Page 25 of Seale the Deal

Remi pulls into a small parking lot beside a squat brown building with a faded sign that reads Alpine Harbor Municipal Services.

This feels both official and not, I mutter as I climb out of the truck.

I know our buildings aren’t as fancy as Vancouver, but I swear this is legit, Remi says as we walk up the path to the front door. Ruger holds it open for us, and I murmur a thank you.

Inside smells faintly like old paper, coffee, and the industrial cleaner every government building on Earth apparently shares.

A woman behind the counter looks up from her computer. She’s probably late forties, maybe early fifties, with enormous curled blonde hair, rhinestone reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, and lipstick so pink it could guide an aircraft safely to its gate.

Her shrewd eyes lock on Ruger and Remi as she leans forward on the desk, narrowing them ever so slightly before a smile spreads across her face. Well, lookie here! The Seale twins, she says brightly in a raspy voice that suggests a lifelong commitment to cigarettes.

Oh my God. Bonnie, Remi says, sounding excited and vaguely horrified at the same time. Where’s Agnes?

You didn’t hear? Agnes retired last week. Bonnie looks around the mostly empty office before motioning for us to lean closer. Between us, she whispers, her hearing was getting real questionable near the end there. Because she couldn’t hear what people needed, she basically just had them grabbing their forms and pushing ’em through without a second look.

Remi smiles weakly as she leans toward me. I was kind of banking on that, she mutters under her breath.

Bonnie straightens. Anyhoodles! What can I do for the Seales and your… Her gaze slides to me. Friend?

Right. Remi clears her throat. This is Wrenley. She’s from Canada, and we’ve been friends for a few years, and, uh… She looks helplessly between Ruger and me.

Ruger looks equally unprepared.

We were hoping to keep this quiet for a little while, Remi says carefully.

Fat chance now, Ruger mutters.

Bonnie’s eyes narrow with far too much interest for my comfort.

Remi winces. These two need a marriage license.

Bonnie looks between Ruger and me again, clearly suspicious. I can see the problem. Remi is standing between us, and Ruger and I currently have the romantic chemistry of two people waiting for the same bus. A marriage license?

Remi elbows her brother.

Right, Ruger says quickly. Cat’s out of the bag.

Then he walks around his sister so he’s standing beside me, sliding an arm around my waist.

Heat floods through me, and even through layers, I can feel the solid weight of him against my side, warm and steady and distractingly good-smelling.

We were trying to keep things private for a bit, he says smoothly, looking down at me with a softness so convincing it sends my pulse skittering. Wanted some time together before the whole town got involved.

Bonnie still looks suspicious, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. How’d you meet? The question is more demanding than curious.

Ruger smiles at me. When she was visiting Remi.

Bonnie sets her sights on me, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

How long have you two been together? she asks as she reaches for the papers on her printer.

Eighteen months, I say at the same time Ruger says, One year.

I feel Ruger stiffen beside me as Bonnie’s brows knit together in confusion.

I rest my hand on Ruger’s chest in an attempt to look loving and let out a breathy laugh. I always count from when we met, and he counts from when we started talking about me moving here.

Long-distance relationships, Remi says with a laugh.