Bear Meets Bride (R) - Amy Star Page 0,4

admittedly tight-lipped about it, to the point that Dylan had given up in the first week of pestering him with questions. For now, he wanted to enjoy the island as it was, for as long as it would last.

Still, he wondered what the culmination of his training was supposed to look like: a final test, perhaps? Or was it simply a gut feeling on behalf of the patron?

“You should be happy!” Chris boomed. “Think of it as an opportunity.”

“Opportunity to do what?” Dylan scratched his head. “Ugh, I hate traditions.”

“Can’t be helped,” Chris shrugged again, and then his face went grave, “but you’d better be polite. Think of her position… she’s being dropped off on an island with two men she’s never seen before. That would make any young lady nervous. So be nice or I’ll give a personal thrashing myself.”

Dylan couldn’t tell if the threat was genuine or not. “Of course, I’ll be nice,” Dylan said. He hadn’t thought about how she might feel. “I’m not a complete ass. I just… I just wish I knew more about her. Or that I’d been prepared better.”

“What do you think you’ve been doing on this island?”

Not preparing to meet my mate, he wanted to snap back, but held his tongue. Chris slapped his knees and stood up, indicating that he was heading back into the cabin. He knew Dylan would also want the time to be alone and consider his choices. He sat down on the bench Chris had been relaxing on and flipped through the pages again. They were all, without a doubt, beautiful, and as he read them over, he realized they really had all been carefully selected. How am I supposed to make a decision, he wanted to shout.

It was impossible. One sheet of paper and a picture to determine who’d he wanted to share his life with. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and he felt a headache coming on. Okay, try to focus. He flipped through them again, and after an hour, he’d narrowed them down to three. The moon had already come out and he realized how long he’d spent looking through the pictures. By now, he could recall each face and each name.

But when he flipped to the very back of the book, there was one that caught his eye, Sarah Walker. It was as if her profile had been added last minute, tacked on like an afterthought. She had a small face, round with a chin that dropped into an exaggerated point that made her look almost elfin in the Polaroid. A lot of freckles scattered around her nose, and dark brown eyes that seemed to stare out through the picture. It was the eyes, he realized now, that had caused him to stop and consider her in the first place. All the other pictures, for the most part, had smiling poses, and he could tell it was a fake smile, something they had put on for his benefit.

But Sarah’s picture was different. She wasn’t smiling so much as letting a sly grin pierce the edge of her lips. Dylan couldn’t tell what emotion was behind it, and it intrigued him. Was she giving a coy smirk or was she leveling a disparaging grin at the person taking the picture? He could picture the cameraman trying to coach her, “Smile, smile! C’mon, pretend you’ve heard a funny joke! Be beautiful!” He could just as easily imagine Sarah narrowing a cold glance. He liked that she stood out, and he found himself reviewing her profile for the umpteenth time.

She was from a similar caste as him and enjoyed many of the same activities: hunting, hiking, reading, camping. All the outdoor sort of stuff that had come to define his time on the island, he realized. He let out a low chuckle and leaned his head back against the bench and watched the moon rise over the treetops. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, and in no time, had fallen asleep with Sarah’s picture open on his lap.

“So! Made your choice yet!?” he was awoken rudely by the grumbling baritone of Chris, who slapped him hard on the shoulder.

Dylan staggered awake, breathing hard like he’d just left a nightmare behind, his eyes scanned around vigorously. His shoulder still hurt where Chris had laid his palm on him. The older man was a giant in every sense of the word, including underestimating his own strength at every turn.

“Erm… yeah,