Page 17 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
Her eyes narrowed. “Just like that?”
He frowned. “Yeah. Isn’t that what you want? An annulment or whatever it’s called?”
“I don’t know what I want,” she snapped. Then, quieter, “I just know what Ibelieveabout marriage. Even accidents like this.”
Gideon shifted his weight, unsure where to step next. “What does that mean?”
“I came here because I believe marriage is sacred,” she said. “Even accidental ones. I believe it’s a covenant, not a contract, and I’ve spent the last week praying over how to handle this responsibly. Meanwhile, you’re here cracking jokes and ready to sign it all away without a second thought.”
He stiffened. “Juliana, I didn’tplanfor any of this. You of all people should understand that.”
“Neither did I!” Her voice rose, then steadied. “But I’m not trying to pretend it never happened. I’m trying to deal with it. Like an adult.”
Gideon folded his arms. “So what do you even want? To stay married?”
“I don’t know yet. But I want you to accept the seriousness of the situation,” she said. “Accept some ownership. Something you clearly struggle with.”
The words hit harder than he expected. Because they weren’t just hers. They echoed his father’s words just a little too closely.
“I’m not here for a quick signature and a legal eraser. I want to talk. Figure it out.” She looked at him fully now, eyes searching. “On the island, you said you don’t run from things. So don’t run from this.”
That one landed, too. He looked down, flexed his jaw, then exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll talk. I’ll shower, you’ll breathe, and we’ll sit down like grown-ups.”
She nodded, still skeptical.
“Welcome to Redemption Ridge,” he murmured. “Home of accidental husbands and very uncomfortable conversations.”
Across from him, he swore he heard her mutter, “Lord, help me.”
He grinned, keeping his head down so she couldn’t see. Oh yeah, he loved it when she was riled up.
7
JULIANA
Juliana smoothed the front of her blouse and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped out onto the wide, shaded porch of the lodge. Her stomach still twisted from the conversation over lunch—if one could even call it that. More like an awkward verbal dance in which neither of them knew the steps.
She’d wanted to stay calm, mature. Graceful, even. But Gideon had that infuriating grin and that maddening ability to turn everything into a joke, like none of this actually mattered. Like their marriage—however accidental—was a scene from a romantic comedy and not a real covenant before God.
And yet...He’d pulled out her chair without a second thought. Called the waitress by name. Offered to cover her lunch with a lopsided smile and a quiet, "It's the least I can do.” He hadn’t tried to charm her, not really. But charm still leaked out of him like it couldn’t help itself.
She hated how aware she was of it.
The Ridgeline Grill had surprised her. Tucked inside the lodge, it was warm and worn, full of knotty wood, old branding irons hanging on the walls, and a chalkboard menu with halfthe specials crossed out. The food had been simple and good—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, local honey-sweet tea. But what had struck her most was the way people responded to Gideon.
The waitress had teased him like an old friend. A teenager in muddy hiking boots had waved enthusiastically from the back booth. The manager had clapped him on the shoulder and asked about next week’s group ride.
People liked him. Trusted him. Listened to him.
Which only deepened the mystery. Because for someone who didn’t seem to take anything seriously, Gideon Reynolds had clearly built a life full of respect and purpose.
She glanced around the property now—at the rough-hewn fences and hand-painted trail signs, the laughter of families echoing from a nearby cornhole game, the low hum of staff preparing for some kind of evening event. It was rustic, sure, but it was organized. Intentional.
Much like the man himself.
She sighed and rubbed her temples, retreating into the shade as a warm breeze swept across the porch. She’d checked into her room an hour ago—clean, quiet, decorated in soft greens and pinewood trim. Not the spa-like luxury of Tealua Haven, but it didn’t feel like she was supposed to perform here. And that was...disarming. She’d already extended her room for a whole week instead of the two days she’d been planning. With a smirk, she realized that she’d adjusted her itinerary without a second thought. Gideon would be proud.
Juliana dropped into a rocking chair and opened her journal, the one she’d brought in hopes of sorting out her thoughts. Her pen hovered over the page. After a moment, she wrote:
