Jilted at city hall. The third time, my fiancé stood me up at the altar, or in this case, the county clerk’s office. The clerk said the handsome guy a few seats over had also been waiting all day. For the third time.
“You two should just get married.”
Our eyes met for ten seconds.
“Okay,” we said in unison.
Ten minutes later, I had a husband. This is the third time, Alex. Are you trying to make me look like a complete fool? I hissed into my phone, my voice echoing in the marble hall of Denver City Hall. A few other couples waiting for their appointments glanced over. On the other end was my fiancé, Alex Vance, with his usual dismissive tone.
“A huge client just flew in. Babe, you know how it is. You’re the most understanding. I promise. Next time, for sure.”
The clerk, a woman named Brenda with seen-it-all eyes, leaned out from behind her window. She pointed a pen at the clock on the wall.
“Ma’am, we’re closing in fifteen.”
Outside the glass doors, a man in a crisp black shirt had just hung up his own phone, pinching the bridge of his nose. Brenda looked from him to me, and a wry smile touched her lips.
“What a coincidence. That’s the third time for him too. You both wasted your day. Why don’t you two just get hitched?”
The air froze for a solid ten seconds. The man turned his head. I lifted my gaze. His eyes held the same humiliation as mine, the same fury, and the same self-destructive, what the hell recklessness.
“Okay,” we said at the same time.
My name is Chloe Miller. I’m twenty-nine, and today was supposed to be my wedding day. Now I was sitting on a cold plastic chair in a government building, staring at the last text from Alex.
“Work emergency. Love you.”
Sent four hours ago, right when we were supposed to meet. Outside, the sky had faded from bright blue to a bruised purple. At my feet was a tote bag with our documents and a small box of gourmet chocolates I’d brought for the clerks. The gold foil corner peeked out, glinting like a tiny mocking star. Brenda, the clerk, had already tidied her desk. On her third pass by my chair, she sighed.
“Honey, you should go home. If a man really wants to be here, he’ll crawl through a blizzard to make it.”
I nodded but didn’t move. My body felt nailed to the spot. The first two times were just like this. Once, his dad had a sudden health scare. The next time, a critical project issue out of state. I believed him every time. Each time, he’d held me and said,
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
Each time, I forgave him. My mom’s voice echoed in my head from our last call.
“Chloe, it’s three strikes and you’re out. Don’t you get that?”
I got it. That’s why today I’d worn my favorite dress, perfected my makeup, and tucked a positive pregnancy test into my purse. It was supposed to be a surprise. Now that surprise felt like a cooling iron against my heart. My phone rang. It was my mom. Her voice was cheerful.
“Is it done? Send me a picture.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My throat was thick with unshed tears. The line went quiet for two seconds. Her tone shifted instantly.
“He didn’t show up again, did he? Where are you? You’re not still sitting there, are you? Go home.”
Her voice rose.
“Go home right now. Don’t you dare make a fool of yourself.”
I hung up. Make a fool of yourself. The words were like needles. All our friends and family knew I was getting my marriage license today. My neighbor had wished me luck this morning, saying she couldn’t wait for the wedding. Now I had to go home alone and face their questions, their pity, and the smug satisfaction hidden beneath it. Footsteps echoed in the corridor. I looked up to see a man walking out of another office. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing a handsome, expensive-looking watch. He was on the phone, his voice tight with suppressed rage.
“Fine. You’re busy. You’re always busy. Don’t bother explaining, Jessica. We’re done.”
He hung up with such force he nearly dropped his phone. Our eyes met across ten feet of polished linoleum. His were bloodshot. I figured mine were too. Fellow travelers in misery, but neither of us was in the mood for small talk. He walked toward the main entrance. I looked down at my shoes. Brenda, locking up, saw his retreating back, then looked at me. That’s when she said the words that changed everything. The words were a joke, tossed out lightly, but they detonated something between us. And then we both said,
“Okay.”
After the word was out, both the man in the black shirt and I froze. Brenda froze too, the ring of keys in her hand clattering to the floor.
“I was just kidding,” she mumbled, bending to pick them up.
“I’m not,” the man said, walking back toward me.
He was a head taller than me, and he smelled faintly of cedar and tobacco.
“Leo Sterling. Twenty-nine. I run a small software company. No DUIs, no felonies. Parents are healthy. One sister in college.”
He spoke quickly, like he was reciting a résumé.
“If you’re serious, we can get this done right now.”
