Page 26 of Seale the Deal

Bonnie hums, unconvinced. Who proposed?

Me, Ruger answers without hesitation.

When’s the wedding? Have you picked the venue?

Remi lets out an uncomfortable laugh beneath her strained smile. What is this, twenty questions? We can’t answer those without a license.

Bonnie ignores her and looks directly at me. What made you fall in love with him? Bonnie asks.

Oh shit.

This should be a simple answer. I remember the moment I fell in love with Captain Skinny-Dick, even if I’d happily erase every other memory of that relationship. It was when he wore one of my designs to a small London fashion show, which was already enough to solidify in my mind that I loved him, but when a reporter asked who he was wearing, he smiled into the camera and proudly said, Wrenley St. James. Then he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and added, This innovative designer right here who I’m lucky enough to call my girlfriend.

It was the first time in my career I didn’t feel like someone working behind the scenes, but front and centre. I’d always thought the spotlight was about him, and my job was to keep him in it, but without saying it outright, he insisted I deserved one of my own. My falling in love with him, no matter how undeserved on his part, didn’t come with fireworks or some grand declaration that took months of planning, but in a moment where he showed me, without a doubt, just how much I mattered.

Which is exactly why, if I want Bonnie to believe my falling-in-love story, I couldn’t steal some over-the-top movie confession and slap our names onto it. It had to sound like something that is so us-coded, it’s impossible for anyone to question.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, I say, tucking curls behind my ear as I pick my words carefully. I think it was when I started realizing that every time we’d hang up after a call, I’d catch myself wishing he was in the room instead.

I search Bonnie’s face for some sign that she believes me, but it’s impossible to tell. When I look at Ruger, he looks caught off guard. I give a sheepish shrug, then turn back to Bonnie. She lets the silence hang between the four of us, then, almost as if deciding to save the mystery for another day, her smile returns.

That, she declares, is so romantic. Then she starts typing vigorously into her computer. Alright. Let’s get the ball rolling on making this legal. She looks at Ruger and me again. Oh, Ruger! I’m so excited for you.

Her tone is bright enough to fool anyone who didn’t just sit through what felt like an interrogation, but I still sense something beneath it. It’s almost like she has this whole encounter tucked into the back of her mind under a file named Things Around Town to Keep an Eye On.

I look at Remi, and the confident façade she had earlier is gone. She was the one who seemed to know how to navigate this in the quietest way possible. The fact that she looks concerned has me feeling the same.

She slides the paperwork across the desk and says, Well, let’s get started.

Twenty minutes later, we’re ready to go with paperwork in hand.

Thanks for the help, Bonnie, Remi says. And congratulations on the promotion.

Lateral promotion, really, Bonnie says with a shrug. But it sure is fun knowing everything happening in town.

I bet it is, Remi says with a wave. We turn and head toward the exit.

How long do you think we’ve got? Ruger asks quietly once we’re far enough away from the desk.

Remi looks over her shoulder. Ah, shit. She’s picking up the phone, and I’m positive it’s not work related.

What are you two talking about? I ask.

We step out into the cool air, but Remi stops walking and looks at me with such serious concern that I instinctively brace myself.

Bonnie, she says gravely, is the town’s biggest gossip.

Ruger nods in agreement. By a lot.

So everyone is going to know?

Worse, Remi says. We’re going to have to plan a town-wide wedding.

I laugh because that is objectively the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. When neither Seale twin joins in, my laughter dies a slow death.

Wait, I say. You’re serious?

Small towns operate differently, Remi explains. Everything becomes community property. Engagements. Breakups. Bad haircuts. I’m pretty sure Alpine Harbor only stopped requiring proof of marital consummation sometime in the last century.