Because I don't know what I'll do if she does.
A few hours later…
By the time I pull into the bus station parking lot, my hands are sweating so badly I can barely grip the steering wheel. The buzzing in my ear has been constant for the past thirty minutes, a high-pitched whine that makes it hard to think straight.
The station is just a small building with a covered platform, the kind of place that looks forgotten by time. A few people mill around: an elderly couple, a teenage kid with headphones, a woman with two small children. None of them are Claire.
I check my phone. 2:03 PM. The bus should be here any minute.
I lean against my truck, arms crossed, trying to look casual instead of like a man whose entire future is about to step off a Greyhound. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, and I close my eyes for just a second, trying to calm my racing heart.
What if she's not what I expected? What if I'm not what she expected? What if we take one look at each other and realize we've made a colossal mistake?
The sound of a bus engine makes my eyes snap open. A dusty Greyhound pulls into the station, air brakes hissing as it comes to a stop. My pulse kicks into overdrive.
The door opens with a hydraulic wheeze. The elderly couple gets off first, moving slowly. Then the teenager. Then a businessman in a wrinkled suit.
And then her.
Claire steps off the bus, and time does this weird thing where it slows down and speeds up at the same time. She's exactly like her photos. Long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, curves that fill out her jeans and a simple blue t-shirt. But she's also different. Real. Three-dimensional. Actually standing here in front of me.
She's holding a single duffel bag, looking around the platform with wide blue eyes. When her gaze lands on me, she freezes. I straighten up from the truck, my heart pounding so hard I'm surprised she can't hear it from here. This is it. The moment of truth.
She doesn't run. Instead, she takes a deep breath and walks toward me, her steps hesitant but determined.
As she gets closer, I can see the scar above her eyebrow, a thin white line that catches the sunlight. Can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way her fingers grip the strap of her bag like it's a lifeline. I can see that she's prettier than her photos showed.
She stops about three feet away from me, and for a long moment, we just stare at each other. Two strangers who'veagreed to build a life together on nothing but desperation and hope.
"Rhett?" she asks, and her voice is trembling a lot more than I expected. She's clearly nervous.
"Claire," I confirm, and I'm surprised my voice comes out steady. "Good trip?"
It's a stupid question, but she smiles anyway. "Long," she says. "But I made it."
"Yeah," I say. "You did."
Then Claire takes a step closer, looking up at me. "So," she starts. "What happens now?"
And I realize I have absolutely no idea.
Chapter 2 - Claire
"What happens now?" I ask and immediately want to kick myself.
What kind of stupid question is that? I know what happens now. I get in his truck, he takes me to his ranch, and we figure out if we can actually stand each other long enough to go through with this insane plan.
But standing here in front of him, I feel like an even bigger idiot than I did during the entire thirty-hour bus ride. What the hell was I thinking? I just traveled halfway across the country to marry a complete stranger. A man I've exchanged maybe two dozen messages with. A man who could be anyone, could want anything, could be lying about everything.
Rhett clears his throat, and I force myself to actually look at him instead of spiraling into panic. He's taller than I expected. At least six-two, maybe more. The photos didn't quite capture the breadth of his shoulders or the way his brown eyes are studying me with the same uncertainty I'm feeling. His hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and there's a tension in his jaw that suggests he's just as nervous as I am.
That should be comforting. It's not.
"I figured I'd take you to the ranch," he says, his voice rough. "Get you settled in the guest cottage. Let you rest from the trip. No pressure to... figure anything out right away."
"Okay," I say, because what else am I supposed to say? *Actually, I've changed my mind, this is crazy, can you just take me back to the bus station?*
Except I can't go back. There's nothing to go back to. No apartment, no job, no father waiting for me with his warm smileand terrible jokes. Just debt and empty rooms and the ghost of a life I used to have.
