The bride's chest rises and falls with each breath, and she looks like she's simply sleeping, her cheeks bright red from the cold. The fluffy dress spills over the entire couch, with her auburn hair falling messily across her shoulders.
Who the hell is this stunning bride, and why is she in my house?
4
Petula
The sound of fire crackling greets my ears as I breathe in the scent of delicious comfort food. Licking my lips, my eyes unblur slowly as I take in the surrounding sights. I see a roaring fire in front of me, and I look over to find a glittering Christmas tree next to it. I'm on what feels like a couch, and I realize I am under a heavy, warm blanket. But when I hear an oven door open, that grabs my attention.
Pushing myself up to sit, I look over at the kitchen to see a tall, bearded man pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven. He stands, placing the baking sheet on the counter, then glances over at me. His eyes meet mine, and my stomach flips. Whoever this is, he's tall, broad-shouldered, and extremely good-looking. The man smiles underneath his thick beard and walks a few steps towards me.
"Are you hungry?" he asks in a deep baritone voice.
"Where am I?" I blurt out.
"Do you remember crashing in my driveway?" he asks, his bearded chin jutting towards the front door.
Memories come flooding back.
"Oh, shit. Yes. I was trying to turn around because I missed my turn, I think."
I throw my legs off the couch and stand, wobbling slightly. I'm still wearing this stupid wedding dress.
"I was headed to a rental on Willow Creek," I mumble.
"Oh, yeah. That's about a mile down the mountain from here," he says, then quickly adds, "Are you hurt?"
My mind continues to swirl as I check myself over.
"No. I don't think so. Maybe a bit bruised. Do you have a bathroom I could use?"
He smiles kindly at me and gestures down the hallway. Once behind the closed door, I take a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror. My wavy hair is a fright as I blink back at myself, and then I look down at my ripped bridal gown.
"Shit," I mutter before yanking it up and wiggling down my panties to sit on the toilet.
After washing my hands, I return to the living room to find the bearded mountain man holding up a bowl of what looks like stew for me.
"Are you hungry?" he asks again.
My stomach growls loudly. We sit at his small kitchen table eating the delicious beef stew with hunks of sourdough bread. The conversation is limited and stiff until he says, "I don't really have anything here that will fit you, but I did put a hoodie and thick wool socks on my bed if you'd like to change."
"Oh, no. It's okay. I'll leave after this and find my aunt's cabin."
"I don't think it's safe for you to drive right now; plus, your car looked really banged up. I'm not even sure if it could handle driving. Is your aunt waiting for you?"
"No. She passed and left me this cabin. It's the first time I've ever been," I say, looking out the window at the fat snowflakes.
"Okay. Well, I don't think it's safe for you to drive in this weather. You are more than welcome to take my bed, and I'll just crash on the couch," he says.
Feeling my cheeks heat, I say, horrified, "I can't kick you out of your own bed. Apparently, I already crashed into one of your trees."
"It's fine. Don't worry about it. You can sleep in one of my flannels, and I just bought a new toothbrush at the market that I haven't even opened yet, so that's all yours."
"I'm taking your brand-new toothbrush too?" I say, mortified.
The mountain man laughs, a deep rumble coming from his chest. "I promise you will be okay," he says with a smile. Then adds, "I'm Flint Bosch, by the way."
"Petula Delvaux. And thank you for being so kind to me after I crashed into your property."
