Page 1 of Wylder Ranch
Prologue
ALEXANDER
TEN MONTHS AGO
Aglass of champagne I didn’t ask for is placed on the table in front of me.
When I glance up, a server is smiling at me through a set of full, glossy red lips. It’s one of those smiles that could end with the pair of us in a broom closet—the sort of behavior Miles would approve of. But instead of taking her up on the less-than-subtle offer, I thank her for the drink and turn back to the window to watch planes leave one by one.
Snow is piled up on either side of the runways. The twinkling lights of the Christmas trees reflect in the glass—an unnecessary reminder that it’s the time of year I try to avoid at all costs.
The one saving grace of the first class lounge is that it’s not playing Christmas music like the rest of Denver Airport. Here, it’s calming classical music, which is bearable. I’d even take Slipknot over another rendition of Mariah Carey screeching at full volume about whatever she wants.
The thought has me chuckling to myself as my brain jogs with the memory of the last time I complained about Christmas music—and was offered Slipknot instead. It feels like forever ago, and not the seven days it’s actually been.
For the first time since my brothers and I left for America, I’m on my own. Between distracting Lando from his near-miss wedding and meeting Haven, the festive season has almost breezed past me. Christmas hasn’t felt as acute as usual. Or I haven’t noticed it quite so much, because I’ve been too busy to languish in my typical vortex of despair.
Now everyone’s gone, and I’m sitting alone with my thoughts. The festive cheer is hitting me ten times harder.
IhateChristmas.
Heaviness drags in my chest, as the miserable memories this time of year brings overwhelm me. I’d cut my left arm off right now if I could. Anything for a distraction.
My phone taunts me from the table, where it sits next to my untouched glass.
Christmas isn’t the only thing I need a distraction from, but in this instance, it’s not because I don’t want to remember. It’s because I can’t get enough.
I’m too weak to play it cool any longer. She didn’t pick up the first time. Therefore, logic dictates I can totally deny making a call before this one.
“You’ve reached Haven at Wylder Trees. I’m too busy to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.Merry Christmas.”
The bubble of hope I had pops like the fizz of champagne as it reaches the surface, and I end the call instead of leaving a voicemail.
How could I have been so fucking stupid? Why didn’t I get her cell number?
I want to message and tell her what an incredible week I’ve had with her. That I can’t stop thinking about her. How I can’t wait to see her again, and I don’twantto wait. Certainly not the year we agreed.
It took thirty seconds of being out of her sight for me to understand a year was far too fucking long. Another thirty seconds for me to realize we never swapped numbers. I’ve never used my initiative faster. I knew where she lived and where she worked, and after a quick Google search, I found the number of her store.
For the length of my flight from Aspen to Denver, I stared at my phone screen and wondered if I was about to do something stupid.
The jury’s still out, but I know I’m not going to spew my feelings out loud on her store answering machine that anyone could listen to, assuming she’s in there serving her customers.
Or perhaps she’s not picking up the phone because she’s where I left her, on the sofa, sleeping off our week of incredible fucking.
My groin stirs at the memory. It’s been four hours since we said goodbye, and from the moment the gates of the house closed behind me and the car drove away, I haven’t stopped thinking about Haven Wylder.
I wish I didn’t have to leave.
I would have stayed, but tomorrow is the anniversary of my father’s death, and I always spend it with my mother and siblings.
Fucking Christmas.
It’s probably for the best that she didn’t pick up. Living five thousand miles apart isn’t exactly a good startingpoint for dating. I struggle with relationships when the distance is only the hundred miles between Valentine Nook and London. My role in the family business requires me to travel all over the world, and I’m rarely in one place long enough to catch up on jet lag, let alone find time for a hookup.
And that’s how I like my life. Structured and busy.
But a tiny voice in my head tells me that I’d give it the best shot where Haven Wylder was concerned.
