Page 30 of Sweet Deal
“Most social workers, we thrive creating calm from chaos.”
Holding his side, he stretched his arm and took hold of her hand. “You, Rachel Sweet, are amazing.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel triple-checked the documents spread across the kitchen table—birth certificate, driver’s license, social security card. “Do you think we need anything else?”
“We’re getting a marriage license, not applying for top-secret clearance,” Jim teased from the doorway, his bruised ribs still evident in the careful way he moved.
Gathering everything into a neat stack and sliding it into a folder, she willed her hands not to betray the nerves whirling about inside her. This was happening. Today. The first formal step toward their arrangement.
“Ready?” Jim dangled his car keys.
“As I’ll ever be,” she tried for lightness in her tone, worried she sounded more like a sailor about to walk the plank.
The drive into town was quiet. Almost too quiet, but she couldn’t find anything to say that wouldn’t betray her nerves. She fidgeted with the edge of the folder. They really were going to do this.
Just as they reached the edge of town, instead of continuing towards the courthouse, Jim made an unexpected turn, pulling into the nearly empty parking area by the park.
Confused, she glanced in his direction and pointed down the street. “Have you forgotten the courthouse is that way?”
“Nope.” He cut the engine and turned to her, a serious yet gentle expression in his blue eyes. “Trust me?”
“Is it too soon to say I do?” She hoped she achieved the teasing tone she aimed for.
Jim smiled at her choice of words, then reached over and squeezed her hand before climbing out of the car. Rachel followed, confusion giving way to curiosity as he led her past the swing sets and picnic tables toward the far corner of the park.
Recognition dawned as they approached the old wooden teeter-totter. A little weathered, a little worn, but still standing after all these years.
“You remember?” Jim watched her face.
She laughed softly. “How could I forget? Eighth grade, Billy Tucker dared you to jump off when I was in the air.”
“And I refused, so he called me chicken.”
“Then I jumped off just to show him I could, and you crashed to the ground so hard you bit your tongue.”
Jim’s hand unconsciously touched his lower lip. “Bled all over my new shirt.”
“And I felt so guilty I brought you pudding cups every day for a week.”
They both laughed at the memory, then Jim gestured toward the old wooden plank. “Shall we?”
“Are you serious? With your ribs?”
“I’ll manage. Carefully.”
Shaking her head at his stubbornness, Rachel positioned herself on one end while Jim gingerly settled on the other, bringing her side up into the air. They balanced there, feet dangling, like kids playing hooky instead of adults about to get a marriage license. They teetered up, then down, gently, and when Jim winced at landing a little too hard on his feet, she shook her head. “That’s enough reminiscing. Let’s get going.”
Climbing down, instead of going directly to the car, he took hold of her hand and tugged her to a nearby picnic table. He sat down at her side.
“So,” Jim’s voice took on a more serious tone, “I know none of this is… conventional. And I know it’s only temporary.” He paused, holding her gaze. “But you deserve more than walking into a clerk’s office, getting a license like we’re merely going fishing, and then wearing a cigar band for a wedding ring.”
Before she could process, his other hand reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, dark velvet box. Her breath caught and her hand floated to her chest.
He didn’t open it immediately, just held it, his gaze locked with hers, holding her other hand firmly. “Rachel Sweet,” his voice came out low and steady despite the vulnerability she saw flicker in his eyes, “will you sort of marry me?”
She just stared, first at the box, then back at his face. Her mind went completely blank.
