Marriage For One
: Chapter 3

Present

I was trying to paint the wall behind the counter and doing my best not to fall asleep midsentence as I was talking to Sally, my very own employee. It’d been a long day, just like it had been a long day every day for the last week and a half, but I wasn’t complaining—how could I when it had been my dream to open my own coffee shop for so long? Not even attempting to stifle my yawn, I dipped the paint roller in more dark-ish green paint and ignored the humming ache in my shoulder as I kept painting.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay longer?” Sally asked, going through her backpack as she looked for her phone.

“You’ve already been here longer than you were supposed to, and I’m almost done for the day anyway. I only need another fifteen minutes or so just to add a last coat. Somehow I can still see a hint of red underneath it.” I sighed and it turned into a groan. “As soon as this is done, I’ll head home too.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I gave her my most stern You better listen to me look and watched her burst out laughing.

“What?” I asked when she looked at me with a wobbly smile.

“You have green dots all over your face, and I’m not even gonna point out the state your t-shirt is in—or your hair, for that matter. I’ll only say this: you’re officially a work of art now.”

I could imagine the mess I’d made on my t-shirt, but my face was news to me. “Oddly, I’m gonna take that as a compliment, and…well, paint splatters,” I mumbled with a sigh as I wiped my forehead with my arm. “Even my face muscles are tired—how the hell did that happen?”

“Beats me. My face is fine, but my ass is pretty sore.”

“Well,” I started, making a face. “I’m not sure what you’ve been doing when my back is turned, but…” Before I could finish, I saw Sally’s expression and couldn’t hold back my laughter.

“God, that came out wrong!” she groaned, looking at the ceiling. “We sat on the floor for almost two straight hours, it was inevitable—”

“I know, I know. My ass is hurting, too, and it’s not just my ass—every inch of my body hurts. I’m just heading toward delirious, so I’m gonna laugh like a lunatic regardless of whether what you’re saying is funny or not. Get out of here so I can finish and get to my beloved shower and bed.”

Sally was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, always smiling twenty-one-year-old and had been the fifteenth applicant for the barista/everything-else-I’ll-need-you-to-do job. It had been a love-at-first-sight kind of thing. To save myself from the headache, I’d opted not to post about the job online, or anywhere, really. I’d only mentioned it to a few friends so they could ask around to see if someone they knew needed a job, and I’d also asked a few other people I’d worked with at my last job as the manager at Black Dots Coffee House before I had quit when I thought Gary was going to let me use the place. Word had gotten out, and I’d ended up talking to a lot more people than I’d anticipated I would. None of them had felt like the right person, though.

Sally, however, was a complete stranger who had just been walking to her apartment after a dreadful blind date and had seen me struggling to carry boxes from the curb into the shop. She had offered to help, and in return, at the end of the day I’d offered her the job. It didn’t hurt that we had bonded over our mutual love of and obsession with coffee mugs, puppies, and New York in winter. If those things didn’t prove we were a perfect fit, I didn’t know what else would.

If there was one thing I wanted the most for Around the Corner—my coffee shop!—it was for it to be inviting, warm, and happy. Popular wouldn’t hurt anyone either. Even though I was well aware I was going to be the boss, I didn’t want to work with people I couldn’t get along with just because their resumés were impressive. If we were happy and friendly, I believed it’d have a different kind of pull for the customers, and Sally’s personality and cheerfulness checked all the boxes for me.

“You got it, boss.” She wiggled her newly found phone at me in goodbye and backed away toward the door. “Oh, when do you want me to come in again?”

I put the paint roller down and groaned as I straightened back up with my hand on my waist and gazed at my almost finished work. “I think I’ll be fine on my own this week, but I’ll text you for next week if I have a lot of stuff going on. Would that work for you?”

“Are you sure you don’t need help with the painting this week?”

“Yeah, I can handle it.” I just waved her off without turning because I didn’t think my body was capable of doing anything that complex at the moment. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Got it. You be sure to go home before you drop dead.” With her lovely parting words, she unlocked the door and opened it. Before I heard it click shut, she called my name and I glanced at her over my shoulder, which took some serious effort on my part.

“Only two weeks or so now,” Sally said, grinning. “I’m so excited,” she squeaked, bouncing up and down.

I gave her a tired but genuinely happy smile and managed to pump my hand halfway into the air. We only had five years of age difference between us, but I was feeling every single one of the years I had on her. “Yes, definitely yay! You probably can’t tell from my face right now because I can’t move it much, but I’m excited too. Can’t wait. Woohoo.”

Her body disappeared behind the door, and all I could see was her head. “It’s gonna be great!”

“I’m crossing my fingers in my mind because I don’t think I can do it in real life.”

After she gave me an even bigger grin, her head disappeared too and the door slid shut. Since we’d boarded the windows up, I couldn’t see outside, but I knew it was already dark. Reaching for my phone in my back pocket proved to be harder than I’d expected, but I was able to check the time. I was pretty much moving in slow motion, but who needed speed on a Monday night?

Eight o’clock.

I knew I shouldn’t take a break, but my legs, feet, back, neck, arms, and everything in between were killing me. Left with no other choice, I slid down behind the counter, right where the cash register would be in just a few days, groaning and whimpering the entire time it took my ass to reach the ground. Then I dropped my head back with a loud thud and closed my eyes with a heavy sigh. Now, if I could only manage to get up, finish the last coat on the wall, and make sure I couldn’t see any damn red anymore, I could lock up then move my feet enough times to get to the subway so I could get home and step straight into the shower. If I didn’t drown myself in the shower, getting into my bed would be nice, too—and food. At some point, I’d need food.

Then it hit me again. If you ignored that I was dying a slow death from all kinds of aches, Sally was right—I was getting really close to the opening day. Ever since I had taken a job at a local coffee shop when I was eighteen, I knew I wanted to open my own place. Something that belonged just to me. Not only that, but it would also be where I belonged. And that would be a first as well. As cheesy as it sounded, there was something about the idea of my own place that had always lifted my heart when I daydreamed about it.

Just as I felt myself drifting off, the front door opening and closing with a soft click jolted me awake. I had completely forgotten that I hadn’t locked it after Sally left. Thinking she had left something behind, I tried to get up. When my legs didn’t want to cooperate, I had to get on my hands and knees with much effort and then held on to the counter to pull myself up.

“What did you forget?” I asked, and it came out half as a groan and half as a whimper.

Finding my cousin, Bryan, just on the other side of the counter was not the best surprise I could’ve wished for. At his unexpected appearance, I tried to come up with something to say, but I was completely tongue-tied. He tapped the counter with his knuckles and took a good look around. So far, I had ignored every single one of his calls and had even turned off my phone when his threatening texts had started to get a little out of hand.

“Bryan.”

His eyes only moved to me when he was done with his perusal and you could easily see that he wasn’t happy.

“I see you already got comfortable,” he said, the anger obvious in his voice.

“Bryan, I don’t think—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, taking a step forward. “Yes, you don’t think. You didn’t think. I’m not going to let this go, Rose. Surely, that’s obvious. You don’t deserve this place. You’re not family, not really, you know that. You’ve always known that. And having that lawyer behind you will change nothing.” His gaze fell to my hands. “I see you’re not even wearing a wedding ring. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

I gritted my teeth and balled my fists behind the counter. If I could just hit him once. Just once. Oh, the pleasure it would give me.

“I’m working. I’m not gonna wear something so precious to me while I’m painting. This is pointless, I think you should leave, Bryan.”

“I will when I’m ready.”

“I don’t want to argue with you. You don’t see me as family so that makes us strangers. I don’t have to explain myself to a stranger.”

He shrugged. “Who is arguing? I only wanted to drop by to let you know that you shouldn’t get comfortable here. We’ll be seeing each other more. Your lawyer might have managed to stop me from taking this place from you, for now, but I don’t give up that easily. Since I already know that your marriage is nothing but a lie, all I have to do is wait and prove it.”

“I know you think—”

“Good luck with that,” someone said and with a jolt, I turned my head and locked eyes with Jack. The one that was my husband.

Oh, jeez.

It was not my night, that was for sure. If Jodi had walked in with bouquets of roses in her hands to congratulate me on the coffee shop, I didn’t think I’d have been as surprised as I was. I had successfully continued to ignore the memory of the day I’d gotten married to this specific stranger, and since he hadn’t been in the city for eight or nine days, it’d worked well—up until now. To be fair, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. We were, in fact, married so I knew I’d eventually have to see him again, but his timing was the absolute worst. If I’d had the option to choose, I’d have much preferred a phone call where I could make my case much more easily before we had to face each other.

Before I could say anything, he focused on Bryan. “Since I don’t think you’re here to congratulate us, I’m asking you to leave my wife alone.”

Bryan had to take a step away from the counter when Jack almost got in his face.

“So you do know you have a wife then. From what I heard you weren’t even in the country.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Coleson, my apologies. I didn’t know by marrying your cousin I’d have to share my schedule with you as well. I’ll remedy that as soon as possible.”

I really wanted to snort, but managed to hold it in.

Jack continued. “Since you’re already here I like to take this opportunity to repeat what I told you before. I noticed that every time you’re around my wife you’re making her uncomfortable and unhappy. I really don’t think I like it, Bryan. I’m not sure how many times you need me to repeat myself. But I’ll say it again: I don’t want to see you around her.”

Since I couldn’t see Jack’s expression with his back to me, I watched the muscle in Bryan’s jaw twitch and then he forced a smile onto his face.

“I was just on my way out anyway. I said what I came here to say, right, Rose?”

I said nothing.

Jack said nothing.

Bryan let out an insincere chuckle. “I’ll leave you two love birds alone. And later you and I will have a chat, Jack.”

Jack followed Bryan all the way up to the door and made sure to lock it after him.

Groaning, I closed my eyes.

“This was a good lesson on why I should never forget to lock the door.”

I opened my eyes and he was standing right there. Right in front of me where Bryan had stood only a few minutes ago. I wasn’t sure if he was the better option.

“Rose,” Jack said as a greeting. Just Rose.

For a brief moment, I didn’t know what to say. I was fairly sure it was the first time he had called me by just my name and not Miss Coleson when we were alone. When we had attended that meeting with Jodi and Bryan, I was just Rose, but the second he’d walked me to the elevators after we were done there, I was back to being Miss Coleson. I supposed since I wasn’t technically a Coleson anymore, using my first name was the appropriate choice.

Also, dammit, what a sight he was for my sore eyes. Despite the late hour, he was wearing a suit: dark grey slacks and jacket, white button-down, and a black tie. It was simple, but it still packed an expensive punch. Considering what I looked like in that moment, it was a pretty hard punch, too.

In that first glance, he was nowhere near being my type. I wasn’t into the broody and aloof who didn’t like using their words all that much, as if you weren’t worthy of a conversation in their eyes. Definitely wasn’t a fan of the fancy, rich types who came from money and grew up assuming they owned everything and everyone in their vicinity; I’d met my fair share of them living with the Colesons, and we just didn’t mesh well. Other than that, I had nothing personal against them. So, yes, Jack Hawthorne wasn’t my type. However, that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate how good he looked with stubble, that sharp jawline, his unique and captivating blue eyes, or the fact that he had a body that wore suits extremely well. No, my issue with my new husband wasn’t his looks—it was his personality.

That’s how the universe works: it gives you the one thing you said you’d never want.

“Jack…you came back.” Given my half-dead state, that was the best answer I could come up with, pointing out the obvious. Considering I hadn’t seen or talked to him since the day he left me in that car, I felt like I had every right to be surprised.

With the look he gave me, like I was so beneath him, a knot of dread formed in my stomach. I had plenty of self-confidence, but guys like him always excelled at making me feel less than. Dealing with Bryan hadn’t made things easier either.

“Did you think I would disappear? Was this the first time he showed up here? Your cousin.”

I nodded.

“Good. He won’t come back.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all.

“We need to talk,” he continued, completely unaware of my nerves.

Hands gripping the counter for support, I nodded again and tried my best to stand straight.

The guy didn’t beat around the bush, that was for sure. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, either, from what I’d learned so far. Thankfully, that would work in my favor this time around, because even though I had not been looking forward to seeing him, I’d been getting myself ready for this conversation ever since his parting words to me after the ceremony. A lot of mirror practice sessions had taken place. I was sure, he was there to tell me he wanted a divorce, and I was dead set on changing his mind.

“Yes, we do need to talk,” I agreed once I was sure my knees wouldn’t give out on me.

I didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t expecting me to agree so quickly or because of something else, but he looked taken aback. I ignored it and started my speech.

“I know why you’re here. I know what you came to say, and I’m gonna ask you not to say it, at least not before I finish what I need to say. Okay, here goes nothing. You’re the one who came to me with this offer. Well, I came to your office, but technically you were the one who lured me to your office.”

His eyebrows slowly rose. “Lured?”

“Let me say this. You started this thing. I was making peace with the situation, was even looking for a new job, but you changed things. Your offer changed things. I’ve come here every day since we made our deal. I’ve been working nonstop and now it’s too real to let go. So, I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t sign the papers. Instead, I have a different offer for you, and I really want you to consider it.”

With every word out of my mouth, his brows furrowed deeper, his expression turning murderous. I still pushed through before he could get a word in, call me on my bullshit, and mess up my thought process.

“I’ll go to as many events as you want me to go to, no limits—as long as it’s after I close the coffee shop, of course. I’ll also cook for you. I don’t know if you cook or not, but I can cook for you and save you the trouble. Free coffee,” I added excitedly when the thought randomly crossed my mind. How had I not thought of that? “Free coffee for two years. Whenever you come in, whatever you want, however many times a day. Pastries would be free, too. And, I know this is going to sound a little silly, but hear me out. It doesn’t seem like you’re the most…sociable person—”

“Excuse me?” he said in a low voice, cutting me off.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s the wrong word to use, but I can help with that, too. I can be a good friend, if that’s something you need or want. I can do—”

“Stop talking.”

The harsh tone he used was unexpected and shut me up pretty quickly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, putting his hands on the counter and leaning in.

I leaned back. “I’m not divorcing you, Jack.” I dropped my head and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I hate myself for saying this, but I’ll make trouble for you.” God, as threats went, it sounded pretty weak even to my own ears.

He blinked at me a few times, and I thought maybe my threat was working. “You’ll make trouble for me,” he repeated in a detached tone, and I closed my eyes in defeat. He wasn’t buying it. If one of us was going to make trouble for the other, it would be him making my life miserable. He had all the power. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of trouble would you make for me, Rose? What did you have in mind?”

I looked up to see if he was making fun of me, but it was impossible to tell anything from his stony face. When I couldn’t give him an answer, he straightened up and pushed his hands into his pockets.

“If I was planning on divorcing you why would I say the things I said to Bryan? I came here to ask why your things aren’t at my place, why you haven’t moved in.”

Oh.

“I…what?”

“You were supposed to move in when I was gone. You didn’t. Even though this isn’t going to be a real marriage, we’re the only ones who know that, and I’d like to keep it that way. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like you don’t want a divorce. If that’s true, we need to live together. Surely you could’ve guessed that, especially with your cousin coming around.”

That was not what I had been expecting to hear from him at all. Had I spent almost two weeks worrying about nothing? “You said, before you got out of the car…you said we shouldn’t have done this and didn’t call or contact me in any way for the entire time you were gone.”

“And?”

I found the strength to get a little pissed. “And what was I supposed to think after that remark? Surely you knew I would think you regretted your decision.”

“And you wanted to get married that day?” he retorted.

“No, but—”

“It doesn’t matter. Didn’t Cynthia call you about moving into my place?”

Momentarily rendered speechless by his audacity, I closed my eyes and barely managed to lift my hand high enough to rub the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t get any phone calls.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have work to do, so we need to leave now.”

Meeting his eyes, I frowned at him. “What do you mean we need to leave now?”

“I’ll help you pack a few things from your apartment and then we’re going back to my place. You can get everything else later.”

My frown deepened and I shook my head. “You can leave if you want to, but I also have work to do, as you can see, and I’m not going anywhere before it’s done.”

If he thought he could order me around just because we were married, he had another thing coming. Before he could come up with something else and piss me off further, I turned my back to him and gently bent down to pick up the paint roller, quietly wincing as I tried not to whimper or make any other sound though my back was actually killing me. Just as I started on the first wet roll, I heard some rustling behind me. Not thinking anything of it—because, in my humble opinion, if he wanted to leave, he was more than welcome to do so—I kept painting. It was at a much slower pace than before, but I was getting the work done, and more importantly, I wasn’t backing down.

Only a few seconds later, his palm circled my wrist and stopped my movements. I only felt the heat of his skin for a quick second, and then it was gone.

Taking the roller from me, he put it back down and then started to roll up his stark white—and extremely expensive—sleeves. I’d always thought there was something irresistible about watching a man roll up his sleeves, and Jack Hawthorne was just so meticulous and thorough about it that it was impossible for me to take my eyes away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked when he was finally done and in the process of picking up the paint roller.

He gave me a brief glance and started painting. “Obviously I’m helping you finish what you were doing so we can get out of here faster.”

“Maybe I have other things I need to get done here.”

“Then I’ll help with them too.” I thought that was uncharacteristically sweet of him—annoying, but in a sweet sort of way.

“I don’t need—” Another quick glance from him had the words dying on my lips.

“You look awful.” He gave me his back while I was still staring at him in shock. “Didn’t you like how the professionals painted it?” he asked.

Maybe he wasn’t so sweet after all, just plain old rude. To be honest, that comment hurt a little. “Thank you. I tried my best to look awful today—glad to hear it worked. Although, if I had known you were coming, I would’ve tried harder. Also, what professionals are you talking about? I’m painting the place myself.”

That confession earned me another indecipherable look, this one longer.

“Why?”

“Because I have a budget and I can’t blow it on things I can easily do myself. Does it look bad or something?” I narrowed my eyes and looked at the wall more carefully. “Do you still see that damn red underneath?”

The roller stopped moving for two seconds, but then he continued painting. “No. Considering you painted it on your own, it looks fine. Is this the only wall you’ll be painting?” he asked, his voice tighter.

“No. Tomorrow I’m starting on the rest of the place. I was only going to do one more coat for the green then call it a day.”

I moved forward, grabbed the small paintbrush, and dipped it in the paint bucket that was sitting at the end of the counter. “I’ll do the edges—it’ll go quicker.”

“No,” he replied in a clipped tone, blocking me. “You look like you’re about to keel over. I said I’ll get it done.” Without touching me, he pried the brush out of my hand.

“You don’t know how I want it done,” I protested, trying to take the brush back.

“I think it’s a pretty straightforward process, wouldn’t you agree? Sit down before you—”

“Keel over. I got it.”

It was tempting to stand upright the whole time as he painted my wall, but he was right—if I didn’t sit my ass down, I was about ready to pass out. Since the chairs hadn’t arrived yet, the only thing I could sit on was an old stool I had found in the back room and had cleaned just that morning.

After a few minutes of quiet where the only sounds you could hear were the traffic outside and the wet sounds of the paint roller, I couldn’t take it. “Thank you for helping, but Mr. Hawth—”

He stopped and turned around. Even with a paint roller in his hand, he looked attractive, not that it was any of my business. An attractive jerk didn’t hold much appeal.

“Jack,” he said quietly. “You need to call me Jack.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It…it still feels weird. I just wanted to say that I can’t stay in your apartment, not tonight,” I added quickly. “I’m really tired and I need to go home, shower, and…it really isn’t the best time for me to pack and move my clothes. Give me a week and I’ll—”

“Do you want to stay married?” Nonchalantly, he leaned down and dipped the roller into more paint. I didn’t reply; it wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer. He got back to painting and spoke toward the wall. “Good. We’ll go to your apartment and I’ll wait for you to grab a bag. If you don’t want your cousin to create problems down the road, you need to get rid of the apartment as soon as you can.”

I gritted my teeth. I knew he was right, but that didn’t mean I liked what he was saying. I still thought letting him know my thought on the matter was a good idea. “I don’t like this.”

That got him to look at me. “Really? I’m so surprised to hear that. And here I was having the time of my life.”

My lips twitched, but his face was unreadable—as always. I shook my head. “I’m glad I was able to provide that for you, and I know you’re right. It’s just that…I have a million things to do here in the upcoming days, and packing my stuff on top of all those things…I’m not sure I’ll have the energy. So, since I’d be more comfortable in my own space, how about I’ll keep paying my rent at least for another month or so and go back and forth while I’m working on the coffee shop and move slowly—”

“That’s not gonna work. You can pack whatever you’ll need for a few days, and I’ll send some people back to your apartment to pack your furniture.”

Send some people? What the hell was he talking about?

“I… The furniture isn’t mine. It’s a one-room studio apartment, a very small one. All it has is a Murphy bed, a small couch, and a coffee table, basically, and none of it is mine. Also, I don’t need someone else to pack my stuff. I’ll do it myself.”

“Good. Then after we drop by your place, we’ll head back to my apartment. In the next few days, you’ll bring the rest of your stuff.”

Just like that, I was out of excuses, so I closed my mouth and gave myself permission to sulk in silence for a few minutes. It lasted until he picked up the small paintbrush and started on the edges.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jack stated quietly with a slight touch of anger tinging his voice.

My elbow was on the counter and I was resting my head on my palm when he spoke up. I opened my eyes to check his progress.

“It looks good from here. Again, you don’t have to do it, but thank you.”

His movements with the brush faltered for a second, but he didn’t stop. “I’m not talking about the painting. I’m saying I don’t know how to do this with you. I don’t know how to be married.”

I stared at the back of his head, blinking and trying to make sure I’d heard him right. I took my time trying to figure out how to answer. “I’ve never married a stranger before either, so I think we’re on the same level here. I’m hoping we can figure it out together along the way. Can I suggest one thing, though? I think it would make our lives easier.”

“Can I stop you?” he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder.

Did he mean I talked too much? “You’d have to try and see for yourself, but I’m pretty sure you can’t, so I’ll just go right ahead and share. You’re not very talkative, and that’s okay. If I tried, I could talk enough for both of us, but even though we won’t be in each other’s faces all the time, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to…communicate, I think. I don’t think I’d be too off the mark if I said you seem like a guy of very few words.”

He turned to look at me with an arched eyebrow, and I gave him a small smile and a shrug before continuing.

“It’s gonna be difficult to get used to each other. This whole situation is awkward and new. Plus, living with you is going to be…to be honest, a little weird for me, not to mention the fact that you’re gonna have to live with a stranger in your apartment, too. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I can. I’ll be spending most of my time here, anyway, so I think you’ll barely notice my presence. And we’re helping each other out, right? You get the property and the every-now-and-then fake wife, and I get two years in this amazing location. I promise, I’ll do my part.”

His eyes holding mine, he gave me a small nod.

“Despite what you saw tonight, I’m pretty easy to get along with,” I continued as he focused on dipping the brush into more paint. “You won’t even know I’m in your home. I’ll be wherever you need me to be when you need me, but other than that, I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

I was having a really hard time keeping my eyes open. “What are you worried about then?”

Instead of explaining further, he shook his head and turned back to the almost finished wall. “This is almost done. If there is nothing else to do, we should leave.”

“There are a million things to do, but I don’t think I have the strength to lift my finger, let alone do anything. I’ll get my things from the back then we can go.”

“Your ring,” he said as I pushed myself up, his back to me. “You’re not wearing it.”

“I…” I touched my finger where the ring was supposed to be. “I left it at home because I’m working here. I didn’t want to lose it or damage it with all the work I need to do.”

“I’d prefer you to wear it from now on.”

He didn’t turn back and look at me, but I did notice the band I’d bought him was on his finger.

“Of course,” I mumbled quietly before going to the kitchen to get my things.

The number of times Jack Hawthorne smiled: none.