Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
I reach his doorstep and hesitate for a moment before knocking. The sound echoes through the cabin, and Shep’s deep bark follows a second later. A shuffling noise comes from inside, and then the door swings open to reveal Finn in all his grumpy glory. He’s shirtless, of course, because why would the universe make this any easier for me? His chest is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and the sight makes my brain short-circuit for a second.
“Can I help you?” His voice is as gravelly as ever, his dark brows raised in question.
“I brought you these,” I say, thrusting the carton of eggs toward him. “As a peace offering. For the rooster.”
Finn looks at the eggs, then back at me, his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “You think eggs are going to make up for the fact that your feathered alarm clock wakes me up before the sun?”
I straighten my spine, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “It’s the thought that counts.”
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion draws attention to his biceps, and I silently curse myself for noticing. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Consider it my way of saying thanks for not strangling my rooster. Yet.”
That earns me a low chuckle, and for a moment, his gruff demeanor softens. “Fair enough. I’ll take the eggs.”
I hand them over, and our fingers brush. The contact is fleeting, but it sends a jolt up my arm that makes me pull back too quickly. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s noticed my reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps back into the cabin.
“Thanks,” he says, his tone grudging. “And tell that damn rooster to keep it down.”
“I’ll pass along the message,” I reply, turning on my heel before I can do something stupid, like stare at his chest again.
As I head back to my cabin, I hear Shep’s excited bark, and I glance over my shoulder to see the dog wagging his tail at me. Finn stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he watches me walk away. I shake my head and mutter under my breath, “Men.”
Later that afternoon, I’m back in my greenhouse—a makeshift sanctuary in the basement of my cabin outfitted with grow lights, clay pots, and garden tools. The warm, earthy scent of soil surrounds me as I carefully water the rows of potted flowers and herbs. This is my happy place, where the noise of the world fades away, and I can focus on something simple and beautiful.
But today, even the flowers can’t distract me from the thoughts swirling in my head. My encounter with Finn keeps replaying, along with the faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes when I handed him the eggs. Could it be that underneath all that gruffness, there’s a decent man in there? Or am I just projecting because I can’t stop thinking about him?
I sigh and set the watering can aside, wiping my hands on my jeans. As I sit down on the little bench against the wall, my phone buzzes on the table next to me. It’s an email notification, but it’s not work-related. My eyes catch on the subject line: Mail-Order Bride Opportunity: Practical and Reliable Partners Wanted.
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. The ad popped up on my feed a few days ago, and I clicked on it out of sheer curiosity. At the time, it felt like a silly, impulsive thing to do—kind of like reading your horoscope and pretending it doesn’t mean anything. But now? Now it’s starting to feel like fate.
I open the email and read the ad again. It’s straightforward, no-nonsense, and oddly comforting in its practicality. No cheesy promises of whirlwind romance or fairytale endings. Just two people agreeing to share their lives, their work, and maybe their hopes. It’s honest, and that’s more than I can say for my last relationship.
Andy. His name surfaces like a bad memory, and I grimace. My ex-fiancé, the slick-talking financier who swept me off my feet and then abandoned me for a job in Paris without so much as a discussion. He expected me to follow him blindly, like I didn’t have my own life, my own dreams. And when I refused, he didn’t even try to fight for us.
Maybe that’s why this mail-order bride idea appeals to me. There’s no room for manipulation or betrayal here. Just mutual respect and honesty. At least, that’s what I hope.
I stare at the phone number at the bottom of the ad, my thumb hovering over the call button. My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I feel ridiculous. Who does this? Who answers a mail-order bride ad in the twenty-first century?
Apparently, I do.
I take a deep breath and tap the screen, sending a simple text message: Hi, I’m interested in learning more about your ad. Please let me know if it’s still available.