Imperfect Storm

Chapter 8 I now pronounce you husband and wife.

"Bye Luce!" I said. Lucy, grabbing my coat, and handing it to me.
Down the stairs I went, dodging rogue staplers and gossiping colleagues, until, looking like a lost puppy – Owen, my maybe-boyfriend, maybe-stalker.
"Hey there," I teased.
"Lucy spilled the beans about your early escape," he confessed, holding out a brown paper bag. "Figured I'd bring some sustenance for your journey."
"Is that a... mozzarella and avocado sandwich?" I gasped, eyes wide. (Seriously, the man knows the way to my heart.)
"Maybe," he smirked. "Though you might be happier to see me instead."
"Honestly, it's a close call," I joked, planting a kiss on him before snatching the sandwich.

Lunch break over, I peeled myself away from Owen and zoomed home. My phone shrilled like a banshee, and I answered.
"Hey Ma! What's up'?"
"Sweetie! You and your mystery man coming to dinner tonight at Hillary's?" Mom chirped, her voice dripping with excitement.
"Yep, we'll be there," I sighed dramatically. (Because apparently, I also enjoy mild theatrics.)
"Wonderful! I can't wait to grill – er, I mean, get to know him better!"

Fast forward to 6 pm, and Owen and I pull up to Hillary's place in perfect, rom-com timing.

Inside, Hillary and Glen greeted us like long-lost relatives, while Mom swooped in like a lipstick-wielding hawk.
"Owen! So lovely to see you again!" she gushed, before planting a giant red kiss right on his cheek. (Bless his heart, the man almost turned as red as the lipstick stain.)
"M-Mrs. Scott," he stammered, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Here, here," I chuckled, handing him a tissue. "Just a little war paint."
Dinner was delicious, but the real entertainment came courtesy of my ever-so-subtle sister.
"So, Meg," she started, eyes glinting with mischief, "when's the big announcement?"
I nearly choked on my wine. "Hillary! We've been dating, like, five minutes!"
"Exactly! When are you gonna lock him down?" she pressed. (Because apparently, my sister thinks love is a game of whack-a-mole.)
The interrogation continued, with Hillary bombarding me with "yes or no" questions, each more ridiculous than the last. Finally, cornered and flustered, I mumbled, "Yes... I guess I would say yes."
Silence. Then, Hillary's lips twitched, and her eyes darted to the doorway. I followed her gaze and saw Owen leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Meg," he said, striding towards me. "I would marry you right now. In this very kitchen, if they'd let me."
My heart melted faster than butter on a hot summer day. "Thank you," I breathed. (Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why can't I form a coherent sentence?)
Just then, Owen leaned in and whispered, "But seriously, let's get some real takeout after this. This casserole is... interesting."
We both burst out laughing, the tension broken. Maybe happily ever after wasn't a fairy tale – maybe it was just bad car accidents, near-death choking experiences, and the occasional lipstick war wound. And honestly, that sounds way better than a boring old fairytale to me.
"That's so sweet!" Hillary beams, raising her glass of water in a silent toast.
"Let's go," Owen says with sudden determination. Wait. Let's go where? My heart hammered in my chest.
"Go? Where? Married? Go get married, Owen?" My eyes were probably the size of saucers.
He simply nodded. Hillary, her toast forgotten, set her glass down with a clatter. "Hey, you can't rush this! My sister is a girl. She wants flowers, bridesmaids, a dress!"
Owen's gaze met mine. "Do you want flowers, bridesmaids, a dress?"
"Well, of course," I stammered, "but if you want to do this now, we can. The fancy stuff can wait." I couldn't help but glance at Hillary, whose jaw practically hit the floor.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open, revealing Mom and Glen. Mom's grin was so wide it rivaled the Joker's.
"Did I miss something?" Glen boomed.
"Nope," Hillary piped up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Meg and Owen are eloping! Apparently fancy weddings are out of fashion. But hey, at least I get to be maid of honor, right Meg?"
I smiled, relief washing over me. Hillary pulled me into a tight hug. "Congratulations, sis," she whispered.
"Hey man, welcome to the family!" Owen greeted Glen with a wide grin.
"Mom, are you okay?" I asked.
Her smile faltered for a moment. "I knew something was going to happen tonight when Owen invited me for supper," she said. "But don't worry, honey, I'm so happy for you."
Owen reached into his back pocket and bent down onto one knee.
"Meg Scott. Soon to be Meg Wrightson. Will you marry me?"
I smiled and gave him my hand. He slid the diamond ring onto my finger.
"Yes," Owen stands up and kisses me.

The courthouse bustled the next morning as we gathered. I wore a white dress, a contrasting Owen's familiar black suit.
A smile tugged at my lips. This wasn't the wedding I envisioned, but a warmth bloomed in my chest. I love him.
"Stunning, god you're so beautiful." Owen whispered into my ear, leaning in for a kiss.

"Hold on, kissing can wait." Hillary interrupted, a gentle hand on his shoulder.
My cheeks burned under his gaze. A grin stretched across his face before he looked away.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared.
The day unfolded with a courthouse ceremony and a quiet family lunch.

Reaching Owen's house, a surreal feeling washed over me. Married. Married!
"Mrs. Wrightson," he breathed in my ear, his voice sending shivers down my spine.
His touch trailed down my neck. Kissing me while his hands explored me, like a silent dance leading us to the bedroom. I perched on his lap, feeling an inexplicable completeness.
Moving in sync, savoring each touch, the world faded away. This safe, happy haven was unlike anything I've ever known.