Chapter 1
ONE
ERICA
When the sun hits the mountains first thing in the morning, I swear, it’s the closest thing to heaven a person can get. At least while their heart is beating.
On this subject, I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife. Not one with a heaven in the sky or a hell of fire and brimstone. I’m not sure I believe there’s some merit system that decides if you end up in the clouds or in flames.
But from what I’ve experienced, it seems the life we have now on Earth would be better if people were kinder.
I hope this talk doesn’t offend you. But, I figure, if we’re still entertaining the possibility of spending the rest of our lives together, it’s good we cover all kinds of topics. Even the ones my grandma said weren’t polite for company.
Anyway, the point is, I do know heaven exists here on Earth. It’s a place I’m lucky enough to call home. I hope I get to show it to you one day. If you’ll just give me the chance.
Re-reading the words on screen, my heart races. This was it. This was the letter that made me get on the plane.
I missed my first flight, because of cold feet. Who could blame me? Quitting my boring day job, putting my things in storage, and becoming some mountain man’s mail-order bride would sound insane to anyone.
Then I read this message from my pen pal. Sent the day after I failed to show up at an airport in Alaska to meet him. Everything changed. I suddenly found myself with the courage—or, at least, the curiosity—to empty my savings account to book another flight.
I have to see if this guy is for real.
I have to see if this feeling beginning to take shape is real.
At the very least, with the way he writes, I know he meant it when he said it was cool that I’m an author. Or, an aspiring author. I mean, I’ve written books and published them. But are you really an author if no one reads them?
retrace the words on the screen one more time before obeying the flight attendant’s instructions to return all seats and trays to their upright position. The plane dips down, beginning its descent, making my heart flip with it.
For better or for worse, I’m about to find out if the man behind the words is for real.
I hope he is. Not just because of all the eggs I’ve put into this basket. But because… because I want – more than anything – for this connection to be real.
I want to know that it’s possible to fall for someone’s words and to build something lasting on that foundation.
I want true love to be real.
I want to experience it. Not just write about it.
And, for better or worse, I’m about to find out if that true love is waiting for me with a mountain man in Alaska.
As I step onto the tarmac, a gust of cold air slaps me in the face.
“Oh,” I gasp out loud, tugging the jacket around me more tightly. I thought I was used to cold weather, but it’s clear… “I’m not in Minnesota anymore.”
Not Midwest cold. Not “forgot my gloves” cold.
This is a “mild” Alaskan afternoon, if the pilot’s announcement upon landing is to believed. But there’s a cold bite to it that reminds me of February—not May—back home.
Clenching my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering, I drag my suitcase behind me and scan the small airstrip, nerves buzzing in my chest.
Okay. Breathe.
Look for Knox.
Tall. Bearded. Flannel. Pilot.
I clutch my phone and glance down at his profile photo again, then back up.
Two men stand near a small plane a short distance away. One is older, rougher looking. Broad-shouldered. Weathered.
The other?—
Oh.
The other one is younger. Dark hair. Crooked grin. Lean muscle under his jacket like he spends a lot of time chopping wood for fun.
He’s scratching the back of his neck while the bigger man scowls at him.
That one’s cute.
Not relevant.
I adjust my pink parka and wheel my suitcase closer.
“Hi!” I call, forcing brightness into my voice.
Both men turn.
The scowling one looks startled.
The cute one looks… guilty.
Like criminally guilty.
My stomach tightens.
“Hi,” I say again, slowing as I approach. “I’m Erica.”
The scowling one blinks. “Hi…?”
“This is Erica,” the cute one says quickly. “Your?—”
“Bride,” I finish, cheeks heating.
Both of them freeze.
The scowling man swivels toward him. “My what now?”
Oh.
That’s less than ideal.
“I know,” I rush on. “I got cold feet. But you were so sweet in your messages, and I just—well. I figured if I didn’t come now, I’d regret it forever.”
The scowling man frowns. “My messages?”
Slowly, he turns toward the cute one.
Uh-oh.
“You kept writing her?” he asks.
Cute Guy lifts his hands. “I didn’t mean to. I just… She messaged first. And the system auto-connected me when you never logged back in and it kind of… happened.”
I blink.
Then I turn.
“You’re the one who’s been writing me?”
He winces.
“Guilty.”
The world tilts.
“You’re even cuter in person,” I blurt out. Oh my God. What am I saying?
His lips curve up. “Uh, thanks. I mean—so are you.”
Despite the way the world keeps spinning faster and faster, I can’t help but grin at him. He thinks I’m cute, too.
The scowling man mutters something under his breath and suddenly turns away.
“Where’s Quincy?” he demands.
I hesitate. “Uh. Who?”
“My—” He cuts himself off. “Never mind.”
“She was inside earlier,” I say. “Dark hair. Flannel. She looked pretty… upset.”
His face drains.
“She asked about flights.”
He bolts.
Runs straight for the terminal.
“Wait.” I shake my head, reality snapping back into place. “To make sure sure I understand, you’re not Knox.”
“No.” He gives another wry grin. “I’m not.”
“But you were the one writing me.”
“Guilty as charged.”
I blink at him. “All of the messages?”
“Every last one.”
My brain stutters.
Then my mouth opens as it all comes together.
“You catfished me.”
“I wouldn’t call it that?—”
“I flew halfway around the world because of you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call across half of Canada the whole world.” He grimaces at my frown.
“It might as well be.” I scoff. “I gave up my life to come here.”
“Well, did you really?—”
“Yes,” I interrupt him, my heart pounding—and not in the good way. “I really did.”
Boone exhales slowly. “Well…. shit. That’s not ideal.”
If I was the sort of person who believed in violence, I’d punch him. I really would.
“You think?”
My sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He winces again. “I swear I wasn’t trying to mess with anyone.”
“You were literally messing with two people.”
“I know. I’m aware.”
“You pretended to be your friend.”
“I—”
“You wrote me letters about heaven on Earth and wanting me to see it.”
He winces harder at that.
“That one sounds bad when you say it out loud.”
My hands curl around my suitcase handle.
“I quit my job.”
His expression shifts.
“What?”
“I put everything in my apartment in storage. I told everyone I was moving. I told them all I wasn’t crazy for doing it.”
Boone goes very still.
“I took a leave of absence and trained my replacement,” I continue weakly. “I don’t have a home or job to go back to yet.”
Oh God. Reality sets in. Hard.
What the did I do? And for a bit of pretty prose.
He drags a hand down his face.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. We’re not going to panic.”
“I am absolutely panicking.”
“That’s fair.”
“I don’t even know where to go for the night.” I swallow. “I’m not sure I have money to book a last-minute flight back for tomorrow.”
Boone glances around the tiny airport, then back at me.
“There’s a motel a couple miles down the road. It’s not the Ritz but. It’s clean. It’s warm.”
“You’re really selling this place.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
My pride flares. “I didn’t say?—”
“I know.” His voice is gentle. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just want to give you some time to breathe. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well…” My shoulders slump. “I guess.”
It’s not like I have a better plan.
He reaches for my suitcase.
Our fingers brush.
A spark shoots straight up my arm.
What. The. Hell.
I yank my hand back, frowning hard enough, my head starts to hurt.
Something flashes across his face—surprise, then something softer.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
I clear my throat.
“Yeah. Me too.”
No.
Not me too.
I glare at him instead.
This is not happening.
This man ruined my life and every hope I had.
Yet my body wants to act like he’s a freaking outwear model.
Fan-freaking-tastic.