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?"