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"I'll pay you back, I assure him.”
He sits down next to me on the loveseat in the lobby.
“Don’t worry about it. Most of the décor that you threw around was made of Styrofoam. A little paint job, and it will be good as new.”
“You mean we didn’t travel back in time to the ye olde times of dysentery?” I joke.
Jordan chuckles, looking around at the run-down wedding chapel. “I wouldn’t go that far to say that. This place still looks questionable.”
“You don’t want to marry me dressed in Robin Hood tights?” I laugh.
He smiles but shakes his head no. “When I marry you, it won’t be in a place like this.”
I don’t miss the way he sayswhenand notif I marry youor how my stomach flutters with excitement at just the thought of picturing a future with him.
“So I guess we now know where you got those from.” He points to ink stains still left on my fingertips. “The old friar informed me of a play-by-play of the evening from our time spent here."
“Oh yeah?”
“I must have tracked you down from the club, seeing as it’s only a few blocks away. But by the time that I got here, you were already drunk and throwing stuff around.”
More bits and pieces of my memories return as he tells me about how when I saw him, I was too drunk to realize he wasn't Michael and chucked my engagement ring at his head. The ring went flying, and I bolted for the door.
“Oh,” I say, holding up my hand. “I think I remember this next part now.”
He nods, too, like we are both seeing the same scene play out in front of us.
“You ran out into the street, trying to get away from me,” he continues.
“In fairness, if I squint and turn my head this way," I say, tilting my head. "One could argue that you look like Michael.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” he teases.
“Let’s just chalk up my ‘crazy’ state to the alcohol.”
He nods. “Sounds like a good plan.”
Jordan finishes retelling the story to me.
After I bolted for the door, he tried to run after me, but I ran out into the street with zero regards for my safety, weaving through cars. When he chased after me, luck wasn’t on his side.
The memory of a cab slamming on its brake plays in my mind. I remember turning back just in time to see Jordan roll up onto the hood and then back down and into the street. The flash of blue and red lights showed up at this moment. I remember yelling with the cop about how I needed to go to the hospital with Jordan. But he refused and took me to get booked for public intoxication and destruction of property.
I rub my fingertips together, wanting to rub away the memory.
“If anything happened to you because of me,” I say, turning and wrapping my arms around Jordan’s neck.
He freezes for a moment before he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. Holding him and being held by him feels as easy as breathing.
I lean back and look into his darkening gaze. “Jordan I—”
“What the hell is going on?”
We both turn and see Michael standing in the doorway of the chapel.
5
JORDAN
