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“I’ll just wait in the hall,” I manage to all but whisper, my chest starting to burn with pent-up laughter.

Which I let out the second I shut the door and am back in the hall.

And for another several minutes I stand there outside the door, amid the lovestruck horde, grinning as I replay Will’s face in my mind. At last, Will opens the door, papers in hand.

The moment he does, his blue eyes lock on mine.

And we start to laugh.

Couples all around us break from their little romantic holds on one another to eye us curiously, a few even giving a hearty clap.

“I can’t . . . even . . . ,” Will begins after our laughter settles into mutual grins. He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to say. I just . . . apologize. I’m so sorry for that.”

“For what?” I say, grinning deeper to impress upon him how unoffended I am. “Lesson learned: Never visit the courthouse on Valentine’s Day. Ever.”

“Unless one wants to get married.”

“Naturally.”

He smiles at me as though grateful I’m not making this into a situation. In the distance a bell dings, and he glances down the hallway as the elevator opens and more couples spill out. He looks back down at me. “What do you say we go out the front? Avoid any more elevator situations?”

“Good idea,” I say, then watch him from the corner of my eye. “So . . . just to be clear before we move on, I’d like to raise the point that you took a Titanic-size step away from me in hopes of disassociating yourself back there. Now, an objection? Sure. A tiny step to make your point? Fair. But really, was that giant leap necessary? I didn’t think I was that awful of an option as far as clerk-office weddings go.”

“Not you,” Will responds as he glances at a couple passing us, of whom the woman seems to believe wedding dresses should be made entirely of black leather. “Just chalk it up to a particularly bad experience.”

“What—did you accidentally get married in Vegas?”

“Make it a priest at a Presbyterian church and very nearly.”

I nod. “Ah. So you have a little wedding-altar PTSD. Interesting.”

“She was just the wrong decision at the right time.”

I raise my brow but don’t press as we move down one flight of stairs, taking us to the front doors. Already I feel I have walked into a treasure trove of information I hadn’t been expecting. It feels imprudent to ask for any more. “Well, I’ll take care not to tease you any more with the sight of tulle.”

“Or doves,” he adds, smiling as he pushes open one of the double doors. “I struggle with the sight of doves.”

“Fine. And doves,” I say. “Although, is this an issue of just doves or birds altogether, because I imagine it would be quite difficult to walk around . . .”

My words trail off as we step onto the top of the wide concrete steps descending from the front of the old building. The clouds have at last joined together and decided to collectively dump all the precipitation they have in one grand and glorious event. The wind has stilled for the event, leaving the thickest, clumpiest flurries I have ever seen to dive toward the ground. Covering lampposts. And bicycle stands. And blanketing the ground as far as the eye can see.

I grin and raise my chin toward the sky, because truly, in a moment like this you can’t not grin.

Thick snowflakes grip my lashes and dot my face as I look back down. And when I open my eyes, blinking furiously and wiping my eyes, I see Will’s face. He’s not looking up at the sky. Nor is he looking at the snow-covered ground. He’s looking . . . at the people.

The curious . . . people.

Down the center of the stairs just below us, there is a tunnel with a mass of people on either side. Several are shaking poster boards with hearts on them. Others are throwing rice at a couple—who are clasping hands and running through. Everyone cheers.

As the couple ahead of us reach the concrete sidewalk, the mass turns their expectant, jubilant faces on us.

Will pauses. Looks at the notarized paper that, I now realize, looks very much like a marriage certificate.

Then at me.

His blue eyes hold a mirthful question.

In response, I smile. “Well, at least there are no doves.”