Free Wanted: Wife by Gwen Jones

covered.” He hustled into the next room for the phone. “Lila?” I heard him say, “You want to make ten bucks?”
    Andy turned to me. “Do you have something for me?”
    I looked at him, mystified. “Like . . .?”
    “The agreement,” he crisply replied. “I need it signed before we start.”
    It was like a bucket of cold water to the face. The only bigger squish to my romantic notions would be if he’d inspected my teeth. I plucked the contract from my purse and handed it over. “And so do I,” I pointed out. “Right by the ‘X.’”
    He gave it a quick perusal. “No changes?”
    “Not at the moment, but I’m starting to think of some.”
    He arched a brow, suppressing a smile. “Too late.” He signed then handed over my copy, slipping his own into his inner pocket. “Thank you.”
    I dropped mine into my purse. Any further commentary was aborted by an elderly woman being shuttled into the room. “Lila is our town archivist,” said the mayor. “She just happened to be in today scanning documents.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking each of our hands, her eyes eagle-sharp. She looked to Andy. “Welcome back, young man. Been a few years, eh?”
    “Yes, it has, Mrs. DeForest. I hope you’ve been well.”
    Her silver brow lifted. “So you remember me, then?”
    Andy smiled. “The school librarian? I used to think you knew everything.”
    She looked to me and winked, saying sotto voce , “And I do, too.”
    My spirits lifted immediately. Now here was a woman who might come in handy .
    The mayor opened the Bible. “Ready?”
    My heart raced: it isn’t too late, you know . Yet it was, as I had never bailed on a story in my life. Didn’t matter if my hands were shaking or my mouth was dry, or if all the doubts in the world had suddenly been rolled into a boulder and dropped atop my head: I couldn’t quit just as the camera started rolling. So I took a deep breath, plucked a flower from my bouquet, and nipping the stem three-quarters up, I tucked it into Andy’s buttonhole.
    He glanced from it to me, and smiled. “We are now.”
    “Dearly beloved,” the mayor began.
    I’m sure the ceremony was no more original or eventful than the thousands of others performed that day. But having just canceled a Wedding of Epic Proportions, I knew immediately it wasn’t the Vera Wang gown or Armani tux, an art museum ceremony or a fancy car to an even fancier reception, or even the transcendent honeymoon in Bhutan that made that ceremony any more significant than this one. In fact, the wedding itself hardly had anything to do with it at all. It was the bald fact that I’d be married . I looked into Andy’s clear, blue eyes. Married! To a man I hardly knew!
    My heart stuck in my throat. Holy shamoly .
    “. . . as long as you both shall live?” the mayor asked me.
    I was long past rational thought. So I simply answered, “I will.”
    Just as Andy answered, “I will,” not a half-minute later.
    “The rings?” the mayor asked.
    I looked to my about-to-be husband. “I don’t think we—”
    “Here,” Andy said, his hand suddenly lifting mine.
    It was the strangest thing, and I thought I knew strange pretty well. But when Andy touched me for the very first time, laying my palm flat upon his and sliding on a carved platinum band, tiny diamonds here and there among the filigree, I felt a connection to something so complex I knew it would take everything in me to even scratch the surface.
    The sensation was only compounded when he said, “It was my grandmother’s.”
    I was beyond surprised, by the ring, and by the man before me. “And . . . yours?”
    His mouth crooked. “Unfortunately, my grandfather never wore one.”
    The mayor closed his Bible, beaming. “With the powers invested in me by the state of New Jersey, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Andy—kiss your bride!”
    “With pleasure,” he said, leaning in.
    With his lips slightly parted, he brushed my own in a