Page 9 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man
Our wedding night was something fierce, everything I hoped for, and so much more I didn’t expect. The way she trusted me. The way her body responded to mine. I’ve never been with a partner as compatible.
Why did I not notice her before? She’s been right in front of me this entire time. The girl we grew up with, but last night, I saw the woman I haven’t noticed before. Because I didn’t dare to.
Because I thought she was Jay’s and off limits.
He called me last night, waking me up. I took the phone into the living room to avoid waking Charlotte. Jay told me a weird story about being kidnapped from the wedding venue, but he’s okay. And he gave me the name of a woman that he wants me to run a background check on. None of it made sense, but I was half asleep and not coherent enough to ask clarifying questions.
And I didn’t tell him I’d married Charlotte. Somehow, I don’t want him to know yet. I want to keep this to myself, no betweenus. Between Charlotte and me.
And now the confusing, thrilling truth is this: I’m falling for her fast. Maybe too deep.
But damn it, I don’t care. I’m falling in love with my wife. How fucked up is that?
I swing my legs off the bed and pad to the bathroom. After a piss and a shower, I’m getting dressed when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Charlotte
“Coffee? I’m not ready to face the world yet, but I could face coffee.”
I smile. This is the first day of our married life and is bound to feel awkward. But she’s reaching out to me, and it warmssome dark, chilled corner of my heart I didn’t know needed defrosting.
“Coffee sounds wonderful. Meet you in twenty?”
Her reply is instantaneous.
Charlotte
“Twenty’s a charm.”
We don’t have to discuss where to meet. There’s only one coffee shop in Fir Hollows, but luckily it’s a great one. I finish getting dressed and head to Brewed Awakening.
The bell above the door jingles when I push it open, and a wave of warm air—rich with roasted coffee beans and something sweet, maybe cinnamon—wraps around me. To the left, a row of mismatched armchairs huddles around a low wooden table scarred with old rings from heated mugs. A bookshelf lines the wall behind them, stacked with dog-eared novels and board games missing half their pieces. Edison bulbs hang low from the ceiling, their amber glow casting shadows across exposed brick.
The counter stretches along the right side, all dark wood and chalkboard menus written in looping, uneven handwriting. Behind it, Mel, the owner, pulls a shot of espresso like she’s conducting an orchestra—precise but casual. There’s a hum of milk frothers, clinking cups, and quiet indie music drifting from a speaker I can’t see.
I scan the room, but she’s not here yet.
Good. I’ve got time to breathe, to figure out what I’m going to say to her.
I approach the counter and wait for Mel to finish her current masterpiece. Her black hair is in a messy bun, and today’s septum ring is made of some kind of dark wood. Nobody knows how old she is. And nobody’s brave enough to ask. Her skin is as smooth as someone in their late twenties, but her eyes are those of an old soul. Finally, she looks up. “What can I get you, Nick?”
“One Americano and one Cappuccino with cream, not milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”
“Oh, Charlotte is joining you.” It’s not a question. Mel knows everyone’s coffee preferences, so I don’t answer. I just pay and then go to sit down.
The tables are small, the kind you have to lean across to really talk to someone. Most of them are already claimed by people bent over laptops or lost in their phones. I scan the room, my heart thudding a little harder than I’d like to admit.
Now that I’ve slept, the wedding feels like a dream sequence, but the marriage feels startlingly real. There’s a bunch of logistics we need to figure out. Where we’ll live—I want her at my place—but it needs to be her choice. And we need to figure out what to say to Jay.
Fuck,I’m not looking forward to that conversation. But I am savoring getting to punch him in the face.
I pick a table in the back corner, where the light is softer, and set my hands flat against the cool surface. The wall here is painted a deep green, almost forest-dark, and a trailing plant spills from a ceramic pot on a shelf above me, leaves brushing the air like they’re listening. I catch myself glancing toward the door every few seconds. Each time it swings open, that bell chimes again—sharp and a little too loud.
I’ve just retrieved our orders and sat back down when she finally arrives, looking impossibly serene and even morebeautiful than I remember, despite dark circles under her eyes and the faint pallor of too little sleep.
She smiles when she sees me, and that sly tilt of the mouth makes me want to kiss her. Hard and deep.
She slides into the booth opposite mine. I reach across to lace our fingers, which is something new, and something I want to get used to.
