by Frankie Love
Chapter Three
Matt
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say to my smiling mother.
Joy’s grin widens. She isn’t.
It’s rare to get my five brothers and I in the same place; even though we all live in Snow Valley, we all have our own very separate lives. Today, though, we’re all somehow sitting in Mom’s immaculate living room. She still has the power to summon us with a simple text. Important news, she had sent to all of us. Come over at 2pm and I’ll tell you.
It was just cryptic enough to work.
Now though, the mystery is gone, replaced by a truth that sounds too preposterous to believe.
I look around at my younger brothers. Nate and Mason are slack-jawed, as I imagine I am too. Christopher in particular looks like his blue eyes are about to protrude from his head. Hartley is staring at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest. It’s Spencer who finally breaks the silence: he starts to laugh.
“Mom,” he says, shaking his head with a grin. “Hart and I are in our early twenties. You can’t seriously expect us to get married. This is a weird joke, but I admire your sense of humor.”
Joy’s perfectly-placed grin doesn’t falter. “This isn’t a joke, and I’m certainly not kidding. I’m very serious. If you want to save Snow Valley, the six of you need to get married as soon as possible, and I’ve signed you all up for a reputable mail-order bride service. The sooner you accept this, the better. Besides, plenty of people get married young. I got married at nineteen! It’s high time for the rest of you to tie the knot, too.”
“That was a different time, mom,” Nate argues, but I silence him with an impatient wave of my hand.
“This sounds absolutely ridiculous,” I say, piercing my mom’s steady gaze with my own. “Who in their right mind would have decreed that whoever buys the town has to be married?”
She shrugs. “Stranger laws certainly exist. You should know that, Mr. Attorney. It’s outdated, sure, but it’s part of the groundwork of Snow Valley, and there’s no getting past it.”
“What if just one of us gets married?” Nate chimes in, looking pointedly at me. I roll my eyes. Just because I’m thirty-five and the oldest doesn’t mean I’m looking to settle down.
“Since all of you need to pitch in and buy the town together,” Mom says, “that wouldn’t cut it.”
I lean back in my chair, letting out a breath of frustration. We’ve lived in Snow Valley, a quaint, sleepy Montana town, all of our lives. I own my own law firm; my brothers all have their own lucrative careers based here. We all thought about moving at some point, and yet the town has an almost magnetic pull, preventing most folks from leaving. Everything we need and everything we love, is right here.
When we learned that Snow Valley was in financial trouble and needed new ownership, we racked our brains for ways to help. My mother suggested that we brothers go in on it together and purchase the town with our powers combined. It seemed like a fairly innocuous suggestion at first. But then Joy discovered the requirement that the owner—or rather, owners—to be married. Now, there’s the ridiculous revelation that dear, sweet old Mom has purchased mail-order brides for all six of her sons!
“C’mon, Mom,” Spencer says, a frown creasing his face. “We’re all attractive, well-known men in this town. Any of us could get any woman we wanted.”
“Except maybe Mason,” Hartley proclaims while the rest of us roll our eyes.
“Boys, please,” Mom says, looking at each of us in turn until we go quiet. “I’ve never asked much of you, have I? This is important to me, and to our entire town. Besides, we have until Christmas to finalize the purchase, and that’s only five months away. This is the most efficient idea.” She smiles again, her eyes twinkling. “Just think of your brides-to-be as very special Christmas gifts from me.”
“But do I not get to choose my wife?” Mason sputters, his voice cracking in disbelief.
“Trust me, honey,” Mom says, taking his hand. “Mrs. Huckleberry says she’s already found an excellent match for each of you based on the information I sent in. Just let the girls come to town and give them a chance, okay? If it doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else.”
We sit in silence for a while. I exchange wide-eyed glances with each of my brothers. As the oldest, I know they’re expecting me to say something.
I sigh. “When will they get into town?”
My mom beams at me as if I just won the lottery. “Good thing you asked, Matty. Yours will be here first.”
I arrive at the airport an hour before her plane is supposed to come in. With nothing else to do, I order a black coffee from the overly crowded Starbucks in the terminal. At least I can sip on something and read the newspaper in an effort to drown out my thoughts.
My thoughts, I must admit, are not exactly positive. I want to trust my mom; I know she means well. I know, too, that I’m closer to forty than Joy would like, and that it’s probably about time for me to settle down. I’m just not convinced that this is the way to go about it.
I sit in an uncomfortable chair facing the gate. I peer out the window but the plane hasn’t even arrived yet. As I cross my legs, I notice that the top one is bouncing rapidly. Shit. I’m experiencing an unfamiliar emotion: nervousness. I’m a chill enough guy, and it takes a lot to faze me, even in the courtroom. Still, the prospect of meeting the woman who might be my future wife has me pretty fucking spooked.
I attempt to read the newspaper, but the words seem more like unintelligible squiggles on the page. I take a sip of coffee but the liquid burns the roof of my mouth. Dammit. I don’t have social media, so I can’t even scroll mindlessly to distract myself. I suppose I’ll have to just people watch until my potential bride--Jenna, I was told her name is--arrives.
For a while, I watch as people disembark from an adjacent gate. Narrowing my eyes, I inspect each passenger as they walk by, trying to decide which woman most resembles my ideal mate. I haven’t dated for a while, but my past girlfriends all resembled each other: tall, blonde, athletic, the kind who wanted to drink green smoothies for breakfast and play tennis after dinner. They were lovely, but for whatever reason, none of them were the right life partner for me. I wonder if my bride-to-be will be like them, or someone completely different…
As soon as the thought meanders across my mind, Jenna’s plane pulls up to the gate outside. I sit up straighter, the newspaper forgotten in my lap. What is she going to be like? I can’t help but wonder again as the plane comes to a stop. This Holly Huckleberry woman has never met me; how well could she have matched me with someone? What if Jenna’s rude? What if she’s shy? What if she doesn’t drink, or doesn’t eat meat? A million different possibilities explode through my head, and I run a nervous hand through my dark hair. This could be a disaster.
People start filing out of the plane, slowly. I rise to my feet, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my suit pants. It feels inane to want to look good for her, when I don’t even know who she is. Still, no matter who she ends up being, I want to make a positive first impression. It’s the least I can do for her coming all this way.
My eyes dart from person to person, seeking out any woman who looks to be around twenty-five (my mom refused to tell me more than her name and age, and said that the rest was to be “a surprise”). I stuff my hands in my pockets as I investigate each potential face. I lock eyes with one woman, a short brunette with striking green eyes. She smiles at me, and I feel my heart leap absurdly, like I’m a teenager on a blind date. Jenna? As she approaches, she heads toward me, but ends up walking past me, further into the airport.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Who could Jenna be?
She looks like a Jenna, I think, watching an elegant redhead exit the plane. She sees me watching her, looks me up and down, and smiles coyly. I return the smile, cocking an eyebrow. However, I suppress the grin as a man exits the plane and kisses her on the cheek, holding a yappy dog in a carrier. Maybe not.
&n
bsp; More and more people get off the plane and walk past me. I clear my throat, trying to sort through my emotions. Nervousness is still present, yes, but so is some frustration, a dash of annoyance, and even a sprinkle of regret. Maybe this wasn’t a scheme I should have gone along with. My phone is a heavy weight in my pocket, and I entertain the thought of calling my mom, telling her that the deal is off, and driving home. Immediately, though, I disregard this idea. I owe my mom some trust, like she asked for. And I owe it to Jenna, even though I don’t know her, to pick her up from the airport.
Newly resolute, I place my hands in my jacket pockets and wait for Jenna to make herself known.
The last few stragglers get off the plane: four elderly women, two couples, a young kid, and a middle-aged man. My brow furrows. Could I have missed her? Maybe she walked by without realizing it. Maybe I should have made a damn cardboard sign, like my mom encouraged me to do…
As I’m about to track down the green-eyed brunette, wondering if she might have been Jenna, the last straggler exits the gate. Our gazes meet. She smiles, shyly. I suspect it’s the only shy thing about her.
She’s definitely no older than twenty-five. Blonde, yes, but that’s where the similarities to my past lovers end. A shocking streak of pink zigs through the front of her hair. She’s short and deliciously curvy, her ample chest hugged by a crop top that showcases her toned tummy. Her leopard-print leggings reveal her every curve. She may not be my usual type, but, God, she’s sexy, in a wild-child kind of way. She’s absolutely unlike anyone else I’ve seen in Snow Valley, and because of that, I am instantly intrigued.
“Jenna?” I call, and she raises a hand, waving at me with sparkly-pink nails.
“You must be Matt!” she says as she approaches.
I hold out my hand for her to shake it, and she places hers in it. I don’t believe in love at first sight, or anything at first sight, but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel a sizzle of electricity pass between us as her blue eyes meet mine and I feel the first touch of her soft skin. Her eyes widen, and she unconsciously bites her lower lip in a way I find irresistible.
Maybe this will be an interesting match, after all.
Chapter Four
Jenna
Not to brag, but after years of touring, I am a professional traveler. I know all the tips and tricks to ensure a positive experience. Velvet eye mask for sleeping? Got it. Neck pillow? Of course. Leopard-print blanket? Absolutely. Chargers, magazines, and snacks galore? You bet your bottom dollar. Whether the journey lasts two hours or two weeks, I look like a seasoned veteran.
From LaGuardia to Snow Valley, Montana is about a five-and-a-half-hour flight, so I settle comfortably into my window seat. I’m armed with a bottle of water, a bag of chips, and a Cosmo magazine for when I get tired of napping. A female-fronted punk band blasts in my headphones. I know that some people hate planes, but I find them soothing. They’re always the same, with the same types of people, same pre-flight announcements, and the same rules and regulations. They make me feel calm.
So it’s weird that, about two hours in, I start to get antsy. It becomes harder and harder to focus on Cosmo, even the horoscope section, which is my favorite. (My horoscope says, “Be patient, Leo! Something new and exciting is headed your way.”) I flip through the glossy pages and try to just look at the photos, but even that becomes overwhelming. Frowning, I stash the magazine in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of me, and take a shaky sip of water. What is going on?
At first I think it’s nerves, which would make sense, considering the many miles I’m traveling to meet a strange man whom I’m supposed to marry. Then, I realize it’s something entirely different: I’m excited.
Why should I be? I wonder crankily, staring at the passing clouds beyond my tiny window. Getting married could put my singing career on hold. It could mean the end of Lolly Popz, or at least my involvement with them. It could signal the end of my independence, my autonomy, my ability to do what I want, when I want. It could be the end of late nights in bars and late mornings at brunch, and the beginning of many sexless, dispassionate years.
It’s not like you’re having any sex, anyway, my inner critic tells me. I sigh. I put dating on hold about a year ago, so it’s been quite the dry spell.
But the excitement prevails, fizzy like soda in my chest. I probe it a little, trying to sort through this unexpected emotion. I’m kind of excited, I guess, to visit Snow Valley. I googled it this morning and it looks quaint and picturesque, like a town in a Hallmark movie. I’m excited to meet a handsome man who is hopefully excited to meet me. And I’m excited, I think, at the prospect of the future--not sexless, dispassionate years after all, but fun ones, exciting ones, maybe even loving ones. Maybe this is the man I’m going to lose my heart to.
My heart pounds a little in my ears at the thought. I haven’t been in love for a long time. The last man I loved cheated on me, and the relationship ended painfully. I still have some scars on my heart from that. Still, like Sarah told me, I do love being in a relationship and having someone to laugh with, cry with, and be with. It’s just been so long that I tend to forget.
For the rest of the flight, I give up on sleeping or reading my magazine and just listen to music, watching the clouds go by. Everything feels dreamy and unreal, as if I’m in a movie. Even the man snoring loudly in the seat next to me can’t pop my bubble of strange contentment. I’ve decided that I’m really going to give this a chance, and see what happens. I can always get back on a plane to New York if it doesn’t work out. What have I got to lose?
After a while, I open my eyes, not even realizing that I had closed them in the first place. The snoring man is gone. With a jolt, I realize that, actually, everyone is gone. A flight attendant is smiling pointedly at me.
“We’ve arrived in Snow Valley, ma’am,” she says through her grinning teeth.
“Oh, shit!” I exclaim, gathering up my water, chips, blanket, magazine, phone, and purse as if I’ve been living on the plane for weeks. “I’m so sorry, I must have dozed off and not realized it.”
“Happens to the best of us,” the flight attendant says. She helps me bring down my bags from the overhead compartment and holds out a trash bag for my water bottle and chips.
“Thank you!” I say as I hobble off the plane with my bags in tow. I give her one last wave, take a deep breath, and proceed down the long tunnel leading to the gate.
With every step, I feel my excitement build. If I didn’t have so many damn bags, I’d be sprinting down the tunnel like a kid entering Disney World. The man I’m going to meet is named Matt--that’s all I know about him. I want to know more. I need to know more.
I finally emerge from the tunnel into the airport itself. I cast my gaze around, looking for any man who looks like he’s looking for me. I’m nearly bowled over by an impossibly-attractive man in a well-cut suit, standing with his hands in his pockets like he’s an Armani model. He’s tall and fit, black-haired and blue-eyed, his features chiseled as if from marble. My heart sinks a little. There’s no way that he’s the man I’m looking for.
But there’s no one else around…
“Jenna?” the ridiculously beautiful man says.
Holy shit, I think. He’s looking for me!
I throw my hand into the air and wave it madly. I’m in such shock that I stumble over the words as I say, “You must be Matt!”
He smiles as I walk towards him on legs made of jelly. He’s even more handsome up close, which I didn’t think was possible. He holds out his hand and I place mine in it, hoping he doesn’t notice that it’s trembling.
Is it just me, or does something Happen, with a capital ‘H’?
My hand sizzles a bit and my heart flutters. I shake my head and laugh a little as I withdraw my palm. My heart is drumming insistently in my ears, and my cheeks are heated, but I roll my eyes inwardly. You’re being dramatic as always, Jenna, I tell myself. But when I meet his gaze, he’s looking at me intently, as if he, too, f
elt something when our hands touched.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say to break the silence. His full lips curve into a smile. I wonder helplessly what it’s like to kiss those lips, or to have them trail love bites down my body…
“It’s good to meet you, too, Jenna,” he says, and my name in his mouth sounds like a song. His gaze flickers up and down my body, almost imperceptibly, and I feel my face flush. God, I must look like such a mess. My hair is limp around my face, having spent most of the flight in a messy bun on top of my head. I’m sure my clothes are wrinkled, and there are probably crumbs down my shirt. Standing next to him, in his dark suit and crisp white shirt, I must look homeless.
But he doesn’t laugh at me, or turn tail and run. Instead, he politely says, “Can I help you with your bags?”
I can’t help but grin in relief. “I’d love that.”
I watch his eyebrows inch towards his hairline as he takes my suitcase, duffel bag, and giant purse. All, of course, are in my favorite pattern. “Do you like leopard print?” Matt asks casually, but there’s a hint of teasing in his words.
“Not at all,” I reply, tossing my hair playfully. When he laughs, I say, “No, I love it. Fully fifty percent of my wardrobe is leopard, I’ll have you know.” I consider this statement and revise it. “Or tiger. Or zebra.”
He gasps in mock horror as we walk through the terminal. I giggle. Matt looks so buttoned-up that I wouldn’t have pegged him as the playful type. But now, he’s become even more attractive to me.
“Fifty percent?” he repeats incredulously. “What’s the other fifty percent?”
“Faux leather,” I reply immediately. He casts me a sideways glance at that, one brow rising, and I laugh to distract him from the blush blooming across my cheekbones. “Okay, okay, it’s only twenty-five percent animal print,” I say. “I swear I own one or two things that are solid colors, but those colors are usually black or hot pink.”