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Martin squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve always been special, Noelle. Maybe one day you’ll find your someone special too.”
“Maybe,” I say, doubting it. I made a list of my ideal man when I was twelve years old and the list just gets longer the older I become. Now, at twenty-six I’m pretty sure there will never be a man who makes my list, no matter how naughty or nice they are. My list is more curated than Santa’s.
“Do you know who that is?” Martin asks as we walk back to our cars in the currently empty parking lot.
I recognize it as the contractor’s truck. He was supposed to be here hours ago though, and to say I'm irritated at his lack of punctuality, is an understatement. He seemed like such a nice old man too, not a flake who arrives three hours late. I expected the arbor to be half done by the time I got off my shift at Three Sisters.
I tell Martin goodbye, then turn my attention to this lazy carpenter. But when the man walks around his truck and comes into view, I realize it isn’t Dean Nicholas at all.
It’s Brooks, from the bakery.
“Oh, uh, hi,” I say, squeezing my gloved hands together. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you,” I say as he steps closer. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me though, and I wonder if that instant spark I felt when we met earlier today was just a fluke.
It sure didn’t seem like a fluke.
But now this rugged mountain man is running a hand over his beard, not even giving me the time of day.
“Hello, Noelle,” he says finally. He is in a thick Carhartt jacket and leather gloves. A black knit beanie covers his head and it makes him look insanely masculine. His thick, dark beard is a contrast to the bright white snow and my stomach does a thousand somersaults.
I know I said no man could fit the bill of my list… but as far as physical attributes go, Brooks manages to tick every single box.
Which is probably why I am all sorts of flustered in this moment… all kinds of fluttery.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “So, where is the arbor going?”
“Um, sorry. Why are you here?” I ask, tugging my tote bag higher on my parka covered shoulder. My toes are on the very edge of freezing, after my twenty-minute conversation out here with Martin. Maybe he was right, maybe having every guest trek all the way here for the ceremony is a terrible idea.
“Right. My dad, Dean, he fell. He said he sent a text, but that you never responded. Assumed you were busy. Anyways, he broke his foot, if you can believe it, and so I offered to help fill in.”
“Are you qualified?” I know my tone could come off as intense… but in reality, it’s just concern. This is Sophia’s wedding we’re talking about. It has to be perfect.
He snorts. “I think so.”
“What are your credentials?” I ask eyes narrowed. No matter how handsome this man may be, I’m not just going to trust any old lumberjack who waltzes to the top of this mountain and tells me he knows how to use a hammer.
Though, looking at Brooks right now, all I can think about is his other hammer.
I unzip my jacket, suddenly feeling kinds of hot and bothered. My throat has gone dry. So why am I thinking about Brooks’ bits? This is not the time.
“I don’t have Wi-Fi up here or I’d show you my website, my portfolio if that’s what you’re after. But I must say, I usually build homes, not gazebos.”
“Arbor,” I clarify. “Not a gazebo.”
Brooks chuckles. “You’re the bride, whatever you say goes.”
I frown. “I’m not the bride.”
“No? Uh…” he turns in a circle, looking for something, or someone. “Sorry, my parents said Noelle was coordinating all this. I assumed it was you. But maybe there is another Noelle getting married on this mountain next week?”
“No, I mean, I’m planning the wedding, I’m just not the bride.”
Brooks lifts his eyebrows. “You’re the best friend.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m the maid of honor. It’s Sophia’s wedding.”
Brooks seems to be biting back a smile. “I see, that makes more sense.”
“What does?” I ask, frowning. And freaking freezing. I’ve been out here way too long.
“Nothing,” he says, lifting his hands in the air as if asking for a pass.
I cross my arms. “I’m waiting.”
“Okay,” he laughs. “My mom mentioned that you were a little bossy.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I can deal with intense. “I’ve been called worse by men, I suppose.”
Brooks smiles. “Such as?”
I twist my lips, never being one to hold back. “Rigid. Overly organized. Freakishly focused. You know, those charming qualities most men would die to get in bed.” I smack my hand over my mouth. Did I seriously just say that to a stranger?
