Felix
Nervous, I look around the cabin and try to see it through a stranger’s eyes.
The effort is useless.
All I see are the same log walls, the same timber ceiling, the same faded, thread-bare and worn furniture I’ve seen every day of my life.
I was two when Mom moved us to Winter Lake to live with her younger brother. Four when Uncle Granger built this cabin on a section of his land so me and Mom could have a place of our own.
But as old and worn as this place is, it’s home—my home—and I love it.
I feel safe here. Close to Mom even though she’s no longer around, and I want my wife to feel the same comfort I do.
My wife.
Shaking my head, I mentally swear at past me.
What the fuck was I thinking, ordering a wife off a damn website?
If it wasn’t for the fact there are no fees involved in purchasing a wife, I’d think Get Hitched was a scam.
The site is set up like a community notice board, except instead of jobs or places to rent or pets looking for new homes, it’s a bunch of profiles.
Men and women looking for the same thing. Marriage.
I stumbled across Get Hitched while investigating a different company.
I admit I was instantly intrigued. So intrigued I spent every spare minute over the next few months reading every profile until a few weeks ago when a new one popped up.
The woman’s location snagged my attention instantly.
Winter Lake. Only a handful of miles down the mountain.
She seemed like a gift.
Everything about her pulled at me in a way I didn’t—still don’t—understand. And the fact her photo was a profile picture only strengthened that pull. My own photo is the same. Side-on. Good side to the camera.
Rubbing a hand over the left side of my face, I feel every ridge and hollow. Feel the raised flesh next to my eye thin as it pulls tight with my frown.
I’m not afraid she’ll turn away or stare like most people, although there is a niggle of doubt, but I made sure she was aware of my injuries and okay with them. I guess the proof of that will be when she lays eyes on me for the first time.
She.
Riley Rose.
My wife.
Scratching at the door has me turning. “Not yet, Neville,” I say to the mutt I adopted last year. Or should that be adopted me?
He turned up at my door one morning and never left.
The week after he first appeared, I asked Uncle Granger to take him to the town vet and discovered he was only a few months old with no microchip but in surprisingly good health in spite of what his ratty coat might have you believe.
After his checkup, we had to decide if one of us wanted to keep him or find him a new home.
Considering the mutt found his way straight back here when Uncle Granger took him home—twice—we had no choice in the matter. Neville decided.
I think that was when I first started to take a deeper look at my life. Before I had Neville to keep me company, I had no idea how lonely I was. Like I was missing something. And a dog for a companion is great, but only goes so far in relieving the emptiness of my isolation.
Being social is not in my wheelhouse. Not since the accident that killed Mom and left me scarred for life. I have plenty of interactions online—my job requires it, but leaving the cabin, or the forest surrounding it, isn’t something I do often.
Not even for groceries. Uncle Granger picks up mine when he gets his and I can’t recall the last time I spoke to anyone face to face besides him.
Will Riley want to leave the cabin?
Head to town to hang out with friends?
It was one of the first questions I asked about her living out here with no close neighbors.
In our correspondence, she mentioned not having friends, that she’s a loner looking for companionship—a family. She assured me she was fine with living in the mountains away from town. Looking forward to the peace and quiet.
I have no option except to take her at her word.
Neville barks at the door a second before the muffled sound of gravel crunching under tires reaches my ears.
She’s here.
Whether I’m ready or not, it’s time to meet the woman I’m supposed to marry.
Sucking in a breath, I pull my hair out of its holder and make sure the left side drapes over my face. I know she said she was fine with the scars, but I don’t want them to be the first thing she sees.
A quick look down shows my nicest jeans are still clean, as is the t-shirt and flannel covering my torso. My good boots are a little scuffed but that can’t be helped when you live in the forest.
Satisfied I’m presentable, I walk to the door and pull it open.
The second there’s enough space for his stocky body, Neville shoots outside barking his happy bark, and I can’t help chuckling. “At least one of us is giving an enthusiastic welcome.”
The high-end car is the first thing to snag my attention.
I’m a little surprised to see an older man sitting in the driver’s seat, gaze down on his phone.
At the rear of the Range Rover a woman so petite for half a second I think she’s a child, is removing trash bags and placing them off to the side.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I stride over, my glare aimed at the man through the windshield. My anger grows when he takes no notice, and the woman continues to remove bags from the vehicle. When I get near her I say, “Let me help.”
She jumps, a little squeak leaving her as she spins and focuses on me, one delicate hand pressed to her chest. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Her voice is smooth, soft and melodic in a way that calms my anger and makes me smile. “It’s okay. Is this all your things?”
“Y-yes.” Her gaze darts away, her focus back on the remaining items in the car.
My gaze follows hers and I’m slightly confused by the bags full of groceries. “You brought food?”
“I paid for it.” Her tone has shifted. Now it has the hard edge of defense. Defiance.
“It’s not a problem,” I hurry to say, silently cursing my lack of social grace. The last thing I need is to scare this woman off before she even gets a good look at my face. “I’ll grab them.”
Leaning over, I scoop up all the handles and pull the bags from the vehicle. “Is this everything?” I ask, trying not to put any kind of negative emotion in my voice.
“Yes.” She wraps her arms around her middle.
I frown.
She’s folding in on herself. It’s barely physical, a small hunch of her shoulders, a lowered chin, but in spite of how small those movements are, she seems to have shrunk to half her size in less than a second. And she isn’t that big to begin with.
Trying to sound welcoming, I say, “Come on, I’ll show you inside and we can put your groceries away.”
With a nod, she turns and picks up one of the trash bags.
“I can come back out to get those.” I want to make things easy. Make Riley comfortable, and I fear I’m already failing.
“I need—”
Her words cut off when the tailgate of the Rover begins to come down. We step back together and I watch in shock when the SUV takes off the second the rear door latches.
Gravel and mud spew behind it as the car swings around too fast and heads down the driveway. The bottom of my jeans get splattered; luckily I’m between Riley and the spray of muck so her clothes don’t receive the same treatment.
Scowling at the car disappearing between the trees, I mutter, “I guess you already paid the driver.”