My mind goes blank. “Oh.”
“It’s Elise,” Bridger answers.
“That’s right,” I manage.
He glances down at me. “Your mother’s name.”
I don’t remember telling Bridger this, but here he is. Storing up more of my history than I even realized.
“I’ll need to see your IDs and get your social security numbers,” Mary says.
I begin to dig in my bag, but Bridger produces our licenses and cards from his pocket. At first, I think he’s a magician. Then I remember he suggested gathering these things before we even got out of the car, so we’d be prepared.
As he offers our cards to Mary for verification, there’s a strange loosening in my chest. I’m always the one who handles things like this. Doctor visits. New appointments. Insurance forms. Bills.
So many bills.
I keep the schedule. I check the calendar. I sort each paper into its correct file. If there’s a mess, I’m the cleanupcrew. Just me, myself, and I. And when anyone else starts panicking, guess who steadies them?
Loren Elise Cane.
Right now, though, I don’t have to take charge. In this moment, if my seams split, I’m pretty sure Bridger would pull a needle and thread from his pocket and stitch me up.
He’s a human sewing kit.
I inhale deeply, let it out.
“Here you go.” Mary returns our cards, and I stick mine back in my bag.
“Cool, cool, cool.” Do I sound like Sayla right now? I certainly don’t sound like myself.
Bridger dips his head and locks eyes with me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod up at him, fastening a smile to my face. “Perfection.”
His mouth twitches. “You’reperfection?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t actually,” he grins. “But perfection sounds pretty good.”
I punch his shoulder. “Stop.” I’m blushing now. But not in a bad way. In fact, this kind of teasing and silliness, under extremely unusual circumstances, feels … good.
Mary reviews all our documents, clicks around on her keyboard some more, checks her screen one last time, before addressing us. “You’re both over eighteen?”
“We are,” Bridger says.
“He’s almost thirty,” I chime in.
Mary frowns. “Irrelevant. Is either one of you currently married?”
“I was engaged once,” I tell her, and a nervous giggle bursts out of me.
“Also irrelevant.”
Bridger’s hand comes to the small of my back. “This will be a first marriage for us both, Mary.”
“And you’re aware this is a legally binding contract?”