Page 109 of Whiskey Proposal

She cracks two eggs. “Is that enough time? It doesn’t take weeks?”

“Not when you’re paying them enough.”

The corner of her mouth tips up. “Oh, that must be why—” Alarm flares in her eyes and she concentrates on the batter.

“Why what?”

“Just stuff for work,” she says quickly and grabs a spoon. “I get the runaround sometimes, or I’m told that it’ll be a few weeks.”

She’s not telling me something, but if I push it, she’ll shut down more. Telling her I loved her didn’t erase her past. I can be patient.

“If you ever need help, I know a guy,” I say.

Relief crosses her face. “Are you sure that guy isn’t busy?”

I give her a quick kiss. When I shift to the stove, Brooks is rubbing the back of his neck. Is this awkward for him?

Hillary comes around the corner and heads straight to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she comes back out, she plops on a seat next to her dad.

“Do you want to sign everything here?” I ask Brooks. “Or go into Zack’s office?”

“Can we do it at our place, Daddy?” Hillary rests her toes on the floor and grips the side of her chair, oblivious to how Emerson stiffens next to me.

Brooks didn’t miss it. “Hill, we should⁠—”

“It’s fine.” Emerson nods once. “I have my facts. They came in handy the other day. I’ll sit at the kitchen table and sign.”

She lifts her eyes to me, and I hold her gaze. I’ll be with her every step of the way.

Pride radiates across Hillary’s face for her aunt. It’ll be a big day for Emerson. She’ll face a big part of her past, and then she’ll turn to the future.

She and I will be married for no other reason than we want to stay that way. Once those papers are signed, we’ll be true husband and wife, and we’ll stay that way as long as she doesn’t ask for a divorce.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Emerson

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and glower at the offensive envelope on the passenger seat. The divorce papers. I drove to pick them up, and then I stopped at Zack’s for the trust papers. Both packets hold documents that will change my life, but I only want to use one. What do I do with the others? Shred them? Keep them?

I stood in front of the paralegal and made a high-pitched noise instead of asking, Hey, what if I no longer want to get divorced? What do I do?

What if I never wanted to get divorced? Ever since I said I do, a part of me has been clinging to this union and the fantasy come to life that is Lane. Instead of getting a million signs for why it’s wrong, he’s only shown me how right we are together. He’s shown me that maybe it’s safe to give my heart to someone. Maybe they won’t throw it back.

But I didn’t ask the hurried professional. The old fear of having a spotlight on me and not looking my best roared back. I took the papers and drove to Huckleberry Springs like it was an ordinary day. And it is. I don’t have to do anything with these.

What if Lane surprises me with his own divorce papers? Do I brandish these and go Aha!?

I push my hair off my face and stare at the house. The Lane I love wouldn’t do that, and if he does . . . Then I deserve better. He’s the one who proved that.

I’m the one who has divorce papers. Dammit.

Shred them. It’s that easy. No one’s going to police me if I don’t file them. Right?

God, I don’t know. The back of my throat burns, and my nose is raw. My vision grows blurry. Something drips off my cheek. Another drop. I pat at my face. I’m crying.

I grab my phone and open the note I made from Hillary’s text weeks ago.

Bunny: Roosters puff up and display for hens.