Page 3 of Most Likely to Fear Love

“There’s provision for that. He’s already said he’s okay with it, but that he won’t make contact himself. That would be an absolute deal breaker for me. The last thing I need is a man pushing himself into my life again.”

Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. I knew what she was going to say, or ask. More questions about Brian. What went wrong. Why I won’t talk about it. Followed up by suggesting I get therapy. I’d got much tougher about shutting that down recently and it seemed she was finally getting the message. Thank fuck.

The sound of a truck engine rumbled outside, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between Hannah and me. My heart leapt into my throat. He was here. Harle was actually here. I pushed to my feet, but somehow couldn’t convince my body to move.

Hannah bolted from her chair, nearly knocking it over in her haste. She darted through the living room to the lounge window, yanking back the curtain.

“Nice truck.”

“What does it matter what kind of truck he drives?”

“Well, I’m a car mechanic. I’m gonna notice these things, aren’t I?” She leaned forward, her nose practically pressing against the glass as the sound of the truck door closing filtered through the air. “Holy fuck!” Her voice was a mix of awe and disbelief. “You never said your baby daddy looked like Ragnar Lothbrok.”

I blinked, still frozen in place. “What?”

“Get over here and look at this guy!”

My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to stand and join Hannah at the window. I peered out, my breath catching in my throat as I caught sight of him. He was tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders that strained against his tight black t-shirt. Long, dirty blond hair was pulled back into a top knot, and a neatly trimmed beard framed a jaw that could cut glass.

My stomach did a slow roll that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the way his t-shirt stretched across those shoulders. This was NOT part of the plan. The planinvolved a nice, safe, boring guy. The kind you wouldn’t look twice at in a grocery store. Not... this. Not arms that looked like they could lift a car, or a jaw that belonged in a museum.

As he turned towards the house, I caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and the small, leather satchel slung across his shoulder. The sight of it made my cheeks heat. I knew what was inside it.

“Oh shit,” I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry. This was not what I had expected at all.

“Why did I picture a sweet, nerdy looking guy? Like an accountant or something?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. He said he was a handyman, but still…” For some dumb reason, I’d had something completely different in mind. Not this muscle-bound Viking, walking up my porch steps in his heavy boots and tight jeans.

I froze as the doorbell rang, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. Sudden doubt crashed over me. What the hell was I thinking? This was insane. I couldn’t possibly go through with it.

“I can’t do this.” I backed away from the door. “This was a mistake. I’ll just... I’ll text him and cancel.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Oh no you don’t.” She grabbed my arm and shoved me towards the door. “No way I’m missing out on seeing this god face to face.”

I dug my heels in, resisting her push. “Han, seriously. I’m not ready for this.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been planning this for weeks. You’re just freaking out because he’s hot.”

“That’s not?—”

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.

“Answer it,” Hannah hissed, giving me another shove.

My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob. I inhaled slowly, trying to steady my nerves. This was it. No turning back now.

I dragged the door open, coming face to face with the Viking god Hannah had described. Up close, he was even more impressive. Those blue eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Hi. I’m Harle. You must be Cassidy?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Was that really necessary? That deep, rumbling voice that slid over my skin like hot molasses?

He smiled, and I swear my knees went weak. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“You too,” I managed to squeak out.

Oh god, now he was holding his hand out for me to shake and my palms were sweaty. Should I wipe them on my jeans or just go all in? Hoping I was being discreet, I wiped my palms on the back of my thigh and slipped my hand in his. Strong. Warm. Callused. Literally everything about this man was perfect.

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