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I hadn’t planned on leaning in. I hadn’t planned on any of this.

My life imploding. A T1D diagnosis. Shane.

All of it came out of left field.

Or right field?

That’s where Shane stands when he plays. I kept calling it upstage left until Delilah corrected me. Having more familiarity with the theater than I do with baseball made me nervous until Shane chuckled while holding me against him. Maybe it’s refreshing that I know nothing about the game he’s dedicated his life to. After all, he doesn’t know anything about art, and that doesn’t bother me.

Probably because none of this is real, I remind myself.

We’re just two people helping each other out…while also wearing full wedding regalia. And, good gracious, sonnets should be written about how Shane looked in his suit. My heart still hasn’t figured out how to beat properly after seeing that masterpiece. I want to meet his tailor, take them to lunch, and fully express the depth of my gratitude.

My fingers fiddle with the lace overlay on my gown until Delilah stills it with her own.

“Pre-wedding jitters are completely normal,” she says, pulling into the courthouse parking lot.

“Even when it’s a fake wedding?”

She pats my hand before shifting into park. “Especially then.”

“Do you think Shane will like the dress?”

Through a friend of a friend of Delilah’s, my gown came from a bridal consultant who could definitely lose her job for letting me borrow it. The glamorous fit-and-flare silhouette is embellished with beaded lace motifs over soft tulle. A sweetheart bodice, keyhole back, and long lace sleeves give it a timeless feel.

“Lolo, he’s going to swallow his tongue.”

A shimmer of excitement ribbons through my ribs. I like the idea of Shane’s steadfast control splintering, of seeing him lose himself over something as simple as a dress.

Before I can think about it too much, Delilah urges me from the car and up the front steps. I half expected Shane to be waiting outside for us, but maybe he’s checking in for our appointment? Since it’s a Thursday and the city center also hosts a variety of other legal services, a mix of people crowd the area. Everyone we pass turns and glances my way, smiles lighting their faces. Some of the unease eating at my stomach dissipates as I grin back.

Except, when we finally find Shane, there’s no trace of the man who playfully joked with me about paper-good bylaws. His expression vacillates between I just had an unmedicated root canal and my car’s been impounded as his gaze searches the crowded lobby. When his eyes finally land on me, I expect the tension in his jaw to soften. If anything, his stony gaze hardens.

I freeze, causing Delilah to slam into my back.

Then it feels like everything is moving in slow motion. Shane cuts through the room, flinty eyes trained on me. His graceful movements are better suited to a highly trained assassin than a man headed for the altar.

“He’s not swallowing his tongue,” I murmur to my best friend.

“It kind of looks like he wants to murder you.”

“You see it too?”

When I face forward again, Shane is in front of me, jumbling my senses.

“Willow.” My name sounds like a bitten-off curse.

I lift my fingers in a little wave, words trapped in my throat.

“Good to see you again,” Delilah says, but Shane doesn’t take his gaze off me.

His focus slides from my hair to my cheekbones to my twitchy hands. Though he’s usually quiet, this silence makes me jumpier than the time I accidentally sat on a fire-ant nest.

“Beautiful day for a wedding,” my best friend says, obviously trying to break the tension. “Morning ceremonies are so romantic because—”

“Del, can you give us a minute,” I interrupt, not taking my eyes off Shane.

She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping away.