The wind storm is fierce, and it isn't making me feel very optimistic. Maybe I'm just nervous. I've been through hell and back, after three tours in Afghanistan, but I'm a basket of nerves over a girl. Well, over a wife.

The mail-order bride is coming today.

My buddies would be busting my balls right now if I had any buddies left. Refusing to let myself get spun up in the past today, I roll up my shirtsleeves and look around my bedroom. I have a platform bed that I made myself, and I bought fresh sheets and pillows-- Sullivan's comments got in my head.

I made the trek into town yesterday and got stocked up on essentials, and a few extras as well. I have no idea what she's gonna like, but all women like chocolate and champagne. At least I think so. Got a cake at the bakery, though not sure how good it will be with day-old frosting.

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!"