Don't Marry Him

ONE

DON'T MARRY HIM.

My eyes were fixated on the three bold words as if I believed that they would change if I stared long enough.

Walking into my office that morning, I had been overly excited because it was my last day of work as a single woman. And in the blink of an eye a note that had been left on my desk had stolen all of my joy.

DON'T MARRY HIM.

I was set to marry the love of my life in a week. Part of me hoped and wished that this was some sort of office joke or prank, anything that would free me of the possibility that someone out there was warning me not to marry the man I was in love with.

I began to consider his exes, along with mine. Trying to pinpoint the person that made the most sense to this scenario.

Tired of stressing over this intrusive white stock card, I ripped it in half and then tore it again. If the person was serious about their warning, they would have left their name and number for me to contact them.

The rest of my day flew by. My co-workers threw me a last-minute bridal party, with cupcakes and gifts included. I had mostly forgotten about the note.

While carrying things to my car, butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I fantasized about how different my life was going to be in a week.

I was finally going to be Mrs. Quintin Ware.

Quintin just happened to also be the man I had grown up dreaming about marrying. As an adult he was a talented and successful architect and from head to toe, every chocolate inch of him was delectable. From the moment we had been introduced in middle school I knew that he was everything I wanted. I worked diligently throughout the years to make him realize the same about me.

Before driving home, I realized that I needed to stop for gas. As I rummaged through my purse for my wallet, my hands stilled when I found a duplicate note like the one I found on my desk.

I lifted the identical card stock towards my face.

DON'T MARRY HIM.

My heart started to pound. I flipped the note all around trying my best to examine it for fingerprints or any clue that would help me. But I found nothing but those three simple words.

A horn honking behind me reminded me that there was a line of other people eager to pump their gas so that they too could go home.

My tank was a little over a quarter of a tank, in my eyes, it was enough to get me home safely, so I started my car and drove out of the lot.

The entire drive home the note remained on my mind as I tried to figure out who had access to my purse to leave it this one.

I was then startled by my ringtone.

Quintin's name sprawled across the screen, I answered with hesitation. I wasn't sure if I should share it with him because technically he was the subject of the note.

"Good afternoon soon-to-be Mrs. Ware," his baritone boasted through my Bluetooth speakers.

"Hey baby," I forced enthusiasm in my voice.

"Somebody sounds like they had a rough last day of work," he commented with amusement. "I thought they would be light on you today."

"It was a busy day," I acknowledged.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You don't sound right."