reroute.
Back to the issue at hand: marrying Emmett.
The marriage license had a seventy-two-hour waiting period. If they applied today... She counted the days on her fingers. They’d be good to go by Christmas Eve. The question was, could she find someone to marry them at the last minute on a holiday?
She opened her email app and pecked out a correspondence to the woman who ran the B and B where Stef had made her reservations.
Hi, Margaret,
Do you know anyone who could marry a couple on Christmas Eve?
She watched out the windshield, considering the timing of the charity dinner. It was a six o’clock dinner, and even with cleanup she’d be out of there by ten o’clock. Once they returned to the B and B, changed into whatever wedding attire she was able to scrounge up in the three-day gap between license and “I do,” that’d mean...
Preferably midnight, she typed. As Christmas Eve turns to Christmas day.
She smiled to herself as she finished the email. Married at midnight on Christmas day. Could it be more perfect?
She slanted a glance at Emmett and frowned. Maybe perfect was overshooting it. She hoped he could summon up an expression other than “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” for a few of the photos.
She should probably make sure Emmett didn’t have a secret wife or girlfriend first. He kept his personal life in Stef’s blind spot. She knew him in relation only to what he did at the mayor’s office, and even then it looked to her like a bunch of walking around while wearing a starched white button-down shirt and a stern expression.
“Do you date?”
Emmett snapped his head around, a look of incredulity on his face. “What?”
“Date. Do you date?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, he squirmed in his seat.
“Women. Men. Anyone?”
“Women.” His frown intensified.
“Are you dating anyone right now?”
He said nothing, both hands on the wheel in an elbows-locked position.
“Why?” he finally muttered.
It seemed too early to blurt out that she wanted to marry him. She’d have to ease into that request.
“Just making conversation. I never see you with anyone whenever you’re at a family function.”
“That’s work.”
“You can’t work all the time.”
“I can. I do.”
Yeah, this was getting her nowhere.
“Your head is the perfect shape. Not everyone can wear their hair that short.”
“The deep car chatter continues.”
“I’m just saying, I’m sure you can find a date even though your personality is basically the worst.”
His shoulders jumped in what might have been a laugh, but no smile yet.
She smiled, enjoying a challenge. “So? Do you date?”
“Not as much as you do.”
She ignored the jab. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”
“Yes. You. Exclusively.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the road to look at her so he didn’t see her bite her lip in consideration. As segues went, this was pretty much her only chance.
“I talked to Penelope about how to handle the Blake situation. Know what she said?”
“Stay out of it and let her do her job?”
Almost verbatim, but that wasn’t what Stef was getting at.
“She said that if I were anyone else, she’d suggest I get married.”
“She would suggest you pretend you’re married?” he asked, his tone flat.
“No. She would suggest I literally get married. Marriage licenses are public record. Any reporter worth her salt could verify if it was real or not.”
Emmett said nothing.
“I’ve been scrolling through my phone in search of Mr. Stefanie Ferguson, but no luck. I’m almost halfway through the alphabet.”
He changed lanes, the mar in his brow deepening.
“You’re going to have a lot of wrinkles when you’re old because of the frowning. Did you know that—”
“It takes more muscles to frown than smile? Yes. I knew that.”
“Anyway, when I find my husband-to-be, it’ll only have to last until the election. Once Chase is reelected as mayor, I can annul it, no harm no foul.”
A minute of silence passed, the only sound in the car a Mariah Carey holiday tune playing quietly on the radio. Emmett stabbed a button on the steering wheel to shut it off.
“You have to take this exit for where we’re going.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I know so.” She held her phone up and showed him the map.
“Where is that?” he asked, even as he dutifully changed lanes.
“I lied about San Antonio. We’re going to a town called Harlington. It’s just outside—”
“I know Harlington.” His visage darkened.
“You do?” She’d assumed he was from a similarly wealthy Dallas background as her family. At least upper middle class. “Here. This exit.” She rested her cell phone on the dash, and though he mumbled a swear word under his breath, he pulled off the exit.
“From here take route—”
“I can read the map, Stefanie.”
Yeah, proposing should work out great, she thought with an eye roll.
She waited a few more silent minutes before turning on the radio again. The Sting song didn’t cause her driver to visibly wince.
Her email notification lit up her phone and she opened her inbox to read Margaret’s reply, whose answer was an exuberant “Yes!”
Evidently Margaret’s son was a minister and available on Christmas Eve for a midnight wedding. In the next paragraph of her reply, Margaret went on and on about the beautiful decorations in the sitting room of her old Victorian house.
Stefanie responded
