at all.
While it’s true—he doesn’t owe me details—I think what stings is that I thought maybe he trusted me enough to offer them anyway. I thought we were buildingsomething, even if it was only temporary. Something honest.
He nods once, slowly. Then looks down at the sidewalk before glancing back up at me.
“I still should’ve told you,” he says, quieter this time. “Or at least given you a heads-up. I’m sorry.”
His hand drifts to the back of his neck. He looks…off. Out of sorts in a way I haven’t seen before. Usually he’s calm, a little amused, always somewhere between smirking and polite. But right now he looks unsettled, like he wants to crawl out of his own skin.
And something about that makes my chest ache a little.
“Look, I get it,” I say, the words leaving softer than I expect. “You don’t have to explain anything. If it was bad…I understand why you’d want to keep it to yourself.”
