“Yeah?” I looked down at myself. It wasn’t anything fancy—a simple white sundress I’d found at a thrift store, fitted at the top and loose at the bottom, hitting just above my knees. I’d paired it with a denim jacket because Montana in early spring was no joke, and brown boots that were currently murdering my feet.
“It’s perfect.” The words hit differently than I’d expected. Not casual. Not dismissive. Just... certain.
His gaze traveled down, then back up, slower than strictly necessary, and I felt what could only be a flutter of attraction begin to form. But who could blame me. My soon-to-be husband was a hottie.
Before I could process that, Kate appeared beside him, grinning like she’d won the lottery.
“You look beautiful,” she said, and I noticed she was holding a phone—probably had been taking pictures of my breathless arrival. Great. “Though you might want to fix your hair before we go in.”
I reached up and felt the disaster that was my previously neat bun. Half of it had escaped, long strands flying everywhere. “Oh God.” I started trying to pin it back up, but my hands were shaking.
“Leave it,” Thorne said.
I froze, bobby pin halfway in my hair. “What?”
“Leave it down.” His voice had an edge to it I hadn’t heard before. Not quite a command, but close.
Kate’s eyebrows shot up.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s kind of a mess—”
“Leave it.”
Our eyes met, and something passed between us. Something that made my fingers tingle and my breath catch.
I lowered my hands, letting the strands fall around my shoulders. Thorne’s expression didn’t change, but one hand flexed at his side like he was stopping himself from reaching out.
Kate cleared her throat, looking delighted. “Well then. I think someone has something for you.”
Thorne’s jaw tightened. He shot Kate a look that clearly said I’m going to kill you later, but he raised his other hand to show me what he’d been holding.
Wildflowers.
Not store-bought, not professionally arranged. Just a handful of wildflowers—yellow, purple, white—tied together with what looked like twine.
He held them out to me, not quite meeting my eyes. “Kate said you needed flowers.”
“I didn’t say needed,” Kate interjected. “I said it would be nice.”
“You said every bride needs flowers.”
“Well, they do.”
I took the bouquet, my fingers brushing his. His hands were rough, calloused. I had notice them the day in Kate’s office. Working hands. The flower stems were slightly crushed, like he’d been holding them too tight.
They were exactly right.
“Did you pick these?” I asked.
“This morning.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a meadow about a mile from the cabin. They just started blooming.”
He’d hiked a mile this morning to pick me flowers.
For our fake marriage.
My throat felt tight. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
He just nodded, but his shoulders relaxed slightly, and his eyes dropped to my hair again. Lingered.
