“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Page asks from the door. She’s been very nice. More than nice, if you take into consideration I’m not who she thought I’d be.

“I’m good, just exhausted. It’s been a long trip,” I tell her, and that part at least is not a lie.

She was standing at the dock waiting as my seaplane stopped. I didn’t realize they had actual planes that were made to land and take off on water. It was a bumpy ride and, though the mountains of Alaska are extremely beautiful, I was scared to death. I’ve never been on a plane. The large jet I flew into Juneau on was scary enough, but the small seaplane was terrifying. If this blows up in my face, as I imagine it will, I’m not sure how I will get back home to Cranville, Georgia.

Home. If you can call it that. I lived in a trailer park in Cranville with a man who stayed drunk and was beginning to look at me as much more than his stepdaughter. I was desperate to escape. As a waitress in Cranville, I didn’t get paid minimum wage; I was paid a flat rate and got to keep my tips. In theory that would have been great, but Cranville isn’t filled with big tippers. Most tip nothing at all, and those that do might throw a spare dollar or so down. I held down two jobs to try and make ends meet—they never did. Still, I did okay. I managed to scrimp and save for months and finally I had enough to start over and rent a place until I found a job in another state.

Then one night, four months ago, I was left devastated. I’d just finished working sixteen hours straight. I came home and crashed. I had worked so much overtime that week, I was worn out. That’s what led me to make my big mistake. I locked my bedroom door, but I put my purse on my nightstand beside me instead of hiding it in the closet. When I woke up the next morning, my wallet was empty and my stepfather was nowhere to be seen.

It would have been okay, I could have recovered, but my purse contained every bit of the money I was saving. I’d withdrawn it all from the bank on my lunch hour earlier that day. I was planning on leaving the next day and I wanted to make sure everything was packed up, closed out and ready. That was my second mistake. If I had just waited until I was heading out of town, my stepfather would have never had the chance to take my money. I had two thousand dollars and he took every single dime of it.

That was four months ago, and I don’t know where he went. All I know is that I hope I never see him again. I lived in Cranville alone for four months—struggling. Struggling because my stepfather left behind a mountain of debt. Debt I tried to manage because I was left with no choice. Since he drained my account, it was a struggle for me to keep electricity. A co-worker told me about Alaskan men. I won’t lie. I was lonely, but in my life there was no room for a man. I told her she was crazy—after all, a man was the reason I was in such dire straits.

Then, one night last month, I broke down in front of her. They were going to repo the trailer I was living in. They were coming out to cut the power and I had made a grand total of twenty bucks in tips for the night. That’s when she confessed that she was writing some dude in Alaska twice a month—pretending to be me. I thought she was insane. I was mad, hurt and a million other things that I couldn’t find the words to describe. I will admit, though, that there was a part of me that was intrigued, even excited. I read through the letters and I began to really like the man. He was straight and to the point, gruff almost. Yet, as he began talking about his love for Alaska, and what he wanted out of life, I began to see a side to him that I really liked. I got the feeling it was a side he didn’t show a lot and I liked that he would let himself be vulnerable in his letters.

I began to get excited, but I couldn’t overlook the biggest obstacle. Tally, my coworker, might have been writing with my name, but she’s not me. All of those letters, they were based on what Tally thought of me.

They’re not me. I didn’t write them.

“If you’re sure then, I guess I’ll go,” Page says, bringing my thoughts back around to the present.

“I’m sure. Thank you so much.”

“You’re different than Stone described,” she says, and those butterflies in my stomach all take off at once. I swallow down the nausea and search my brain for a plausible excuse.

“Really, how?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but I think Stone is in for a surprise,” she says with a smile.

“Do you think he will be disappointed?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Have you looked in the mirror?” She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re beautiful, girl.”

Her words make heat rise into my face. I feel the blush spread.

“What time does Stone get in?”

Page looks down at her watch. She’s the beautiful one. Blond, beautiful blue eyes, tall, curvy, and everything I’ve always wanted to be. I have mouse brown hair, my breasts are so small that most of the time I don’t bother with a bra, and I’m barely five-foot-five on a good day.

I’ve read through the letters that Tally and Stone have exchanged. After seeing a picture of me, he mentioned that I wasn’t what he was looking for, but that he was intrigued by me. I have no idea what that meant, but it’s worrying. If this doesn’t work out, I’m in real trouble. That brings to mind the biggest problem in my mind right now.

Can I do this? Can I live with a man I barely know? Can I give my body to a man… to a stranger?

“He should be home around six this evening, maybe seven. With men like this, their hours are never the same,” Page answers and I smile.

I blather on some nonsense and she finally leaves. When I close the door, I lean against it for support as I look at this monster of a house. It’s beautiful, but it’s all so clean and huge… It’s cold almost. I shiver at the thought.

Will Stone be just as cold?