Page 1 of Shotgun Spouse
CHAPTER ONE
Teddy sat at his desk, spinning his pen idly between his fingers as the debate around him raged on. His "open-door policy" was working a little too well today. His office smelled faintly of old coffee, Frank's ever-present peppermint breath, and whatever Grant had doused himself in—something sharp and woodsy, probably meant to signal authority. It wasn’t working.
Preston adjusted his tie for the third time in as many minutes. His polished Washington, D.C. demeanor contrasted sharply with Frank, whose loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves suggested he’d been doing this for decades and had long since stopped caring about appearances.
Grant, meanwhile, leaned casually against the windowsill behind Teddy, just close enough to the mayor's chair to make his intentions uncomfortably clear. Teddy resisted the urge to tell him to move. Barely.
“The answer is simple,” Grant was saying, his tone dripping with a mix of faux camaraderie and smug confidence. “We need a grant writer, Teddy. Someone who knows how to play the federal game and bring in real money for the town.”
Frank snorted from his chair. “The federal game? We’re not running a congressional campaign, Grant. We need to fix Main Street before potholes swallow a tractor.”
“And what about the after-school program?” Preston interjected, his voice crisp and precise, like he’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror. “Studies show that investing in youth decreases crime rates and increases economic growth.”
Teddy's gaze drifted past them, out to the hallway. It was on the clock. It was 9:55 a.m. He wanted to get them out of his office in five minutes.
Preston spread his hands like he was giving a press conference. “Look, we all know there’s not enough in the budget for everything. We need to?—"
“Prioritize,” Grant cut in smoothly, flashing a shark-like grin. “Hiring a grant writer is the smartest move.”
“It's expensive,” Frank countered, gesturing with his ever-present clipboard. “You think that’s going to sit well with the taxpayers? Not when they’re still mad about last year’s?—”
Teddy tuned them out again, his eyes snapping back to the clock. It was 9:57 a.m. He shifted in his chair, trying to look interested in the meeting still dragging on in front of him. Frank’s voice droned on about the town’s pothole crisis. Preston clicked his pen like it was a stress ball. Grant, predictably, was doing his best to undermine Teddy with every word.
Not that Teddy was saying any words. He wasn't even listening anymore.
His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—9:59 a.m. Just sixty more seconds until his favorite part of the day. He leaned back slightly, angling his chair just enough to get the perfect line of sight to Bunny’s desk.
Right on time, she pushed back from her chair. His gaze was greedy, despite his better judgment. Her long legs moved with an effortless elegance, toned calves peeking out beneaththe tailored hem of her pencil skirt. She smoothed her blouse—a silky teal number today that hugged her torso in all the right places. But it was her hair that always got him, dark waves that cascaded over her shoulders and gleamed like polished obsidian under the soft office lights. The strands framed her almond-shaped eyes, their soft brown depths sparkling with the energy she always seemed to carry, even when the rest of them were dragging.
Details, details, details.
Teddy noticed every detail about Bunny. The way her skin, a warm caramel hue that hinted at her mixed heritage, glowed under the sunlight streaming through the window. The way her sharp cheekbones softened when she smiled—though she didn’t smile much in his direction these days. And the way her hands moved, delicate and precise, as she stacked papers into a neat pile before leaving her desk.
She strode to the coffee station in the corner, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. But she didn’t go for coffee. Bunny was a tea drinker. What fascinated him, though, was that her tea choice changed every day, a subtle window into her mood.
Yesterday, it had been green tea, signaling her no-nonsense mood. She’d marched into his office like a thunderstorm, dumping a stack of paperwork on his desk with that fire in her eyes.
Two days ago, it had been Earl Grey, which always meant she was in a contemplative mood. That day, he’d caught her staring out the window during a rare quiet moment, and he’d had to fight the urge to ask what was on her mind.
Today, she reached for a tin of chamomile. Ah, chamomile—her go-to for stress relief. Was she worried about something? Maybe she’d finally snapped under the weight of fixing all the things she accused him of neglecting.
“Mayor Carter?” Frank’s gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. “What do you think?”
Teddy blinked. “Uh… great idea. Love it.”
Frank sighed heavily. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m looking at the clock,” Teddy lied, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Trying to figure out when this meeting’s going to end.”
"You need to make a decision soon."
"I don't make hasty decisions. I'll sleep on it."
They all knew that was Teddy-speak for meeting over. They began to file out, which obstructed his view of Bunny's tea break.
Frank and Preston continued their debate, while Grant slid along the side of the wall like the creep he was. Bunny cradled her tea in both hands, letting the steam rise to her face. Teddy imagined the faint floral scent of chamomile filling the air around her. For just a moment, her shoulders relaxed, and the hint of a smile touched her lips.
Then Grant reappeared. The deputy mayor was all teeth and charm. He leaned casually against the coffee station's counter, gesturing with one hand like he was delivering a TED Talk instead of making thinly veiled attempts to impress her.
