by Frankie Love
I even took my twin brother's advice and got red roses. Now, I ripped off the petals, and strew them around the bed, making a trail to the doorway. I feel my cheeks flush. Maybe I'm overdoing things. Then I look at the clock and realize it's too late to mess with it any more. It's time to go get my bride.
After checking the locks on the doors, I grab my keys and wallet. No one's out here, but I never rest easy. After seeing so much, it's hard to trust people. I head out to my pickup truck when I remember the flowers.
Dammit, I forgot the bouquet. The wind is whipping through the trees on my property and I wonder if the power might be cut out depending on how bad this storm gets.
Inside, I grab the flowers from the refrigerator and hope for the best. I'm so in over my head right now, it's not even funny.
Back in the truck, I head down the highway, passing some already fallen trees. I hope my bride's flight went okay and that she didn't experience any turbulence. God knows how she must be feeling right now. I'm bent out of shape, but I didn't uproot my life today -- this woman did. And she has no idea what she is getting herself into.
God, I hope she doesn't regret coming here. Not sure I could handle the rejection.
When I finally pull up to the small airport, the sky is thick with heavy black clouds and I know the flight must have been hell.
I see it has already landed, and I bet the pilot was hauling ass to make it before the weather got really bad.
As I get out of my car and head to the waiting area, the rain begins to fall in buckets. I dash for cover, but as I start running, I regret it. If my bride is watching through the windows, she'll see my limp. She might start to question coming here at all.
Swallowing down my nerves, I pull open the glass door and step into the rustic waiting area. No one this far North is much concerned with making things pretty. The men that live here are just focused on survival.
It's the sole reason I moved here.
I run a hand through my hair, nervous to look up and see her. What if she isn't attractive, or isn't the kind of woman I imagine myself with? What if she never boarded the plane at all and I came here only to look like a fool.
But when I finally manage to look up, my eyes immediately fall on a woman wearing a white coat, holding a single pink rose.
My mouth goes dry, my heart pounds, and I shake my head. No way in hell this is my bride.
But she breaks into a smile when she sees me. "Are you looking for someone?"
I run a hand over my neck, goddamn choked up at the idea of being her husband.
"I'm Hannah," she says. "I was told to bring a pink rose and...." She bites the side of her pink lip, her eyes quickly scanning the nearly empty waiting room. The only other person here is an older man who is unloading cargo from a trolley.
"I'm Harrison," I tell her, sticking out my hand. Immediately, I wonder if I should have pulled her into a hug; anything, everything, to make her feel at home.
The truth is, it's me who suddenly feels like a fish out of water.
I've never been in love, never had sex, and now... damn. This woman is mine.
She must sense my initial impulse, because she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into a warm hug. My hands wrap around her waist and I breathe her in--she smells like cardamom and bergamot--a spice shop right in my arms. And when she looks up at me, she laughs. "Your beard is scratchy," she says with a big smile.
"You don't like it?"
She laughs again. It’s a soft and gentle laugh that fills this dirty waiting room with a breath of fresh air. "No, I like. Love, it actually. It just tickles."
Stepping apart, she hands me the flower and I take it, wondering how on Earth I ended up with this woman here, for me.
"I was so nervous you wouldn’t come," she says, the words tumbling from her mouth. "The flight was awful--terrifying--and I almost didn't make the last connection. But I did. It was my first time flying, ever, so the whole thing had me anxious. And the last flight was so loud. Like, deafeningly loud. Still, I made it! Here I am!" She lets out a nervous laugh.
"I'm glad you got here in one piece," I tell her.
She presses a hand to her cheek and lets out a small sigh. Her face is lit up with a smile that makes me wonder what the agency was thinking.
This woman is everything.
And all I can think is, will I be enough for her?
"What?" I ask.
"It's just... You're so handsome, Harrison." She presses her fingertips to her lips. "I don't know what I was expecting but… you?" She fans herself, laughing.
"Likewise," I tell her, not trusting myself to say anymore. She has light blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and skin that looks like sand. Bronzy and beautiful--like a ray of goddamn sunshine.
Which is what we need, considering the storm brewing outside.
Hail begins to beat down on the landing strip outside, and Hannah and I turn our faces toward the wall of windows.
"Wow, I never see that in L.A.," she says, reaching for my hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "The hail looks like something out of a storybook."
I nod, thinking that describes her perfect tan. She has a face that's used to bright days and big smiles. I run a hand over my beard, thinking about how different she must be from me. She's an ocean of seashells and mermaids, not the rocky current that is my life, my heart, my fucking soul.
We watch as the hail stops, and the rain returns, more gently now. Her hand is still wrapped in mine and I wonder if that's the kind of woman Hannah is. One who is effortless? It makes me nervous. I know I'm nothing but a struggle.
Still, I look down at her, and I want to open up; let this stranger in.
"Let's get out of here," I say.
She nods. "My luggage is over there."
I know she must really notice my limp now, but she doesn't comment. She reaches for a duffel bag and I take her two large rolling suitcases. The worst part is having to let go of her hand. It was so warm, so feminine. I can't think of the last time someone touched me like that.
Once the luggage is in the bed of the pickup, and I cover it with a tarp, I open the passenger door, helping her in.
I jump in the driver’s side, and turn on the truck, wanting to warm it up for her. It may be summer, but this storm is killer.
Her eyes fall to the console between us.
"Oh," I say, picking up the bouquet and handing them to Hannah. "These are for you. For the ceremony."
Her eyebrows raise. "When is that?" she asks.
"Now," I tell her. "We're going to the courthouse right now."
If she's surprised, she hides it well.
She looks over at me and offers me a generous smile.
I turn the key in the ignition. “Let's go do the damn thing!"
Chapter Three
Hannah
I wish there was reception here because I would whip out my phone and make a call right this second if I could.
Fiametta deserves a thank you. An OMG-is-this-for-real-I-owe-you-my-life kind of call.
Because Harrison is not just some dude looking for a wife... he is all sorts of handsome. He's got both hands on the wheel as we drive through the storm, his intense focus is on the road ahead, giving me ample time to ogle over my soon-to-be husband.
We're getting married. Like now.
And he brought me flowers.
FLOWERS.
"You warm enough?" he asks, looking over at me.
I nod, thinking about Max. Fucking Max with his bleached blond hair and sub-par surfing ability and most-excellent thievery skills, and I send that cheating bastard a silent prayer of gratitude for screwing me over.
It landed me here.
With Harrison.
A man's man with a rugged beard, thick and dark. With piercing green eyes and so many muscles, his flannel shirt is practically pulling at the seams. I have no idea why he ordered a wife and didn't just, like, go ask any supermodel to shack up with him--he is that hot--but I'm
glad he didn't go the traditional route of dating a lady and asking her to marry him a year later.
No. He is a risk taker. Apparently, I'm one too, and one look at Harrison tells me I'm the one getting the better end of the deal here.
"How far is the courthouse?" I ask.
"Not too far. Maybe ten miles to go."
Ten miles until I get married. I feel woozy with excitement. He looks over at me and there is a small smile on his face. The nervous energy in the truck’s cabin is palpable and to release some of it, I reach for his thigh to squeeze it, but he flinches, hard, and instead I pull back in surprise.
"Sorry," he says under his breath. "I didn't mean--"
I cut him off. "It's okay. I'm one of those touchy-feely people. You know the type? Like, I'm a hugger."
He exhales slowly, and I cannot help wondering what the problem is. Most men I've dated wouldn't have any problem with my hand on their thigh. In fact, the losers I date would probably push my hand higher until it reached their cock, then make some innuendo about me getting to work.
Maybe the problem is I haven't had a chance to date real men before. Men with integrity, honor. Maybe Harrison doesn't want to move too fast. He reaches his hand to mine and takes hold of it. It assures me that it isn't about not being attracted to me.
"Did I freak you out because I was staring so much?" I ask with a nervous laugh.
"Nah. I think it's cute."
"Well, you aren't cute. You're, uh..." I swallow, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. "Very handsome."
He looks over at me, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles. "You're more than cute, too, Hannah. You're beautiful."
"So, what do you do out here in Alaska?" I ask, trying to get a sense for this man who will be my husband in a short while.
"I'm writing a survival guide. How to live in the woods if you've got nothing but a backpack, sort of thing."
I perk right up. "Really? That's so awesome."
He cocks a brow at me. "You think?"
"Absolutely. I've focused on a lot of herbs and plants in the Southwest, I'm originally from Albuquerque. I'd love to learn about the healing plants in the Alaskan wilderness."
He frowns. "You messing with me?" he asks.
I laugh. "No. Are you messing with me? Because if you’re really a survival guide you're gonna get me all kinds of hot and bothered."
He chuckles. "You're really into all that stuff?"
"Very. In fact, I was about to open a…" I stop talking, realizing the truth of my story is embarrassing. What kind of loser blindly gives her money to a thief?
"What were you saying?" Harrison asks.
"Um, I was just about to open a book about Alaskan plants while waiting for you at the airport."
He nods in understanding. "That's kinda crazy. That we have that in common."
I smile. "It's like the matchmaker knew what she was doing or something."
Harrison looks over at me and the apprehension I felt when I reached for his thigh is gone. Now, his shoulders fall, and I notice him relax.
But then, just like that, he presses the brakes hard and I reach out in front of me, my fingers gripping the dashboard. I peel my eyes from his and look out the front window. A massive tree has fallen straight across the road. The trunk is at least four feet high as it lies on its side.
"Well, shit," Harrison says, running a hand over his beard and then pushing open his driver's side door. "I'm gonna check out the road."
I follow him as he steps out, scrambling to keep up, noticing, again, the slight limp in his right leg. "We can't drive around it," I say, stating the obvious. The right side of the road is a massive drop down a mountain and the left is a steep incline.
"Fuck," he growls looking up into the sky, as fat raindrops fall on us. "We’ll just barely be able to make a U-turn as it is."
I bite my lip and then reach out my hand taking hold of his. "It's gonna be okay," I tell him.
He shakes his head. "I feel bad, we were headed to the courthouse and now I'll be taking you home without being married."
"The storm will clear soon enough." He doesn't seem to believe me. As thunder cracks through the sky, I see him tense. I step toward him, resting a hand on his cheek. He closes his eyes, it's like my hand on his face eases him in some unexpected way. A way that even my handmade ointments and salves can't do.
"Take me home, Harrison," I ask. "Please?"
Chapter Four
Harrison
It’s one a hell of a storm. After winding through some narrow backroads for next to two hours, we pull up to my house. Right away, dread overwhelms me. I wanted to arrive here married to Hannah. It would be an insurance policy that she wouldn't run, or at least it would make it a little less easy for her to go.
And it would make our wedding night less stressful. It would kinda go with the territory.
But the storm ruined all that, and as I put the truck in park, I feel my stomach lurch. I don't know what to expect with her. She comes across as light and fun and easy-going. I'm trying hard to keep my shit together and be cool as a goddamn cucumber, but inside I'm shaking in my boots.
This is all new territory and I don't want to fuck it up. She doesn't deserve that. Hell, why did I order a wife again?
She claps her hands, her excitement fucking palpable, and I remember that’s why. Someone to share moments with; to stop being so goddamn isolated and to remember to smile.
Hannah is the kind of woman who could do that; she can pull me out of my shell. But it's not gonna be easy, and I'm wondering if asking her to go through all that for a stranger was selfish.
"Your house is so cool," she says. "It's like a modern cabin in the woods."
I look over at her. "You haven't even seen inside yet."
She lets out a nervous eek, then pushes open the car door. "What are we waiting for? Isn't it time for the grand tour?"
A few minutes later, I've disabled the security system and carried in her luggage. We're both soaking wet and I help her out of her coat and hang it in the closet. "Is it weird?" I ask her. "To see your new house?"
She shakes her head. "No, it seems a little too good to be true, to be honest."
"How so?" I run my fingers through my wet hair and set my keys on the side table.
She smirks. "Harrison, compared to my apartment?" She laughs. "It feels like I won the lottery."
This girl has no idea. She's not the one who got lucky. I show her the house. It's not massive, but everything is custom. There's a master bedroom, but I don't open the door to that room quite yet. Suddenly the rose petal trail to the bed seems a little showy. But I do show her the guest rooms, the great room with a fireplace, couches, and a television, and then the large kitchen.
I also point out the French doors that lead to a large patio, complete with a hot tub and grill. I tell her that the big building off to the south is my workshop.
"Is that where you work on your survival guide?"
I nod. "Yeah but I spend a lot of time in the woods, testing out ideas, then coming back home and ironing out any kinks."
"So, you go to the forest, rough it for a few days, intentionally get cut or bitten by a wild animal, then figure out how to stay alive?"
I chuckle. "Basically. And what about you? I told Isabella my wife would need a job that can be done from home. You can't exactly work at a coffee shop when you live this far out."
She smiles and the two of us head toward the kitchen.
"I was trying to start an online business before I moved here but haven't had a chance." She exhales, and I can tell she isn't really keen on talking work.
"Hungry?" I ask.
"Famished," she says. "What do you have?"
An hour later we're eating large bowls of pasta at the kitchen island, both of us sitting on high stools. Hannah has taken off her sweater and socks. Maybe that detail is odd to notice, but every inch of her skin seems to wake me up.
She's in a loose top that keeps falling of
f her shoulder and I'm telling her about my family: how my parents passed away, but my twin brother lives sixty miles away in Juneau.
"What about you?" I ask her.
"I have a mom--she raised me on her own--but she was MIA for most of my life. In high school, I'd stay with friends, and after I graduated I moved to L.A. on my own."
"And you've been there ever since?"
She nods. "Yeah, the last four years. Working whatever jobs as I figured out what I wanted." She shrugs and the look on her face is so self-effacing as if she is so genuinely unaware of how amazing she comes across. Confident and sincere and easy going. It's like she is absolutely at ease in a completely new place.
"My story isn't very interesting," she says. "Tell me more about you."
"Me?" I groan, waiting to deflect the attention. "I don't know, I'm just a mountain man, not much to tell."
Hannah scoffs good naturally. "Whatever. You don't get a house like this by living off the grid."
I clench my jaw, unsure how to tell her about my military past. I never share this kind of thing with anyone. I tend to only stay in touch with the few people who know me from back before war changed me.
She reaches her hand out and rests it on top of mine. Her touch is delicate, and I feel parts of my heart unfurl. I know we hardly know one another, but her presence is so damn comforting, it catches me off guard.
"What is it, Harry?" she asks softly.
I hang my head. "I've been through a lot, Hannah. I don't want to overwhelm you."
"What do you mean?" The kitchen is so quiet you could hear a pin could drop.
"I uh," I start, running a hand over my beard. "I did a few tours in Afghanistan and uh..." I choke back my emotions, trying to reel it in. "I, uh, lost a lot while I was over there."
"Oh, my God, Harrison. I'm so sorry," she says in a hush. Her eyes meet mine and she stands, pulling me into a hug. "I can't imagine."
Shocked, I find myself blinking back tears as she holds me. What kind of man am I, losing it in the arms of a woman I'm trying to impress?
