The Will Reading

Danielle Santos sat in the leather chair across from Patrick Mott's polished desk, her fingers twisting the strap of her worn leather tote. The office smelled of old paper and lemon polish, the kind of place that always made her feel like she was back in school waiting for a grade. Patrick cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, his eyes flicking over the document in front of him.

"Danielle, your aunt's will is straightforward on most points," he said in that careful legal tone. "The bookstore and the attached cottage pass directly to you. But there is one condition."

She leaned forward, already planning the inventory she would tackle that afternoon. "What condition?"

"You must be married for one full year before the inheritance can be finalized. If the marriage ends before that period, the property reverts to the estate."

The words landed like a dropped stack of books. Danielle's breath caught. "Married? Aunt Diane never mentioned anything like that."

Patrick slid the will across the desk. "It was added in the final revision. She wanted stability for the property, someone who would stay and care for it. I'm sorry this comes as a surprise."

Danielle read the clause twice, the formal language blurring. Her chest tightened. The bookstore was her life, the one place that had felt like home since she moved back to the coast. Losing it because of some outdated notion of marriage made her stomach twist. She thanked Patrick mechanically, signed the initial paperwork, and left the office with her mind racing.

The drive back to the cottage took twenty minutes along winding roads that hugged the shoreline. Rain had started again, light but steady, and by the time she pulled into the gravel drive the familiar drip-drip from the roof greeted her. She stepped inside and set a bucket under the leak in the living room ceiling. The cottage was small, charming in its way, but the water damage was getting worse. She could not afford a full contractor, not with the inheritance still locked behind that impossible clause.

She pulled out her phone and searched for local handymen. Dominic Pruitt came up first. Fisherman and part-time repairs, the listing said. Reliable, steady. She remembered seeing him around town, tall and quiet, always with calloused hands and that steady look in his hazel eyes. She dialed before she could overthink it.

He answered on the second ring. "Pruitt."

"Hi, this is Danielle Santos. I need someone to look at a roof leak at the old Santos cottage. Are you available?"

"I can come by this afternoon. Two o'clock work?"

"Perfect. Thank you."

She hung up and spent the next hour moving boxes of books away from the damp spot, her thoughts circling back to the will. Marriage. For a year. The idea felt ridiculous and terrifying at once. She had tried the relationship route once before and it had ended with her guarding her heart behind bookstore routines. Still, the property was worth fighting for.

Dominic arrived right on time, toolbox in hand, work shirt already damp from the rain. He was taller than she remembered, broad shoulders filling the doorway. "Show me the leak," he said, voice low and practical.

She led him inside. He examined the ceiling, then the roof from a ladder outside, moving with quiet efficiency. After twenty minutes he came back down. "Patch will hold for now, but you need new shingles before winter. I can do it in a couple days if you want."

"How much?" she asked.

He named a fair price. She nodded, then hesitated. The coffee pot was already on. "Would you like a cup? I have something I need to discuss."

They sat at the small kitchen table. Steam rose from the mugs between them. Danielle wrapped her hands around hers, gathering courage. "I just found out about my aunt's will. The bookstore and cottage are mine only if I'm married for a full year. I need a husband on paper. Nothing more."

Dominic took a slow sip, studying her. "Fake marriage."

"Yes. We live separately most of the time. We only show up together when the lawyer checks in. You get paid for the repairs and whatever else comes up. I keep the property. We sign an agreement that it's temporary."

He set the mug down. "Why me?"

"You're local. You keep to yourself. And I need someone who won't make this complicated."

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Complicated is the last thing I want. What are the boundaries?"

They negotiated over the next hour. Separate bedrooms when the lawyer visited. No public displays unless necessary. No questions about each other's personal lives. Dominic would handle the physical work around the cottage; Danielle would handle the legal side. At the end of the year they would file for annulment or quiet divorce, whatever kept things clean.

"I want it in writing," Dominic said. "A contract separate from the marriage license. Protects both of us."

Danielle nodded, relief mixing with a strange flutter in her stomach. She printed two copies of a simple agreement from her laptop. They went over every line. No shared finances. No expectations of intimacy. Appearances only when required. Both signed at the bottom, pens scratching against paper.

Outside the rain had eased. Dominic stood and collected his tools. "I'll start the roof tomorrow. Courthouse for the license on Friday?"

"Friday works," she said.

He paused at the door. "This stays between us until it has to be public."

"Agreed."

After he left, Danielle sat alone at the table, staring at the signed contract. The cottage felt quieter now, the leak still dripping into the bucket. She had taken the first step. The year ahead stretched out unknown, but for the moment the bookstore was one signature closer to being hers. She traced the edge of the paper and wondered what she had just set in motion.