“Ah.” I nod and then glance down at my clothes. “Not much of a clothes guy. Don’t bother spending my money on something that in the grand scheme of things doesn’t matter.”

“Some might argue that appearance matters.”

“Others might argue that you should never judge a book by its cover,” I counter with a smirk.

She studies me for a moment while I nervously tug on my lip ring. I was not expecting such a lukewarm welcome. I thought that I’d show up, she’d express her gratitude for my help, and then we’d go have some fun in marriage counseling. But this cold, standoffish exterior is quite chilling.

Clearing her throat, she says, “Well, I guess this will have to do.”

She guesses I will do?

Well, glad I could accommodate.

She then holds her hand out and says, “Hi, I’m Scottie.”

Knowing I really have nothing better to do today, I take her hand in mine and give it a shake. “I’m Wilder. Nice to meet you.”

She presses her hand to her skirt, fidgeting with the fabric as she avoids eye contact. “Yes, well, I’m sorry that we had to meet for the first time under these circumstances.”

“I’m not,” I say with a smile, causing her eyes to meet mine, confusion evident.

“Excuse me?”

I shrug. “Breaks up the normal routine, and it allows me an opportunity to practice my improv⁠—”

“Um…improv?”

“Yeah, Mika didn’t tell you? It’s a hobby of mine, so kind of frothing to test myself in real life. Not to mention, really enjoying the whole angle of this. Thinking I should start a business to pretend to be fake husbands all around the city.”

Her mouth parts open in surprise as she adjusts her purse strap again. “I’ll have you know there is nothing exciting or enjoyable about this ‘angle’ for me. I woke up this morning on the verge of losing all contents of my stomach⁠—”

“From nerves or from drinking last night?”

She lifts her chin, showing me that this woman has a lot of pride and she plans on displaying it often. “Nerves. I had two drinks last night.”

“If they were made by Mika, two drinks are more like six.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says, swiping her hand at me. “What matters is that there’s nothing I want more than for all this to be over. I hate that I got myself into this mess, and now that I have to dig myself out, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t find joy in my demise.”

“Demise?” I say as I rock on my heels. “Babe, a demise would imply there’ll be death at the end of all this. From where I’m standing, you’re looking pretty healthy.”