Everly

Oh, no. No. Like, a hundred times, oh my God, is this for reals, no. I need Delta. And Amelia. And all those copies of Cosmo I bought as a teenager, so I can speed-read every advice column about how to act around men.

Because, hello, I can’t even talk to the male library clerk, who has a honking nose and adult acne. And now this He-man is claiming to be my husband?

My lifetime sex-buddy, father of my future children, legit husband?

Oh, God. He is so hot. Like, I don’t know what I expected, but not this. The men on Monique’s site looked regular. Average, healthy—and some were rounder than others, but no one was old or bald or grey.

But they also weren’t male-model worthy. This man before me—who, um, still has a hand on the small of my back, and I swear his fingertips are electric because every square inch of my flesh is on fire—is easily six foot five, and has the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen, the perfect shaggy hair and beard combo, and eyes so clear it’s like looking at Lake Shasta.

Before California had a major draught.

He is a pool of water and I want to drown in him. Or, actually, scratch that, because right now I think I literally am drowning in him. Because I’m mumbling something about being confused and that he has the wrong person—because how the heck did Monique think giving him to me, was a good plan?

She knows I’m a virgin, that I’m shy and nervous, and I mumble, and I’m basically not the kind of woman this man needs.

He needs a Delta, a girl who’s confident and tall and dazzling. There must be a mix up. Yes. That’s it. Delta belongs with him and I belong to a boring man in a tweed coat who, like, belongs to a book club. I should be on her connecting flight.

Not this. Not with a man who looks like he invented Cross-Fit.

“Are you sure? I mean—” He laughs, low and gravelly and so sexy I think I need to change my underwear, because I can’t even with his voice. “I guess you’d know if you were looking for your husband-to-be … but I hoped you were my girl.”

“Hope? Girl? Me?” I am officially a moron. Now is not the time to speak like a robot. I need to speak like human being.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging with the kind of confidence you can only possess when you have literally never been told no in your life. “I’m here looking for a woman coming from Portland.” He steps toward me, closing whatever gap there was between us, and I have a freaky desire to smash my entire body against his. Okay, maybe not smash. Crush, maybe?

Crush sounds more romantic than smash. But hell, right now I am willing to pound or thrust or whatever else would cause his body to press itself on top of mine.

“Oh. Well.” I swallow, determined that when I next open my mouth I will be speaking in complete sentences. “I think there’s been a mix-up.”

“No mix up.” He moves his hand from my back, and the moment it’s gone all I want is for it to be back there. Well, also, he could lift the hem of my shirt up a tad bit higher. Or maybe take it completely off.

Okay, now my overactive imagination is working overtime. See, that’s the problem with only having fantasies about yourself and men. You can imagine it all … it’s just the acting out that tends to be the issue.

Except his hand really was on my back. This is real. Really real.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t know if I’m the girl for you. I think there’s been a mix-up.”

He smiles with his mouth closed, and—I kid you not—he has dimples. Two of them. And I want to lick them. Badly. Which sounds weird, except I’m the one standing across from him, looking at those luscious indentions, and all I want is to put my tongue—

OMG, I have got to stop. I blink, look up at him and try to breathe.

“There’s no mix-up. My mail order bride is coming from Portland, wearing a green scarf.” He pulls at the end of the scarf, unwinding it from my neck. “And that’s you.”

“Oh.” I nod, feeling my heart pound in my chest. “So. You really were coming for me.” Delta was told to wear a pink scarf, and Amelia has on a blue. There is no mix-up. This man is mine.

“Oh, I’m coming for you all right.”

My cheeks burn at his innuendo. How is this my actual life?

Not knowing how to act in this situation, I stick out my hand. “I’m Everly.”

His eyes narrow, reacting strangely to my introduction. “Your name is Everly?”

“Yeah, Everly Matters.”

He nods, pausing before shrugging again. Must be his signature move.

“Not for long,” he says.

“What?” My eyes squint in confusion.

“Pretty soon you’ll be Mrs. Silas Sutton.”

“You’re Silas?”

He gives me a curt nod, then looks at my suitcase. “Is this everything?”

“No,” I say, pointing behind us to the carousel where two more suitcases are rolling by. “Those are mine too.”

He grabs them both before they pass us. “Shit, woman, what did you pack?”

“Books, mostly.” I sold most of my collection to the used bookstore before packing. The fact that I narrowed it down to two suitcases says a lot about my commitment to this marriage. Granted, he wouldn’t understand that. He isn’t the one leaving his entire life to take a chance on love.

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask any questions about the books, or anything about me. He’s effortless and not at all awkward. Me? I can’t even remember to talk without devoting significant brain energy to the cause. “You got that one?” he asks, pointing to the suitcase next to me.

I nod, lifting the handle so it can roll behind me. I’m so nervous about wherever we’re going next. I assume it will be his home here in Anchorage.

Monique only works with extremely wealthy men. I wonder what sort of place it will be. A state of the art condo or an old mansion on the water? I have no clue.

Also, I’m trying to figure out why Silas would need a mail order bride at all. He is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen and could surely find a wife on his own.

Then again, we all have our own reasons for things—and right now, I just need to remember to speak in complete sentences and not gawk at Silas’s sex appeal.

The fact is, leaving this airport is a huge deal. With every step I take, it will be harder to walk away.

I try to hide my nerves with a smile, but even now I’m scared I’m going to fall over again because Silas just walked ahead of me.

And that butt of his is seriously going to trip me up.