“Well, bless your soul.” Chastity turned to include Sarah in the warmth of her smile. “You got yourself a good man here.” She returned her attention to Mick. “Mr. Hollywood, working with movie stars and shit. Who would’ve guessed?” Chastity tipped her head toward Sarah. “Did you take her by your old stomping grounds?”

“Hell no.”

Chastity let out a hoot of laughter. “Don’t blame you. Flo’s ghost might be lurking around those charred old ruins. Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but that decrepit scary bitch was harsh.”

Sarah looked at him. He could see curiosity in her eyes. “Who’s Flo?”

“His grandma.” Chastity leaned toward the speak hole in a confidential manner. “And believe me, darling. You can thank your lucky stars she’s dead—”

“Okay, enough with the reminiscing,” Mick cut in.

Chastity looked at him, her head cocked. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

Mick’s stomach clenched. His face felt like a mask. “It’s not relevant.”

“Told me what?” Sarah asked.

Chastity kept looking steady at Mick. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “it’s better to tell the truth. Otherwise you’re going to be starting off the most important relationship of your life with a lie. That’s a foundation built on quicksand.”

“Thanks, Oprah,” Mick said dryly. “Hate to burst your bubble, but we aren’t here to get married.”

“You aren’t?” Chastity seemed slightly crestfallen.

“No.”

“I got married here in Vegas,” Sarah said. “We came to get a copy of my marriage license.”

“Oh.” Chastity glanced at Mick with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry about jumping to erroneous conclusions, but in my defense . . .” She extended her hands outward, laughter in her eyes again as she lifted her overplucked eyebrows. “One needs to take into consideration the venue.”

“An easy mistake to make,” Mick replied. “Can you help her out?”

“You can get a copy of your marriage license,” Chastity told Sarah, “but you came to the wrong place.” She scribbled an address on a notepad. “You need to go to the Clark County Clerk’s Office. It’s right around the corner—Two Hundred Lewis Avenue. Three-minute walk, max.” Chastity ripped the note off and handed it through the slot to Sarah. “There you go, love. Out the door, make a left, another left on Third, and left on Lewis, and again, sorry about the mix-up. It was great to see you, Mick. You’re looking good.”

“You, too,” Mick said. He stepped away from the kiosk.