Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(25)

Wackadoodle. Not to be confused with a wack job. One is fun and fancy-free, the other is nasty and malicious.

“Yeah. Fine.” Dan glanced toward the metal detector and heaved a sigh. “I’m going to have to call him back when we’re finished.”

“It’s okay. Thank you so much for taking the time and I’m so sorry to—”

“No more apologizing.” His eyes cut to mine and his frown intensified. “And stop thanking me.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, you’re gonna, or else I’ll start charging you a tax.” His expression turned matter-of-fact. And also—if I was reading him correctly—a little teasing.

“A tax?”

“Yeah.” He smirked, lifting his chin. “Every time you apologize you have to . . . uh . . .” His eyes narrowed.

“I have to what?”

“Shh. I’m thinking. It’s gonna be good though.”

I rolled my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t respond with, Define good.

Turning away, I shook my head at myself. And shook myself.

What was I doing? Teasing? Or flirting? Flirting was not an option. Flirting might send him running in the opposite direction, calling the whole thing off. Or it might catapult us to awkward level ten. Thousand. Awkward level ten thousand.

Do you want to make things worse?

Before I could answer any of those questions, we had to separate as we came to the bag check. I left my backpack on the belt and walked through the metal detector. Dan followed, slipping his hand in mine once more, waiting for me to grab my bag before moving us to the reception desk.

As we approached, his cell rang. Visibly frustrated, he released me and pulled out his phone, checking the screen and answering it.

“Just a minute,” Dan said to the person on his cell. Moving the phone away and to the side, he lowered his voice and said to me, “Ask for Luis De Capo. He’s expecting us.”

I nodded once and approached the woman at reception when she waved me forward; Dan stood off to the side, talking on his cell.

“Hi.”

“Birth certificate?” She barely looked at me.

“Sorry. We’re here to see Luis De Capo.” I fiddled with my bag strap. “He’s expecting us.”

“Yes. Okay—he’s at the end of the line. Go ahead.” She indicated to a long, high counter with areas separated by black privacy screens; I turned my attention to the last cubby. It was the only one without a line.

Walking to Dan, I tilted my head in the direction the receptionist had indicated and he nodded, falling into step next to me. Moving to the counter, I spotted a man sitting on a stool working at his computer.

“Hello?”

He turned his head at my greeting, giving me a surprised but welcoming smile. Then his eyes moved beyond me to Dan and he abruptly stood.

“Hey. You’re here.”

“Sorry, Luis. All the emergencies are happening today.” Dan gestured to his cell as he tucked it in his back pocket, giving the man behind the counter a wan smile.

“No problem. Are you . . .” The man named Luis looked between Dan and me. “Are you the ones getting married?”

“That’s right, we—” His phone rang. Again. “Fucking helpless motherfuckers. Can’t do a single fucking thing on their own,” Dan growled, pulling out his phone as well as two folded pieces of paper, placing them on the counter. “Shit, I gotta take this. Here’s our info. I’ll be right back.”

Luis watched Dan move some steps away, then shifted his gaze to me; his eyes were wide and full of wonder. “I had no idea.”

“Pardon?”

“Congratulations. This is so great.” Luis beamed at me. “If I’d known he was the one getting married, I would’ve picked up some champagne or something.”

I returned his smile. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

“Are you kidding?” Luis took the papers Dan had placed on the counter and continued as he scanned the documents, “Dan’s the man. And that makes you the woman.” As his eyes moved over the paper, his smile fell away. Luis blinked as though startled, his stare cutting to mine.

“Your name is Kathleen Caravel-Tyson?” The way he said my name, like he recognized it, sent a wave of foreboding goosebumps racing over my skin.

This was always the way. People didn’t recognize me, as there were very few pictures of me anywhere, but they usually recognized my real name.

I swallowed, uncertain what to do, but ended up nodding.

He lowered his voice. “The Kathleen Caravel-Tyson?”

Tucking my hair behind my ears unnecessarily, I said nothing, attempting to clear my face of any expression. Who I was—or wasn’t—was not his business.