May snorts. “They’re teenage boys. Their taste runs to pretty faces and revealing outfits. But they’ll lose their minds when they hear you’re in town.” She looks down at my footwear disaster. “Though I might leave out the part where you’re stumbling around like a newborn moose.”
Despite myself, I laugh. There’s something refreshingly direct about May that cuts through the exhaustion and humiliation. “Come on,” she says, motioning toward the path. “Let’s get you to the reception before you break an ankle. I’ll ask Finn to check if Timber has some spare shoes in the community center. She keeps a pair there for rainy days when she’s teaching.”
“Teaching?” I ask, carefully navigating the uneven ground, still hyper-aware of the attention following me.
“The community center doubles as our school,” May explains. “Timber teaches the kids. Not that we have many—only about seven total from kindergarten through high school. That’s Port Promise for you.”
Inside the community center, long tables are laden with food that smells surprisingly appetizing, and an older man with a beat-up guitar is tuning it up in the corner. I finally spot a gift table and gratefully deposit the bouquet among the wrapped presents. A weight lifts from my shoulders. As I turn away, I catch my reflection in a window. My Hollywood armor is cracked—mascara smudged beneath one eye, hair disheveled by the Alaskan wind, leather dress comically formal amongflannel and denim. For a second, I see beyond the expensive styling to the terrified woman beneath, the one who aches to belong but knows, deep down, she never truly will.
May guides me to a table in the corner, mercifully away from the bulk of the crowd, and disappears momentarily. When she returns, it’s with a plate piled high with unfamiliar foods and a glass of amber liquid. “Eat,” she commands. “It’s a long time until breakfast, and from what I hear, Finn’s cooking is questionable at best.” Her gaze drops to my feet—one shoe intact, the other nothing but straps attached to the base where the heel used to be. “I asked him to check with Timber about those spare shoes I mentioned. He should be back soon.”
I eye the plate May’s brought me uncertainly. “That’s wild-caught salmon with dill,” May explains, noting my hesitation. “Wild rice pilaf with local cranberries, and that’s venison sausage from a deer Finn got last season. All Alaskan fare. Go on, try it.” I’ve never been a fish person—the smell, the texture, all of it has always turned my stomach. But I’m hungry enough to at least try a bite. I brace myself, but the salmon is delicate and smoky, a world away from the heavy fish dishes I’ve endured at Hollywood charity dinners where chefs try too hard to impress. I take another bite, then another, suddenly ravenous.
“I see you found your appetite,” comes Finn’s voice as he appears beside our table, holding a pair of rubber boots. “May suggested you might need something more suitable. These are my sister-in-law, Timber’s—the bride.”
I stare at the boots with undisguised disgust. They’re practical, sturdy, and possibly the ugliest things I’ve ever been asked to put on my feet. “I can’t wear those.”
Finn gives me a dubious expression. “Would you rather keep stumbling around until the reception ends? We’ll be heading to the lodge on the Polaris afterward, and trust me,you don’t want to climb onto a four-wheeler with one usable shoe.”
The memory of him having to pull my foot from the dock earlier makes my face flush. With a deep sigh of surrender, I take the boots. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture of me in these, I will sue for defamation of character.”
Finn’s mouth twitches in what might be the beginning of a reluctant smile. “Your secret’s safe with us. Now eat up. Reception goes for at least another three hours, and I’d like to enjoy my brother’s wedding without babysitting duties. We’ll head to the lodge when things wrap up here.”
“I’m not asking you to babysit me,” I snap, my patience finally fraying. “I can entertain myself.”
Three more hours?My feet are already killing me, I’m exhausted from traveling, and now I’m expected to hang around a stranger’s wedding until midnight. A headache is brewing behind my eyes, but what choice do I have? I’m literally stranded here.
“Don’t mind Finn,” May says as he walks away. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder when it comes to outsiders, especially the celebrity kind.”
“What’s his problem?” I ask, taking a cautious sip of the homebrew, which burns pleasantly down my throat.
“About eight years ago, some reality TV fishing crew came up here, made a mess of things, nearly got themselves killed, and then tried to sue Finn when he rescued them,” May explains. “They didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, but it left him with a healthy distrust of cameras and the people who follow them.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say defensively. “This is a job for me. A few weeks at a scenic lodge, some staged videos for social media and a wilderness special, then back to real life.”
May regards me over her glass. “Honey, everyone whocomes to Alaska says they’re passing through. This place often changes plans and people.”
As the evening progresses, I gradually relax, the homebrew helping to loosen the knot of tension between my shoulders. I even laugh at the locals’ stories, especially when they involve Finn’s apparent tendency to rescue tourists from their poor decisions. “Remember when he had to save that family who tried to kayak to the glacier without life jackets during a storm warning?” someone recalls, setting off a round of laughter. “Or the hikers who decided bear spray was optional?” adds another.
At the mention of bears, a chill prickles my skin. “Are there really bears around here?”
The table falls silent, and then everyone bursts into renewed laughter.
“Oh. honey,” May says, patting my hand. “Bears are practically our neighbors. Then there are the wolves who think they’re the local welcoming committee, deer that’ll empty your garden faster than tourists clear out the general store before a storm, and if you’re exceptionally lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you view it—you might catch sight of a lynx. They’re like oversized barn cats with murder mittens.”
Eventually, the crowd thins as the night wears on. Finn makes his way back to my table, where May has been keeping me company with stories about Port Promise that alternate between fascinating and terrifying. “The reception’s winding down,” Finn says. “We should get you to the lodge. It’s been a long day.”
May rises from her seat and gives me a warm expression. “It was lovely meeting you, Lena. Come by the diner tomorrow for breakfast. My sourdough pancakes will change your life.”
“I’d like that,” I say, surprised to find I actuallymean it. “Thank you for everything tonight. You made this accidental wedding crash much less mortifying than it could have been.”
May laughs and pats my arm. “That’s what we do here in Port Promise. Care for each other—even the fancy Hollywood types who catch our bouquets.” She turns to Finn, her expression shifting to stern. “You take good care of her, you hear? Don’t go showing her your Alaskan hospitality by driving through every mud puddle on the way.”
Finn raises an eyebrow. “Would I do that?”
“In a heartbeat,” May says, but there’s affection in her voice. She gives me a quick hug. “Remember, diner tomorrow. Don’t let this grump make you think all Alaskans are as charming as he is.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise.
