3. 3
3
Hettie
B uck Marsden gives me a ride to Bo’s.
He was the first person who I saw when I got off the plane, almost like he knew I was coming.
He didn’t; I asked.
But he recognized me right away, even before I was off the tarmac. Now that I’ve seen more of the world than just Laandia, I realize just how small the Battle Harbour airport is. The one in Wabush is even smaller.
But it’s the quickest way to get to Bo. Driving across Laandia would take at least a day when the weather is good, and that’s only because one of King Magnus’s first priorities when he took the throne was to create a trans-Laandia highway.
It’s one country, but there’s a lot of land to travel from Battle Harbour to Wabush. Hence, me being on the first flight out of Battle Harbour this morning.
With any luck, I can sort things out with Bo and be back on the four o’clock flight back home.
Not that Battle Harbour is home. It hasn’t been for a long time.
Almost as long since I’ve seen Buck .
Bo used to bring me to Wabush as often as we could get away, to stay at the cabin in the middle of the woods. Buck Marsden and his wife Jean lived next door, looking after things for the royal family.
They were at my wedding.
So it wasn’t a big surprise when Buck came up to me as I crossed the tarmac and took my small bag from me. He said he’d run me over to “the prince’s.”
He let me hug him, and didn’t fuss when I held on too tight.
I hadn’t thought much further than getting to Wabush but I knew I’d be able to find someone to give me a ride to Bo’s. Buck is perfect because he doesn’t say a word during the thirty-minute drive. And he agrees to let me off at the end of the road so I can walk in through the woods.
I need to figure out what I’m supposed to say to Bo.
Maybe being around the trees will help. I know the forest has always calmed Bo when he was upset. He’d disappear into the trees for hours at a time when he was thinking about something, ax over his shoulder and a pair of leather gloves tucked into his belt.
When I left Laandia eight years ago, I never really expected that it would be the last time I’d speak to Bo. I was angry and hurt, but I never thought that would be it . I waited for a letter or a phone call. I honestly expected him to come and find me.
He didn’t.
Days turned to weeks, and then months. I knew Bo was dealing with the loss of his mother but I didn’t think he’d forget about me. I was his wife, the woman he loved.
After the accident, it was like I never existed. And it hurt .
And because the hurt was so all-encompassing, I couldn’t reach out to him.
Regrets? There are a few, but we were kids. Things have changed. Maybe Bo is a completely different person now. I know I am.
The path through the woods to the house is the same, however. The trees are still as dense, the leaves in the summer blocking out the heat of the sun. But now, in the middle of March, the dead leaves are covered by a crust of snow and only the pine trees offer a burst of colour. The sap is already flowing inside the trees, and tiny bubs will be showing soon, but on the outside, the forest is still winter bleak.
The path runs alongside the driveway of the cabin, veering off into the cleaning where I married Bo. If I kept walking past it, I’d get to Buck’s place.
Bo wanted to get married in the woods because he loved the trees, and back then, I would agree to anything that made him happy. He escaped among the trees when he was upset, and retreat to the cool shade along the path when he was happy.
He kissed me in the woods, my back against the bark of a tree, leaves falling in my hair.
I hear the thwock of the ax hitting wood when I get close.
The trees might soothe Bo, but they do nothing for me. My stomach is nauseous with nerves and I still have no clue what to say to him. How do you begin a conversation after eight years?
Shoulders hunched with dread, I exhale loudly, my breath visible in the cold air, and I pause just before I step into the clearing.
This is where I got married .
It had been early October; the leaves were turning, but that day had been as warm as summer. It made it more magical, a surprise just for us. We planned it for the end of the day when the shadows lengthened, just before the air chilled. I had come from the cabin; Abigail and I had spent the afternoon giggling as she curled and braided and set flowers in my hair, turning me into a wood nymph worthy of Prince Bo.
There had been a path of rose petals, all colours, soft against my bare feet. I slowed my steps when I walked to meet him— not because of nerves or cold feet but because I wanted to savour every single moment of this day.
Bo and Spencer had hung strings of fairy lights among the lower branches, soft sparkling white lights that suddenly turned blue as the justice of the peace greeted us, and then green. Bo had been so flustered that I had to kiss him right then, before we were even declared husband and wife because I was so happy.
It seems like a lifetime ago. It seems like it happened to another person—another Hettie who stumbled into a fairy tale and got to have her happy ever after with the prince.
That obviously didn’t happen.
I step into the clearing, wiping all thoughts of that October day out of my mind. Not that I have to try very hard because once I see Bo, all conscious thoughts vanish because Bo…
Bo is…
He’s…
My inhale is shaky and after that I think I forget to breathe at all .
Bo holds the ax over his head and swings it down to neatly split the log. It used to mesmerize me when I watched him dismantle a tree, the sound of the ax, the crack of wood surprisingly soothing.
Despite the cold air, he’s only wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt that clings to his arms and chest like it was smoothed on by an admiring female.
Arms and chest that seem… different… than when I last saw him in person.
Bo was always muscular—he was the first of the four princes to be named Sexiest Man—but he seems to have grown. Filled out.
Become more manly.
Very… manly.
And I drink him in like I’m in desperate need of water.
I have seen pictures of the prince, and for a while, I followed his lumberjack career as he travelled the world with his ax to compete in events like log chopping and speed climbing.
Watching the man climb a tree like some kind of oversized monkey is a lot sexier than it should be.
What I’ve seen of Bo in the last eight years didn’t look real. He’s beautiful and muscular, but it was like he was the Prince Charming of a fairy tale. One that liked to chop wood.
Not like the man I had been hopelessly in love with.
He doesn’t see me and I stand in the shadow of the trees watching him, trying to come up with what to say. He splits log after log, the damp patches on his shirt the only evidence he’s worked up a sweat.
He’s wearing a black beanie on his head—could it be the same one he used to wear?
But there are other differences .
The beard is thicker, hair curling under his hat. The furrow between his eyes that appeared when he had a lot on his mind is more pronounced. What is he trying to forget about?
The bark of a dog jerks me out of my observation and for a moment I’m afraid, but then I recognize him and my heart swells.
“Kody!” I cry before I stop myself.
Bo whirls around as Kody thunders past him. I crouch, hands outstretched, focused on the dog. Kody bounces around me, and I swear he’s smiling. I pat him everywhere I can reach until he calms for a moment and I can throw my arms around his neck.
He’s thicker around the middle, with more white than black on his nose, but it’s still Kody.
If this is what it feels like to be welcomed by a dog—
This is such a bad idea
But the thought of what’s waiting for me back home urges me forward.
“Hettie?”
And with that one word, I know I’m not about to get the same reaction from Bo that I did from Kody.
Bo sounds choked, like there’s something caught in his throat, and he coughs to clear it. “Are you…here?”
I sink my cold hands into the ruff of fur around Kody’s neck because I’m suddenly so afraid to face Bo.
Taking a deep, albeit shaky breath, I finally stand up, eyes beginning to sting. I keep a hand on Kody for courage. “Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi?” Bo carefully props his ax against a log and takes a step toward me. And stops. “You walk out of the woods like you’re some kind of dream, and all you can say is hi ?”
He is six feet away from me. After years of being a country apart, I don’t know how to deal with his closeness. I can only stare and do my best not to rush into his arms.
That would be very bad. “What do you want me to say—?” I manage.
“You could start with what the hell you’re doing here?”
It’s like a slap. The heat of his words sends a cold shiver through me and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat.
He’s angry.
I should be the angry one. I’m the one who has been ignored for years.
“Bo—”
“Where did you come from? Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Why are you here, Hettie?”
Bo has always been the quiet brother, the one who watches every word he says.
No one would know it from the questions he’s peppering me with, and with each one he comes a step forward.
I take a step back into the trees. “I want a divorce.”
Bo stares, his blue eyes studying me like I’m one of his precious books. Then his gaze closed like he doesn’t know me. Then— “No.”