The Prenup: a love story by Lauren Layne

Author:Lauren Layne
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: LL Book Co.

Chapter 21

Saturday, September 12

“So. The DMV on a Saturday. Not one of your better ideas, hubby.”

“No,” Colin says grimly as he shifts in the uncomfortable folding chair where we’ve been sitting for the better part of an hour. “No, it was not. But it’s either this or take time off work.”

“Cutting into your precious Rebecca time?” I say to needle him.

But he doesn’t look up from his iPhone, much less respond.

“Not that you aren’t fabulous company,” I ramble on, “but you realize you didn’t have to come with me, right? I’m the one with the California driver’s license that needs to get updated.”

“Actually, we both need new IDs,” he says, putting his phone away. “Mine still has my old address. I need it to match yours.”

“Didn’t you move into your current place like two years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you supposed to get a new ID with your new address within like, ten days of moving?”

“Also yes.”

I gasp in mock dismay. “Colin Walsh. You are not the rule follower I thought you were!”

He rolls his head slightly to give me a baleful look. “You, of all people, who were there on my wedding day, know that an out-of-date ID is the least of my worries when it comes to following legal technicalities.”

True. Very true. I hold out my hand. “Let me see your ID.”

“Why?”

“I’m bored. I want to make fun of your picture.”

He rolls his eyes but complies and pulls his ID out of his wallet.

I study it. “This is so weird.”

“Why?”

“You’re not smiling in your photo. I barely recognized you without your usual cheerful grin!”

He attempts to snatch it back, but I pull it out of reach and study it closer. “Let’s see, hair, black. True. Eyes, blue. Yup. Height and weight seem about right. And ooh, you used to live in Midtown. How was that?”

He doesn’t bother to respond.

I tilt my head at the ID, trying to figure out why it seems a little off to me, even though the info is all correct, save the outdated address, and the picture is about as decent as a DMV photo can ever be.

Then it hits me.

“This isn’t a driver’s license,” I say, turning toward him. “It’s just a photo ID.”

“I know.”

“Where’s your driver’s license?”

“I don’t have one.”

I sit up straighter. “What do you mean, you don’t have one? Everyone has one.”

“Not in New York, where almost nobody has cars.”

Fair point. In California, it’s almost unheard of not to have a car, even in a city with good public transportation like San Francisco. In Manhattan, almost nobody has a car.

“Still,” I say. “There’s a difference between not having a car and not being able to drive a car because you don’t have a license. Did you let yours expire or something?”

“Never had one,” he mumbles, starting to pull his phone out again.

I grip his wrist. “Wait, you’ve never had a driver’s license?”

“I’ve never had an American driver’s license,” he clarifies. “I had an Irish one. In my teens.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Are you

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