by Frankie Love
"How did I get so lucky?" I ask, not expecting an answer.
But his response catches me off guard, causes emotion to hitch in my throat, makes my body swell with gratitude.
"Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith to get what you want."
I ease myself down against him, his thickness filling me up so perfectly, so entirely. "Then I'm glad I jumped in head first."
I begin to rock my body against his, the sensation so deep and satisfying.
Harrison nods. "Me too, Hannah, me too."
Chapter Eight
Harrison
We fall asleep in one another's arms, with her just cradled against me, my hand rests on her perfect breast. I run my thumb over her nipples as she falls asleep against me.
"That was everything," she whispers, pressing a kiss to my skin.
I breathe her in. She smells like essential oils--that cardamom and bergamot--and it soothes me. There is a depth to her, and it's not just the scent of ancient spices lingering in her hair, on her skin, it's more than that. It's who she is, at her core.
And while it soothes me, it also scares me--the magnitude of what I feel for her. And as I hold her, so small and tender in my arms, I'm scared. Because everyone I get close to--except my brother--has died. I watched my buddies go down, one by one, and I couldn't save them, no matter how fucking hard I tried.
I don't want to fail Hannah.
Memories fill my dreams and they’re not good ones. Moments of fear, where I fought through the enemy lines and took hold of a fallen soldier, where I carried him through the battleground, praying that he was safe. Alive.
Still fucking breathing.
Too often they weren't. And I would fight through the night, using my medic training to guide the way. Hoping like hell that my they'd pull through. That the shots weren't fatal. That the strikes weren't deadly.
All too often they were.
I knew a hell of a lot as a Green Beret--but still, there were so many moments where I just didn't know enough.
My therapist, after each tour, would drill it into me and try to get me to understand that it wasn't about me letting them down. I did all I could do. They told me that some injuries are too severe. That not all men can be saved.
But it's impossible to think I did enough. Because in the end, I am here, and they are buried six feet deep.
And now look at me? Holding a woman in my arms who is so fucking precious, so damn beautiful. I am here, and they are gone, and it kills me to think about it.
Still, all night, I toss and turn, my humanity wreaking havoc on my emotions. When I wake, I'm sweaty and exhausted and full of doubts. Hannah is sleeping soundly beside me in bed, and for that I'm glad. No need for both of us to be torn up inside.
I shower and get ready for the day but feel like I'm a mess and wish I wasn't so damn weak. Truth is, I need to get outside and clear my head. Make sure I am really cut out for being a husband. Damn, I already feel those old fears rising up in me--fear that I will fuck it all up. Mess it all up.
Not be able to keep her safe when she needs me to.
Heading to the kitchen I make coffee and scramble some eggs. I pull out the champagne, popping the cork, and find a jug of orange juice. I take the cake from the fridge and make up a tray for breakfast in bed.
I've never done this sort of thing, but I need to take control of my emotions, and taking care of Hannah helps me with that.
She's sitting up, a sheet twisted around her, a smile spreading across her face. "Seriously? Breakfast in bed? You deserve a reward."
I shrug, setting down the tray on the mattress, not thinking that making my wife-to-be breakfast is anything to get a prize for.
"Hope you like vanilla frosting," I say, pointing to the slice of cake.
She laughs, her fork already diving into the piece of cake. "Um, I like anything with sugar."
"Me too."
"Really?" She scrunches up her nose, looking ridiculously adorable as she does. This woman is really too good to be true. "You don't look like you have a sweet tooth."
"I told you, I go out on the trails a lot. Spend a lot of time hiking and making sure I can practice what I preach."
"You mean what you're writing about?"
"Exactly."
"So, when do you think we can go to the courthouse?" she asks, as she picks up her coffee and takes a sip.
"Actually, uh, I think we should wait."
Her face falls. "Why?"
I sigh, running a hand over my beard. "I need to go to the woods for a few days. I didn't want to leave without telling you."
She frowns. "You are seriously ditching me in the middle of nowhere? Why?"
"There is a security system at the house. I'll be gone one night, nothing more. I just need to think."
"And you can't think here, with me?"
I clench my jaw, not answering. Not knowing how to answer. Not knowing how to do this at all. Dammit, I opened up last night and in the moment, it felt good, but now, I just feel raw. Vulnerable. Seen, when all I want is to hide.
"This is why you made me breakfast in bed, isn't it? Sweetening me up before you break my heart." She pushes the food away and stands up from the bed, the sheet wrapped around her, hurt in her eyes.
I did that to her, just like I knew I would.
What business do I have holding a woman's heart in my hands anyway?
"I'm not trying to hurt you," I say, knowing how insignificant the words are.
But she shakes her head, lifting a hand in the air, signaling me to stop. "Don't. Please. Just go do your walk-about. I shouldn't be surprised. You were too good to be true, Harrison."
"You're right," I say as she shuts the door to the bathroom. "You're absolutely right."
Chapter Nine
Hannah
Frustration courses through me as I walk into the kitchen an hour later, seeing that Harrison wasn't all talk. He is really, truly gone. And I am here, all alone.
I'm seething. This isn't cool. Or charming. Or the way into my heart. Hell, he already had my heart. I gave it to him last night. And now this? Leaving me here, alone, in an unfamiliar place?
Trying to take deep breaths, I decide what I really need is some fresh air. I unlock the side patio door, terrified I might trip up the alarm system. Still, I don't actually care right now. I am in the middle of Nowhere, Alaska, and my supposed fiancé jilted me on our second day together.
As I walk through his property, I run my fingers over the fresh leaves of wild mint, noticing the lemon balm that grows in thick patches around his home. Everywhere I turn there are wild herbs. I smile despite my anger. Harrison is growing everything I need for my beauty product line. The line I wanted to sell online before Max ran off with my start-up funds.
I run my hand over thick stems of lavender, and bring my hands to my nose, inhaling deeply. And I start to calm myself down.
Yes, Harrison is acting stupid, but he has been through so much. I can't even begin to imagine the scope of it. I know only what I've seen on the news about Afghanistan, and I wish I had a better sense of all that he has seen and gone through.
I find that I've walked to his shop, and when I turn the knob, am disappointed when I see that it's locked. There is an alarm system on the siding beside the door and I twist my lips, not having a clue. Heading back inside, I see that he has left out a security system manual on the table, along with the codes. Such a guy move--ditching me yet leaving out these codes.
Before I leave the house, a phone begins to ring, and I locate it in the kitchen. I stand there, looking at it, debating if I should answer it or not.
Finally, curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick it up. "Hello?" I say into the receiver. I haven't used a landline in ages.
"Uh, hey, uh, is Harrison there?" a male voice asks.
"Who's asking?" I ask, more sternly than necessary. I'm not exactly in a cheery mood.
There is a chuckle on the other end of the line. “It's Sullivan, Harry’s
twin brother."
"Twin?"
"Yeah, who are you? His wife?"
I lean against the kitchen counter, thinking maybe this conversation can help me. "Not quite," I tell him, and I explain the storm derailing our plans.
"And what's your name?" he asks.
"Oh, sorry. I'm Hannah."
"Well, nice to meet you, Hannah. If you don't mind me asking, where is Harry now?"
"He's... out."
"Is that a code word for freaking out at the idea of intimacy?"
I swallow. Harrison had no problem being intimate last night after we got through our initial hiccup.
But now.
Now he is gone.
"Maybe," I say softly. "I don't know. I thought things were going well, but then this morning he..." I don't want to say too much and betray my fiancé's confidence.
Thankfully Sully is his twin and seems to know him better than I do. "Let me guess, he left?"
"Does he do that often?"
"He's been through a lot," Sully says. "It's hard for him to put himself out there. He's scared of letting people down. He carries a lot of baggage from the war."
"I can only imagine," I say, honestly grateful to hear Harry isn't just some flaky guy.
"The thing is, he just needs to realize no one expects him to always be the hero. I'm guessing you'd be happy just to have him as a husband."
"I would. I know it might seem weird, getting married to a stranger, but I know what I want. I want a partner. I just want one who wants me back." I groan. "I am totally oversharing here."
"No, no it's fine. It's actually what Harrison needs, a woman who shares her emotions, lets her feelings out. He's been alone too long."
"Yeah, well, I just hope he comes back."
"He will."
"It was nice talking to you, Sullivan."
"You too, Hannah. And if there is anything you need, ever--don't hesitate to call. I have a private plane and can get you anything you need pretty quickly."
I lift my eyebrows. "A private plane? Sounds fancy."
"Yeah, well, Harry has one too. He's just too humble to show off. Don't let the modest cabin deceive you."
I look around the gorgeous kitchen. "Um, Sullivan, you've gotta get a grip on reality. This is not modest."
"Fair enough. But it's only one of Harry's homes."
I shake my head, knowing I have a lot to learn about his family. Sullivan gives me his phone number, and I jot it down, putting it in my pocket for safekeeping. I hang up the phone, thinking that if my husband never returns, at least his brother can fly me back to the mainland.
Taking the paper with the security information in hand, I head back to the shop and unlock it, anxious to get to know my husband-to-be a little more.
I turn on the overhead light and the workshop is illuminated, taking my breath away. This is like my kind of paradise. I walk around, oohing and ahhing over his different workstations, and I can see how methodical he is by the way he has them ordered.
One table is filled with books, notes, and models of how to build the ultimate campfire. Another table is filled with research on native plants and foods to forage, complete with seeds and photographs of various berries and roots. And the final table has homemade traps along with animal hides and hunting knives.
A smile spreads across my face as I realize how seriously he is taking his survival guide. He has so many piles in place, and I see that he isn't just doing this on a whim. It matters to him. I swallow, thinking about why someone would be so compelled to make a book like this.
One answer flashes before my eyes: He wants everyone to survive.
My chest aches at the thought, at the losses Harrison must have experienced in war. I hate that for him, but here he is, still fighting for other people.
It makes me want to be his champion. Makes me want to fight for him, the way he has fought for everyone else. Thinking over our conversation last night as I knelt before him, asking him about his prosthetic, I remember the irritated skin and how inflamed it was from the protective sleeve he wears constantly.
Looking around, I see a gallon size container of coconut oil and a box of clean mason jars. Grabbing a plastic bin, I fill it with some small jars and the oil, then I grab some scissors and head outside with the security code in hand.
I look around for the herbs I want. Lemon verbena and Saint John's wort. They are growing wild on the east side of the house and I snip off a handful, breathing in the fresh mountain air and refusing to assume the worst about Harrison.
Then I head into the house and rummage through my luggage. I pull out my bag of essential oils and root out the pink grapefruit. Then I grab the cocoa butter and castor oil. Smiling, I dig out my labels-- the ones I had designed before I lost all my money. They have my little logo and brand name printed on a sticker.
In the kitchen, I set to work. I may not be able to heal Harrison's heart, but I can make his skin softer.
Chapter Ten
Harrison
The deeper I go in the woods, the dumber I feel. Here I am, a grown ass man, running away from the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Damn, I feel like a fucking fool. What must she be thinking? She willingly gave herself to me, and instead of staying home, enjoying my bride-to-be, I ran off.
My feet crunch over the branches on the forest floor, and even the fresh scent of pine needles doesn't seem to invigorate me. It just makes me think of how sweet Hannah's fragrance was, how her skin smelled of warm spices, relaxing me and exciting me all at once.
When I stop to eat a handful of granola, washing it down with lukewarm water from my Nalgene water bottle, I think about breakfast in bed. How I could have spent a lazy morning in Hannah's arms, feeding her strawberries and bites of cake.
Instead, I'm here, alone. Berating myself for not being the kind of man a woman like her needs. Present. Available. Hers.
It's late afternoon by the time I've walked myself into a figurative corner. Either I go home now and apologize, or I stay out here in the woods forever.
It takes a single memory, of her kneeling before me, touching me with such tenderness, for me to know what I must do.
I am the one who needs to kneel before her and apologize.
There is no time to waste if I want to get home before it’s too late, and suddenly the idea of leaving her alone in the cabin, all alone, rips out my heart. What kind of idiot am I?
One who has been through hell and back, that’s what kind.
I'm scared. Of loving her and letting her down.
But I keep on the trail, pushing through the fallen branches that came down in the storm last night and shaking it off when I lose my footing and slide in the mud. I need to get home, get to her.
When I finally see the cabin in the distance, I pause, standing on the edge of my property looking into the large bay of windows. She's in the kitchen, screwing lids on jars. There are pots and pans everywhere, but I can hear music playing, I see a fire on in the electric fireplace. She's in a summer dress, floating around her ankles. Her hair is long and flowing over her shoulders. Despite the way I treated her, she is choosing to live in the moment, not letting me be the one to get her down.
It's beautiful, her kind of strength. I want more of it in my life. I want to dance when no one is watching, I want to smile despite the rain. It makes me want to trust again. To hope again.
I don't want to be like this forever--alone.
I walk to the sliding glass door and push it open. The house smells like lemon balm and citrus and fresh air and sunshine. And the hope I am looking for? It's right in front of me.
"You're home," she says, her words hushed and filled with a longing I absolutely understand.
"I'm so sorry that I left, that I ran." I press my hand to my forehead. "I don't know what I was thinking."
She nods, and I step toward her, taking her hands in mine. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I shouldn't have done that to you."
"Were you scared?"
I swallow, nodding hard. "Yeah, scared of letting you down. Thought I’d make a preemptive move."
She twists her lips. "I don't expect this to be easy or perfect. Or even for you to fall head over heels for me, Harrison. Things take time."
I brush back her hair, cup her cheek. "Why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
"So soothing. So understanding? Of me."
"I want this to work. I want us to work."
"So, do I," I tell her, pulling her into a kiss. When our lips meet, it's like I can breathe for the first time all day. Her hands run over my back, my tight muscles releasing under her palms.
Her hands may heal, but her heart is my cure. She eases my pain, lessens my fear. And with her in my arms, I want to give into the kind of love that songs are written about. Love that is real and forever. I want that with Hannah.
"I want you," I growl in her ear, and she pulls back, our noses touching, the heat between us thick and needy.
"Then have me," she whispers, her hands running through my hair.
We move in front of the fire, letting the warmth from it ease away any hint of fear. I run my hands over her cotton dress, her breasts round and full. She doesn't wear a bra and my cock gets hard at the sight of her, here, for me.
"Do you like it when I touch you?" I ask, my thumb rolling over her hardening nipple, the thin dress the only barrier between what I have and what I want.
A gentle moan escapes her lips. "So much." She fumbles for my belt buckle and I tense without meaning to. "We don't have to," she whispers, her hand running under my shirt, over my abs.
"I want to," I say, the words honest and raw and for her alone.
She smiles softly. "Can I change into something pretty I bought for you?"
I grin raising my eyebrows. "How do you think I'll answer that?"
She laughs, and laces her fingers through mine, asking me to follow her to the bedroom.