Page 169 of First Shift

Sebastian nodded slowly, his gaze moving between Morrison, Bell, and Ethan, then back to us. When he spoke, his tone was low, thoughtful. I didn’t know him well, so I couldn’t be certain, but I thought he sounded sort of sad.

“No one who actually knows Taylor and me would ever doubt that I love him and vice versa, but I can’t sit here and pretend our relationship has been easy or straightforward. We might get married someday; we might not.” He shrugged.

Wordlessly, Morrison curled into Sebastian’s side, his arm automatically coming up around his shoulder, his fingers rubbing absently back and forth.

“But imagine for just a second meeting someone and just … knowing,” he continued, his gaze fixed straight ahead, eyes locked on something it felt like none of us could see. “Imagine being so completely sure they’re meant for you that you have zero qualms about tackling any of it. Imagine if something as huge and scary as ‘spend your life with me’ was as easy as … just … breathing.” He lifted his head slightly and blinked, as if coming out of a trance.

For a long time, no one said a word.

Then Bell groaned, flopped back against the cushions, and dragged his hands down his face, smudging his eyeliner. “Goddamnit.” He lifted his head up just enough to spear Mikey and me with a disgruntled look. “Tell me you at least have rings.”

Mikey and I looked at each other, identical smiles forming on our faces. “We have rings,” we said in unison.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection and asking myself how I’d gotten here.

Nearly three years ago, I’d been through something so traumatizing that I’d convinced myself love simply wasn’t in the cards for me. That I was, among so many other flaws, fundamentally unlovable. I’d despaired, believing I had a better shot at getting struck by lightning than finding someone who would accept me the way I was.

So much could change in such a short amount of time.

The door to my bedroom—our bedroom now, really—creaked open, and Mikey’s reflection appeared behind me.

He wore a slim-fit charcoal suit, its jacket hugging his broad shoulders, a black button down underneath, the top two buttons undone to reveal the lines of his throat. Just to the right of his mouth was a tiny red mark where he’d nicked himself shaving. His curls were a halo of burnished gold around his head.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind as he rested his chin on my shoulder, smiling at our reflections in the glass.

“Need help?” he asked, turning his face into my neck and nuzzling into me.

“No. I got it.” I yanked the Windsor knot into place, tucking the tail into the strip of fabric at the back of the panel. I smoothed my hand down over the front of my tie, making sure everything was flush.

He nipped lightly at the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I tilted my head to the side to give him better access.

“How did I get so lucky?” he murmured into my skin.

I turned, pressing my lips to the side of his head and fighting a grin. “I’m not sure luck had anything to do with it.”

“No?” he asked, pulling back to brush his palms over my shoulders, smoothing out the fabric he’d mussed.

I shook my head, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Then what?”

“Sucking, mostly.”

Mikey’s chin cocked back, and he stared at me for a long, silent beat. Then his mouth split into a wide, delighted grin and he chuckled, shaking his head. “You are such an asshole.”

“You love it,” I said, spinning so the mirror was at my back and tugging him up against me.

He looked up at me, his expression so fucking fond it never failed to surprise me. “Lord knows why.”

At the bottom of the stairs leading up to a massive gray, granite building with high arched windows, Mikey stopped.

I doubled back. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled, and stuck out his palm.

We entered Portland’s City Hall in broad daylight holding hands, our dress shoes click-clacking on the marble floors as we made our way to the City Clerk’s office. There, we lingered in the hallway, my head snapping up anytime I heard approaching footsteps or murmured voices.

At five minutes before eleven, Bell, Ethan, Morrison, and Sebastian rounded the corner looking like a high-fashion editorial spread.