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I close the door, watching as guests start filing into the building from all around. The sun is setting, and I’m wondering why the couple chose to have an evening wedding. Aren’t these things typically hosted over an entire day?
“What’s this glorious plan you have?” I ask, returning his smile when I look up at him. He offers his arm, and my stomach does a weird little dip.
Griffin leans in, eyeing the people around us, too far to hear our conversation as we approach the doors. “Listen very carefully,” he starts. “We are attending as friends of the bride and groom.”
I roll my tongue along my cheek. “Naturally.”
“Yes, naturally. We met them during their romantic getaway in Kansas. We were honeymooning there at the time.”
“Kansas?” I question, fighting the urge to laugh. “What’s in Kansas? Why did we honeymoon in Kansas?”
We get closer to the door, and Griffin keeps his voice down the closer we get.
Strangers are staring at us, and I suddenly feel like they can see right through this ridiculous charade. They can’t know? How intimate is this wedding, anyway?
Oh my god, what if they know?
“Tornados and bicycles,” he says, as if it’s an appropriate answer.
Which it’s not.
“Okay, so we met them while biking in a Kansas tornado for our honeymoon. Got it. What do I call you?”
“Your husband,” Griffin answers. “But during the moments when your chest swells with ardent love and affection, you call me Stuart.”
I laugh so hard I snort through my nose, and one woman across the way glares at me, judgment painted on her face. “Is that your name for the duration of this event?” I ask.
“No, it’s the name of the man you actually love, but he left you at the altar, and then you settled for me.”
I can see the wicked grin dancing on his lips as he keeps his eyes forward. Ushers help guests into the building, guiding them through the gilded hallway and past large wooden doors where I assume the reception will be held.
“This is very complicated,” I finally admit. “And somewhat depressing. I thought it was supposed to be my birthday? Why are you giving me unrequited love on my birthday?”
“Don’t worry,” Griffin answers. “Stuart is the groom. You get to stop the ceremony, and I promise you’ll have a happy ending.”
I swat at him, leaning in slightly with my arm still threaded through his. He smells like expensive cologne–amber andsomething spicy. “No, it’s not,” I say. There’s no way the groom’s name is actually Stuart.
“It’s not.” He’s smiling down at me, and I recall, for a moment, the way he looked when he first walked into the coffee shop. There’s no sign of that version of him now. There’s something brighter about this version of Griffin–like treasure just waiting to be uncovered.
I’ve never wanted to be a pirate more in my life.
“We can just make this up as we go,” Griffin states. “It’ll be fun.”
When we get to the door, ushers promptly escort us to two white chairs at the back of the bride’s side in the massive ballroom Undetected like little spies, I’m inclined to believe him.
My entire body is buzzing. The whole ceremony felt like a secret mission–like I was trying to steal the Declaration of Independence.
Griffin assured me that the ceremony was the easy part. Everyone had their eyes on Angie, some biology professor from Finn’s college where he works, and her husband–notStuart.
“I was rather disappointed,” I say when we stand up, moving toward the large hall closer to the entrance. A few dozen people dressed in all black descend on the ceremony space, no doubt converting it into something usable for the reception. “This wasn’t Stuart’s wedding at all. Now you’ve really given me unrequited love for my birthday.”
Griffin steps forward, his eyes lighted. “I just couldn’t lose my wife. Did Kansas mean nothing to you?”
I chuckle. “My dear husband, Kansas meanteverything. We chased tornadoes. It was very memorable.”
One corner of his mouth pulls up. It’s soft and teasing–another smile for me to enjoy. “Good,” he says. “Now comes the fun part. Let’s go lie to some people.”
He grabs my hand and drags me out of the ballroom. My heart is pounding with anticipation, the heels I picked up at the thrift store clicking across the white tile floors. “We are so going to hell,” I comment, and just as we make it to the entrance of the hall, Griffin looks back at me and gives me my other favorite smile. The one he showed me at the coffee shop.
