Liz Tomforde

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Hana 

Sophia

Travis nudges my shoulder. “So, who is she?”

On this day, where everything feels like a sign, I don’t hesitate when I say, “My future wife.”

“You’ve been into that girl since the day she walked into the clubhouse for the first time.”

“Yeah, but I only realized she was single eight months ago, so 

 I’m only eight months in on this whole thing.”

Eyes glancing back to the group of women she’s with, she takes a step closer to me. It’s the strangest thing she’s ever done. The fact that I’m, for once, not the last person in the room she wants to be around is surprising and concerning all at once.

Kennedy tossed her heels in a trash can on the strip, and I noted the red bottoms on those while I was carrying them, so I made sure to pull them right back out from the bin.

My last memory was that on the worst day of the year, I had the time of my life.

“Why would I go along pretending that the wedding I had with this girl I’ve had a crush on for years is legitimate? Why would I force myself to spend time with her for an entire season to make sure she lands her dream job at the end of it? Hmm, I’m not sure, Kenny. Let’s think about that.”

He holds his hands up, index fingers outstretched as they reach for my face, bringing them to my lips. Each one tugs at the corners of my mouth, pulling up my frown and flipping it into a smile.

“Smile, Kenny. We just saved your job.” He’s forcing me to smile, and he couldn’t be more pleased about how stupid we look, judging by the mirroring grin on his own lips.

“Just think of this as one big game.” His tone is low and deep when he leans down to my ear and whispers, “C’mon wife. Play along.”

In theory, I understand his concern. Kennedy might have an expiration date on this marriage, but all I’ve heard is that I got six long months to get my wife to fall for me.

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