Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  She didn’t surf. And this was all manner of awkward. “Sorry, Chad. Hey, have you met Josh? This is Chad from my major. Chad, this is my husband—Josh.”

  Chad’s face went from sunshine and surfing to cloudy and waterlogged faster than a coastal storm could roll in from the beach. “Husband. You’re married?”

  This was so weird. Every millimeter of it. She took a deep breath. “Yep.”

  “But you don’t even have a ring.”

  ∞∞∞

  Out at the truck, Morgan dug through her purse for a Tylenol, but she wished she had something stronger—like something to knock her out completely. Why was all this going on?

  Not that she was interested in Chad, but it just hit her that she wouldn’t be able to date anyone this year. She couldn’t even begin to look for a relationship. She was putting herself in cold storage, basically, for the remainder of her college days.

  Dang it. And something inside her always kind of thought she’d meet her husband in college.

  Of course, not this way.

  Not through defrauding the government.

  Josh, though, had gotten her door. That was sweet. She didn’t mind Josh at all. He wasn’t exactly fulfilling all the roles of husband she’d always dreamed of, but he wasn’t screwing it up so badly she’d end up deciding never to get married again in the future. After this marriage ended next year.

  A year. She sighed. A whole year.

  That was long enough for her left ring finger to get a little indentation around where the ring would sit. If she ended up wearing one, that is. Just because Chad from Business Stats suggested a ring didn’t mean Josh was going to get her one. He’d just spent all his cash on tuition, anyway. It was dumb of her to even be thinking about it. Then again, Morgan did like rings, just like pretty much all girls did, but more for proving she was taken than for flashing a bauble.

  Josh got in on the driver’s side and pulled out of the parking garage. It was a little more full than the last time she’d faced down the stonewalling bureaucrats in their kingdom at financial aid. Yes! They’d done it! She could take classes. She didn’t have to drop out!

  “You okay?” he asked, eyeing her Tylenol packet.

  “It’s stressful, Josh. But it’s not nearly as stressful as thinking I was going to have to drop out of school, so thank you.” She smiled at him then dipped her eyes. He swerved a little in traffic, and she had to grip the armrest. “Where are we going first?”

  “Let’s hit the DMV, then Social Security for the name change before they close. Then the bank. Then…I have something in mind.” He made it sound enticing, whatever it was. It sent a little zing of excitement through her. Maybe it was only going to be the post office to rent a joint box, but it made her secretly happy to get to spend the afternoon with Josh. He was kind of fun, even if this whole thing was just a business arrangement.

  She could get used to him.

  Even though she really, really shouldn’t.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nobody ever called the DMV a party. Or the Social Security office either, which was full of cranky old men in white sneakers with thick soles. Or even yet the bank, which did not give away free Tootsie Pops when a customer opened a new account, which they should, according to Morgan Clark.

  Make that Morgan Hyatt, now that they’d stood in line with the cranky white sneakers for an hour to change her name.

  Morgan Hyatt. Josh watched as she signed it officially on the forms for her new driver’s license and at the post office for their joint mailbox. She crossed each t separately. Who did that?

  “Is that it for today?” she asked when he helped her into the passenger side of the Explorer after their exciting time without lollipops at the bank. “I need to do some laundry and get my uniform clean before work tomorrow.”

  “At the Tofu Palace?” He started the engine.

  “My sister calls it The Weedeater. I prefer Leaf Me Alone.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “What? Roller skate and carry a tray full of deep fried, pesticide-free okra? Believe me, it’s no picnic. My ankles are going to need replacement surgery by the time I’m thirty.”

  “No, work all those hours and keep your grades up.” In Josh’s first two years at Clarendon he’d never had to worry about working part-time. School was his full-time job. Well, that and hanging out on Cannon Beach with the likes of Rick Van Zandt. Waste of time. His grades hadn’t been stellar.

  “Oh, that? I don’t. I mean, I didn’t. That’s why I had to get this grant in the first place. My grades took a nosedive last spring, starting when I first tied the laces on the hot pink skates. Lost my scholarship when they cranked up my hours.”

  “Why not quit?”

  “Same reason. Needed the money.”

  “So, it’s kind of like your truck. You needed the truck to get to work, but you had to work to keep the truck fueled.” He turned toward Starry Point’s quaint shops along old Main Street. “You had to work part-time to pay for school, but working part-time made it so your grades tanked and you couldn’t stay in school.”

  “Catch-22.”

  That was kind of sad. “But if you had a scholarship for the years prior, why take the job partway through your junior year?” It only made sense that if something wasn’t broken, why fix it with tofu?

  Morgan leaned her head against the window, her voice resigned. “I didn’t have a choice. Rent went up near campus. I couldn’t pay.”

  “But Estrella Court?” That place was a hole. It was the cheapest place in all of Starry Point, which was what Josh was doing there.

  “Was all I could afford, and then only if I split rent with my sister.”

  Man, that was harsh. “It’s not so bad there. Some of the people are nice.” He tried flashing her a charming smile, and he kind of tweaked her elbow, forgetting for a second that he wasn’t supposed to be touching her bare skin, per his own rules.

  That skin was soft. He probably let his hand linger there a second too long. Was that a little sigh Morgan let out?

  Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

  “Here we are.” He swung into a parking spot in front of Rothwell’s. “I’m stupid about these things, but you can help me figure it out.”

  “It’s a jewelry store.” Morgan looked a mixture of shocked and terrified.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are we doing here? I mean, we just blew all our cash on tuition. This isn’t some dime store.” She turned those blue eyes at him, obviously worried. That was sweet of her—to care about his cash liquidity.

  “I know.” He was doing this all wrong. “I just want you to come in and point out which styles you like. Don’t worry about it. The ring has to be your style though, or your friends won’t buy the scenario.” He would work out the details later of how to do this. Meanwhile, they had to do this.

  “And we have to sell it convincingly. You’re right. Okay. I’m game. But I do wish I were wearing something a little less…elastic for this outing.”

  “You look amazing.” He wasn’t just saying that. She looked like she could be the aerobics instructor chick in the window of the fitness club, the girl the gym owners use as bait to trap lonely guys into year-long memberships. “It shows off your tan.”

  “My sunburn, you mean.”

  “It’s a tan now. That burn was a few weeks ago.” Not that he’d noticed. Not that he’d been staring her up and down when she came all red and talked to him by the mailboxes in just her swimsuit. Not that he’d been thinking about it against his will fifty times an hour ever since. It sucked to be living next door to the hottest chick in Starry Point, or maybe anywhere else, while his girlfriend was six thousand miles away. And not tan.

  Remembering Brielle threw cold water on the serious flame Morgan was starting to fan. Okay, that was a lot of mixed metaphors, but he was back now, ready to do business in Rothwell’s.

  The salesman turned around, and Josh saw Manny. “Hey, Josh. What are you doing in h
ere?” He came over to shake Josh’s hand. “Oh, I see. Hell-o.” Manny apparently noticed Morgan.

  “Manny, this is Morgan. My wife.”

  Manny did that eye-slither thing that the other men they’d met today had done. Morgan—she was probably sick of that. If she noticed. “Congratulations. So why come in here? Need the ring sized or something?”

  “I guess we kind of put the cart before the horse.” Josh had been hanging out with the white sneakers crowd too long today. His metaphors had gone from mixed to old-man-style.

  “We eloped,” Morgan clarified.

  “Oh, right. Morgan, is it?” Manny slipped into sales mode. “Let’s see what would look perfect on your lovely finger.”

  Josh stood half-watching as Manny and Morgan went past a dozen ring cases. She refused to try any on, which he didn’t understand. But eventually, after about fifteen minutes of Manny pushing bigger and bigger rings on her, she put her foot down.

  “I’m just not a zillion-diamond girl.” She looked at Josh for help. “All these styles are too…I don’t know. Ornate.”

  He walked over to her, and a glance in the case told him exactly what she meant. Huge diamonds surrounded by a bunch of other diamonds. Josh didn’t like them either.

  The bell hanging on the door of the shop jingled. More customers walked in. Manny smiled at Morgan. “I’ll let the two of you talk this over.”

  “Good,” Morgan whispered. “Now we can get out of here.” She looked relieved. He’d never imagined a woman looking relieved to exit a jewelry store. He figured their very souls resonated to gemstones and that they’d be happier here than among a million pairs of shoes. Even Brielle, serious about everything on earth, got goggle-eyed about diamonds. Morgan was different from other girls—and not in bad ways. Not at all.

  “Josh? Josh Hyatt?” A shrill voice pierced his ear. “I can’t believe it. It’s been months. How have you been?” There, beside the door stood his worst nightmare—the last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

  “Claire. Oh, hey.” Of all the jewelry shops in all of Oregon, she walks into this one. He swallowed his bile. “Just heading out.” He gave a dramatic glance at his wrist, even though he wasn’t wearing a watch. “Late for a reservation.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she growled playfully. “Come here. Don’t tell me you don’t have time for Brielle’s best friend in the whole world.” Claire tugged Josh’s arm, pulling him into an awkward hug. “I want you to meet Buster, my fiancé. He’s from Starry Point. We’re planning a Christmas wedding at the Chapel in the Pines, and since I can do my publishing business from anywhere, I’ve relocated here while I plan our wedding. Isn’t it great? We can run into each other while Brielle is out of the country and…”

  Yeah, just great. If he kept the topic on Claire, he could maybe weasel out of here before—

  Manny spoke up. “Isn’t that nice? Your friend just eloped.”

  All the air whooshed out of Josh’s lungs, and the word hung heavy in it, floating like a flashing neon sign. Eloped. Eloped. Eloped.

  Fabulous. That dun-dun-dun music from movies hung in the air. Claire knew. Even if Brielle couldn’t be reached for now, there were other serious implications of this moment which hit Josh in fast succession, like the fact that in about thirty seconds, or as long as it would take for her to send a text, every single one of Brielle’s fifty other Best Friends in the Whole World would know that Josh had married another girl less than a month after Brielle left the country. He’d become the biggest villain in the Portland twenty-something singles crowd, maligned and vilified all over social media, and shoot to persona non grata status among all of her friends, maybe forever—even after he and Morgan eventually accomplished the annulment. Brielle’s friends might hate him so much that they could potentially talk Brielle out of her relationship with Josh.

  This. Was. Not. Good.

  “Eloped.” Claire snagged the reverberating word from the air.

  “Yeah. Heh-heh.” He felt like such a jackwagon right now. “Claire, I want you to meet my wife, Morgan.” There was no stopping the runaway train now. He might as well ride it to its inevitable fiery, crashing end.

  Morgan smiled, but she didn’t say anything.

  Claire progressively turned as red as the cherry Kool-Aid color of her hair. First her neck, then the lower half of her face, then the red crawled to her scalp. “Brielle didn’t tell me you broke up.”

  We didn’t. How stupid would that sound? Beyond stupid.

  Morgan slid her hand into his. On her tiptoes she reached up and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “We’re late, Josher. Everyone will be waiting for us.” She gave his arm a soft tug, pulling him toward the door. He went willingly.

  “Wait just a minute there, Josh Hyatt.” Rage bubbled in Claire’s voice. “I don’t even know if I believe that you’re married. A breakup is something Brielle wouldn’t have kept from me.” Her voice was starting to fade as Josh and Morgan left the store. “I’m serious. Come back here, Josh. I have more to say to you. If you’re so married, what are you doing in the ring store after the fact? Come back here, you two-timing jerk!”

  At this, Josh picked up speed. Morgan shouldn’t be subjected to those insults. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He put her into the Explorer and started the engine. “What do you say to some music?” He adjusted the radio to the rock station, hoping to drown out Claire’s voice from his head. But the anger of the music only amplified it. Morgan reached over, placed her hand on his, removing it from the dial, and shut off the radio.

  “It’s okay, Josh. People are going to be mad at us. I think we just have to plan on that from here on out.”

  Mad. That was pretty apropos. Josh was boiling at Claire. It was none of her business in the first place, and…

  He’d jammed the car into gear and was driving too fast down historic Main Street. Morgan was on her phone, typing something.

  “There.”

  “What?” He had to slam the brake when the light turned red, reminding him of Claire’s awful head.

  “Smile for a selfie of us.”

  What? Was she kidding? But he could smell the honeysuckle that was Morgan when she leaned over the gear box toward him. It must have softened his anger because the pic of them, which she held up, didn’t look as strained as he felt.

  “I need a shave.”

  “Yeah? I need a shower.” She started tapping on her phone. “There. I just took the bull by the horns.”

  “How so?”

  “I just made our marriage social-media-official. Bring on the avalanche—because it is coming.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Morgan dried her hair, wishing her one picture with Josh on social media didn’t have her looking like she’d been at CrossFit all afternoon. What a way to foist the news on the world.

  The front door slammed, hard enough that Morgan could hear it over the hairdryer. In stormed Tory.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  “Fixing my hair so I don’t look like a yeti?” Morgan shut off the hairdryer, done with the process.

  “You never look like a yeti. Abominable snowman, yes. But not a yeti.”

  “What’s the difference, even? And how would you know?”

  Tory just rolled her eyes. “Irrelevant. I’m probably going to kill you so it won’t matter anyway.”

  “It will totally matter. You’ll have to put it in the funeral program as one or the other. Don’t forget to sing ‘Amazing Grace,’ though. That’s my favorite. I like that one version—”

  “Stop changing the subject. How could you do that to Mom? She is a blubbering mess. What with Nixie’s surgery and all, she can barely function, and you chuck her to the wolves?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tory pulled out her phone and held up the icky picture of Morgan and Josh. It was taken at the worst angle, from under their chins, and Morgan seriously looked like The Great Unwashed next to Josh whose nostrils were
flaring. He’d been pretty mad at that shrew Claire when Morgan snapped the photo. But what choice had she had at the moment?

  Well, probably a lot of choice. Still, what was done was done.

  “Since when is Mom on social media?” Morgan tried to tamp down her guilt with this lame excuse. “I never dreamed—”

  “Mom is as social media-obsessed as anyone ever.”

  “No way. She hasn’t posted to her page in months. Just a couple of pics of Nixie here and there.”

  “She doesn’t post, but she lurks, like, hours a day. She watches everybody’s stuff, comments on it when she sees them in person. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Now that Tory mentioned it, Mom did seem pretty up on their lives, even when Morgan hadn’t called her in a while.

  “Check your phone.” Tory left the bathroom, shaking her head. “And think about how other people feel once in a while, why don’t you?”

  Where was that coming from? Morgan wasn’t exactly the callous brat Tory was insinuating she was. She threw her clean hair up into the required Meatless in Seattle twist-bun and found her phone. She’d had it shut off.

  Whoa! Eighty-six missed calls? What was that all about? She scrolled through them. It appeared about fifty were from her mom. The other thirty-plus were from friends, probably freaking out that she hadn’t told them she was married. She’d deal with them later.

  There was also a voice mail. Mom was the only person in Morgan’s world who still left voice mail messages.

  Morgan, honey. I love a prank as much as the next person, but the least you could do is let your old mother in on it ahead of time so she doesn’t lose her head with worry. Sweetheart? I always thought we’d planned…well, never mind. You should know, Nixie is going to be just fine.

  Her voice sounded hurt. Morgan would drop everything right this second and go straight to Portland, even this late in the day, and explain everything in person, if only she didn’t have to work in a few minutes. It seemed like a better way to atone for her mistake than just explaining over the phone, but thanks to Veg-Out, a call was the best she could do. She dialed.