Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,65
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.
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