Chapter 1 - Eight Years Earier
“Absolutely not.”
Naomi folded her arms across her chest and stared at Micah like he had just suggested they rob a bank.
Micah leaned back against the railing of the church hall, completely unbothered.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“You said, ‘I have an idea.’”
“Yes.”
“And every time you say that, I end up regretting whatever comes next.”
“That is extremely dramatic.”
“It is extremely accurate.”
Micah grinned.
And there it was
That stupid grin.
The one that made half the women at church suddenly forget how to form complete sentences whenever he walked past.
Naomi had never understood it.
Okay.
That was a lie.
She understood it.
Micah Reyes was annoyingly attractive.
Dark curls that never stayed where they were supposed to. Warm brown skin that somehow got darker every summer. A smile that could get him forgiven for almost anything. And the kind of Spanish accent that became stronger whenever he was tired, irritated, or speaking to his mother.
Which meant Naomi had spent most of their friendship pretending none of those things affected her.
Not that they did.
Obviously.
She was twenty-two.
He was twenty-three.
They had been friends since they were teenagers.
That was it.
Nothing complicated about it.
“You’re staring,” Micah said.
Naomi blinked.
“I’m trying to figure out whether I should leave before you say whatever ridiculous thing you’re about to say.”
“You could at least hear me out.”
“No.”
“Naomi.”
“Micah.”
He laughed.
The sound carried across the church courtyard where people were still lingering after the wedding reception.
Another wedding.
Their third one that year.
White folding chairs had been stacked near the fellowship hall. Someone was gathering flower arrangements from the tables. A group of aunties stood nearby discussing the bride’s dress, the food, and, because church aunties had apparently been assigned this responsibility at creation, which unmarried young adult should be next.
Naomi had already been asked twice.
Micah, apparently, had been asked four times.
His mother had personally pointed out three women during dinner.
Naomi had laughed so hard the first time that Micah kicked her under the table.
“So,” Micah said, lowering his voice, “you know how everyone keeps asking when we’re getting married?”
Naomi stared at him.
“Not to each other.”
“I didn’t say to each other.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was not.”
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The one you get right before you say something stupid.”
Micah placed a hand over his heart.
“Wow.”
“You’ll survive.”
He stepped closer.
“Fine. Hear me out.”
Naomi sighed dramatically.
“You have thirty seconds.”
“We make a pact.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That was already bad.”
“If we’re both still single at thirty”
“No.”
“You said you would hear me out.”
“I’ve heard enough.”
“Naomi.”
She turned away, but Micah caught her wrist gently.
“Twenty-nine.”
She looked back at him.
“What?”
“We can make it twenty-nine.”
“Why would that make it better?”
“I’m negotiating.”
“You’re insane.”
“Thirty-five?”
“That is the opposite direction.”
“Okay, thirty.”
Naomi pulled her hand free, though she was laughing now.
“This is ridiculous.”
Micah’s smile softened.
“If we’re both thirty and neither of us has found anyone, we marry each other.”
Naomi stared at him.
He looked completely serious.
Well.
As serious as Micah Reyes could look while proposing a backup marriage plan beside a stack of folding chairs.
“You want me to be your emergency wife?”
“You make it sound terrible.”
“It sounds terrible.”
“I said pact. Not emergency.”
“Same thing.”
“No. Emergency sounds like I’m calling you because there’s a hurricane.”
“You probably would.”
“I absolutely would.”
Naomi rolled her eyes.
Micah moved beside her and rested his arms on the railing.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Music still played faintly inside the reception hall.
A slow song.
Of course.
Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor.
Naomi glanced toward the open doors.
The newly married couple was still inside taking pictures.
They looked happy.
Not perfect.
Just happy.
And something small twisted in Naomi’s chest.
She had always wanted that.
Marriage.
A family.
A home filled with noise.
Children running through the kitchen.
Sabbath afternoons where lunch turned into dinner because nobody wanted to leave.
She wanted to pray with someone before bed.
Build something with someone.
Grow with someone.
She didn’t necessarily want it now.
But someday?
Definitely.
Micah bumped her shoulder.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
“I’m thinking about how terrible your proposal was.”
“My proposal?”
“Your fake proposal.”
“It wasn’t a proposal.”
“You literally asked me to marry you.”
“In eight years.”
“That does not improve it.”
Micah laughed again.
Naomi looked at him from the corner of her eye.
“You’re serious?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Because I know you.”
“That is not romantic.”
“I know.”
“You’re really bad at this.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
“Clearly.”
Micah turned toward her.
“But I know you’re going to make someone a good wife.”
Naomi’s teasing smile faded slightly.
He continued before she could respond.
“You care about everybody. You remember things nobody else remembers. You show up. You love your family. You love God. You’re stubborn.”
“Excuse me?”
“Extremely stubborn.”
“You were doing so well.”
“You interrupt people.”
“Micah.”
“And you talk too much.”
She slapped his arm.
He laughed and caught her hand before she could hit him again.
“But,” he said, still smiling, “you’re good.”
Something about the way he said it made her stop.
Not beautiful.
Not amazing.
Not perfect.
Good.
And coming from Micah, it somehow felt bigger.
Naomi pulled her hand away.
“You’re still not getting an emergency wife.”
“I’d make a good husband.”
“You leave wet towels on your bed.”
“I can change.”
“You once lived off cereal for three days because you didn’t want to cook.”
“I survived.”
“Your mother still reminds you to make dentist appointments.”
“Personal attack.”
Naomi smiled.
Micah shook his head.
“Fine. Then we’ll put conditions.”
“Oh, now there are conditions?”
“Yes.”
He held up one finger.
“By thirty, I must know how to cook more than five meals.”
Naomi nodded thoughtfully.
“Good start.”
“Two, you have to stop judging the way I fold towels.”
“I will never agree to that.”
“Naomi.”
“You fold them wrong.”
“There is no wrong way to fold a towel.”
“There absolutely is.”
Micah groaned.
She laughed.
“Next condition.”
He held up another finger.
“We both have to actually want to get married.”
“That feels important.”
“Very.”
“And no pressure.”
“Obviously.”
“And if one of us meets someone before then?”
“The pact disappears.”
Naomi nodded slowly.
Micah looked at her.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Do we have a deal?”
She glanced at his outstretched hand.
“You’re actually serious.”
“I told you.”
Naomi looked toward the church building again.
Then toward the aunties who were definitely pretending not to watch them.
Sister Marlene caught Naomi’s eye and smiled suspiciously.
Naomi immediately looked away.
“Oh my goodness.”
“What?”
“They’re watching us.”
Micah glanced over.
His expression changed instantly.
“Don’t look.”
“You looked!”
“I didn’t know where you meant.”
Sister Marlene waved.
Micah waved back.
Naomi slapped his arm again.
“Why would you wave?”
“She waved first.”
“Now she’s going to tell everybody.”
“Tell everybody what?”
“That we’re standing out here planning our wedding.”
Micah grinned.
“Well…”
“Don’t.”
“You did say—”
“I have agreed to nothing.”
He stretched his hand toward her again.
“Come on.”
Naomi looked at it.
Then at him.
His smile was playful.
Familiar.
Safe.
Micah had been in her life long enough that she couldn’t remember exactly when he had stopped being just someone from church and become her person.
The person she called when she was annoyed.
The person who knew when she was lying about being fine.
The person who would show up at midnight if she needed him and complain the entire drive.
There were worse people to accidentally marry.
Probably.
Naomi placed her hand in his.
“Fine.”
Micah’s eyebrows lifted.
“Fine?”
“If we’re both single at thirty.”
His grin widened.
“And neither of us has found the love of our lives.”
“Obviously.”
“And we both still want marriage.”
“Yes.”
“And you stop folding towels incorrectly.”
Naomi tried to pull her hand away.
Micah tightened his grip, laughing.
“No, no. Too late.”
“That was not part of the agreement.”
“It is now.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet, apparently, your future husband.”
Naomi rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.
“You wish.”
Micah lifted their joined hands between them.
“Marriage pact.”
Naomi hesitated.
Then laughed.
“Marriage pact.”
He shook her hand once.
Official.
Ridiculous.
Completely unserious.
At least that was what Naomi told herself.
From the church hall, Micah’s mother suddenly shouted something in Spanish.
Micah froze.
Naomi burst out laughing.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Micah.”
“Nothing important.”
His mother called again.
Naomi caught only one word.
“¿Novia?”
Her eyes widened.
“Did your mother just call me your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“She absolutely did.”
“She asked if you were”
“Your girlfriend.”
“She’s confused.”
Naomi laughed so loudly that Sister Marlene turned around again.
Micah rubbed a hand over his face.
“Dios mío.”
“Oh, this is perfect.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m going to remind you of this for the rest of your life.”
“Great. Something else to look forward to in our marriage.”
Naomi shoved him.
He nearly lost his balance.
And as he laughed beside her under the warm evening sky, neither of them understood that eight years could disappear faster than they thought.
Neither understood how much could change.
Or how dangerous a joke could become when it started sounding like a promise.
Eight Years Later
Naomi stared at the message on her phone.
Micah:So apparently your mother invited me to dinner tomorrow.
She frowned.
Another message appeared.
Micah:Should I be worried?
Naomi typed back.
Naomi:Always.
The dots appeared immediately.
Micah:Helpful.
Naomi smiled despite herself.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Only this time, it wasn’t Micah.
It was Elias.
Elias:I had a really good time tonight. I’d like to see you again, if you’re free next weekend.
Naomi read it twice.
Then a third time.
A smile slowly formed.
Elias had been kind.
Intentional.
Easy to talk to.
And, most importantly, clear about what he wanted.
No guessing.
No games.
No almost.
Her phone buzzed again.
Micah:Naomi?
She ignored him for a moment and typed her reply to Elias.
Naomi:I’d like that.
She hit send.
Then leaned back against her pillows.
Across town, Micah Reyes had absolutely no idea that the woman he once jokingly promised to marry had just agreed to a second date with another man.
And Naomi had absolutely no idea that, in less than six months, she would turn thirty.
