“You should, and you should call me later. I have a shift at the bookstore around three, but I’ll make sure I answer regardless. This is priority stuff here.” She laughs playfully. “Go find your story.”
I push my glasses up onto my face and grab the bag of crystals, divining board, and a half-eaten protein bar as I step out of my car and into the drizzling rain. My boots sink into the gravel, ratcheting up my heart rate, but the overwhelming pine in the air relaxes me enough that I look up toward the giant who’s still unmoving on the porch.
What a gentleman! His wife shows up for the first time, and he can’t even bother to help me through the mud?
He hasn’t even smiled. Why isn’t he smiling?
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he’s a secret psychopath. The kind whose past hasn’t caught up with him. The kind who preys on stupid women who sign up for mail-order marriage apps. Then again, nothing about this guy’s profile was particularly charming, so I’m guessing he’s probably exactly who he says he is.A quiet man who needs the company of a brunette who might love cooking, cleaning, and his obsession with vintage trucks.
I’m not sure which is worse. His online persona or the version of him that might be a secret psycho.
I freeze halfway up the path, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look. Glasses fogged, hair frizzing in the rain, clutching a bag that’s literally jingling with gems.
He doesn’t wave, doesn’t speak, just stares.
Cool. This is fine. Everything’s fine.
I force a smile and raise a hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Juniper.”
He nods once, his voice rumbling deep as he says, “Knox.”
He doesn’t invite me in, just turns and disappears into the cabin like I’m a delivery he forgot he ordered.
Umm… okay.
I shouldn’t follow. I should get right back in my car and drive back down the mountain. No story is worth this kind of awkwardness.
My brain says that, but I keep moving, keep following, keep smiling, because apparently, I’m the kind of girl who favors red flags, ghosts, and emotionally unavailable men in red flannel.
Makes perfect sense.I mean, what could go wrong?
Chapter Two
Knox
I knew this was a mistake the second her car pulled up. No, I knew this was a mistake the moment I submitted the application. The shiny, little Corolla with the bumper sticker that says ‘my other ride is a spirit portal’just put me over the edge.
Lonely does weird shit to a person. It makes you believe you need someone around. Someone who’ll break up the silent fucking echoes of your own mind. Someone who’ll call the morgue if you don’t wake up in the morning. Now, I’m thinking silence and rotting here in bed for eternity might’ve been what I needed all along.
She steps into the cabin, hair soaking wet, blue lips chattering, her tiny hands wrapped around her curves like she’s trying to get warm. “I’m Juniper,” she says again, all the confidence in the world, “your mail-order bride. We got hooked up on the app.”
Does she think I don’t know who she is? No one comes this far up the mountain unless they’re meant to be here. Even then, the folks that come by are buddies, not young women with thick curves and long, dark hair.
She’s attractive, I’ll give her that. Also, way too fucking young and already far too chatty. I made a mistake not to note how much I hate small talk on the application. I should’ve underlined and highlighted it.
It’s a deal-breaker.
She stands in the doorway, shaking as though she’s waiting for something. I’m probably supposed to help with this shivering thing. “I figured who you were,” I finally say, nodding toward the bathroom. “There’s a shower down the hall. Towels, the whole deal. You can warm up. I’ll keep the fire going.”
Her head tilts back and forth slowly, and her eyes widen behind her fogged glasses. I don’t know what that means, but I get the feeling she was expecting a different kind of welcome wagon.
She’s a woman from planet Earth, so she probably expected flowers and a load of compliments the second she walked in the door. I suck at all that shit. Should’ve put that on the application too. Even if I didn’t, there’s no point in it because she’s not staying.
I turn back to the fireplace, toss another log onto the flames, and pretend I don’t hear her footsteps shuffling toward the bathroom.
I’ve never done anything like this before, but last winter was exceptionally long. Six months with impassable roads and the kind of cabin fever that has driven weaker men insane. That said, I was close.
I talked to the walls, named squirrels, and started carving faces into the firewood just to feel like someone was looking back. So yeah, I went into town the second the snow melted and thought I’d find someone who wanted quiet companionship. When I didn’t find it, I signed up for this mail-order bride thing everyone’s been talking about.
