Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(24)

When I saw who it was, I relaxed, releasing a self-deprecating laugh as my heart slowed. “Stan.”

Stan Willis. One of Quinn and Dan’s most trusted guards. He wore a black suit, black tie, and white shirt.

“Hey. Dan sent me to drive you.” He spun a ring of keys around his finger, his eyes moving over me as though to ensure I was unharmed. “Didn’t you hear me? Are you okay?”

“No, sorry. I was distracted. I’m fine. Sorry.” I fiddled with the buttons at my wrist, taking a moment to compose myself; Eugene’s text messages must’ve aggravated me more than I thought. “Please. Lead the way.”

Stan gave me another concerned once-over, then complied, walking slowly toward the exit and checking over his shoulder a few times to make sure I followed. “The car is right out here.”

He led me to a black SUV parked directly outside the building; it reminded me of the one Dan had driven last night. Stan opened the door to the back seat for me. Soon I was settled and he’d pulled into traffic. Feeling eyes on me, I glanced at the rearview mirror and found him studying me from the driver’s seat.

“Hey, is your phone off? Dan said he tried to call but it went to voicemail.”

“Oh. Yes. It is.” I reached my hand into my backpack, but then thought better of it. If I turned it on then I’d be hitting ignore on Eugene’s calls.

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll just let him know I got you and we’re on our way.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I turned my attention to the window, allowing my hair to fall forward to block me from any further inspection.

My long, thick, dark hair was my favorite feature about myself for exactly this reason; it allowed me to easily hide my face—and therefore my expression and thoughts—at will. It was like wearing a veil but without making an archaic, Miss Havisham-esque fashion statement.

If there was one literary character I didn’t wish to imitate, it was Miss Havisham. Maybe also every Edgar Allan Poe character ever. Except the Raven. That bird was cool.

Sooner than expected, Stan was pulling up to the County Clerk's office, stopping in a loading zone and jumping out to open my door. Before he could, I’d opened it myself, spotting Dan standing on the steps talking on his cell.

I gathered a deep breath through my nose, balling my hands into fists to combat jitters as I hungrily devoured the sight of him. I needed to look my fill before he spotted my ogling. Truly, I needed to work on subtle ogling. I was not at all good at it.

Dan stood in profile, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone to his ear. He wore a white T-shirt, jeans, and brown boots, and looked absolutely delicious. Absolutely. Delicious. I say delicious because my mouth began to water as though a platter of fancy French fromage had just been placed before me.

Dan turned, and I sensed he was about to look my way, so I dropped my eyes to the sidewalk.

At that moment I heard Stan shut the door behind me and sensed him take a step backward. “Hey. I’ll drive you back to Fairbanks after, okay?”

“Yes. That’s great. Thank you.” I gave him a quick smile, gathered a bracing breath, and lifted my chin to meet Dan as he approached. Here we go.

He still held the phone to his ear. Reaching me, he mouthed, I’m sorry while rolling his eyes, and slid his hand into mine, entwining our fingers.

I shrugged and shook my head quickly, hoping to communicate that he shouldn’t apologize. Together, we climbed the steps to the courthouse and through the gilt-edged art deco doors.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the interior, but Dan seemed to know exactly where we were going, guiding me down a short hall until we came to a security line.

“Hey, listen. I have to let you go. I have to go through a metal detector and I don’t think they want me on my phone in here.” He gave me a tight smile, nodding as he listened to the person on the other end of the call. “Okay. Okay. Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah. Bye.”

Closing his eyes briefly, he dropped the phone from his ear and ended the call, releasing a low sound of frustration.

“Is everything all right?” I thought I sounded pretty good considering he was holding my hand.

Let me repeat that: Dan O’Malley was holding my hand. We were holding hands.

I could’ve died happy in that moment, and that probably made me a complete wackadoodle. Clearly, I couldn’t stay focused around this man. I should’ve been anxious about the list I’d be sharing over lunch. I should’ve been worried about my malicious cousin and his array of lying witnesses. I should have been thinking of ways to adequately express my gratitude for what Dan was doing.

But instead, I was thinking about how very, very nice his hand felt in mine, and mine in his, and how strong and big it felt, and how it made me feel like I . . . belonged. Here. With him.