Page 2 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
The woman smiled, still slicing. “Maeva! Welcome, Miss...?”
“Emerson. Juliana Emerson.” She opened her folder and produced a printout of the shuttle reservation. “It’s all here. Confirmation number, arrival time, contact number for the resort, and the original booking email, just in case.”
The woman glanced at the page but didn’t take it. “Oh, yes, they usually come sometime after lunch.”
Juliana blinked. “Yes. That would be 1:45. I chose that time deliberately to allow for baggage pickup and unexpected delays.”
The woman nodded agreeably. “Mmm. Island time.”
Juliana paused. “I’m not sure what that means,” she admitted.
“It means they come when they come,” the woman said, unfazed. “Could be 1:45. Could be 2:15. Last week, Makoa didn’t show up at all one day.”
Her stomach sank. “He just didn’t come?” What kind of a business was this Makoa guy running?
The woman shrugged and slid the mango peel into a little compost bin beneath the counter. “He saw a mynah bird cross the road from left to right. Bad omen.”
Juliana blinked. “I'm sorry—what?”
“Mynah bird,” the woman said again. “Left to right. Everyone knows that means your journey is fated for bad luck.”
“So...he canceled an entire shuttle because of a bird crossing the road?”
The woman gave her a patient look, as if explaining gravity to a toddler. “It’s notjusta bird. It’s a warning. When a mynah crosses like that, you pause. You wait. You listen to the island.”
Okay. She wouldn’t scream. Wouldn’t throw the folder. Wouldn’t mention how in Seattle, people barely paused when a pedestrian crossed the road, let alone a bird. Juliana stared at her, struggling to find a polite way to respond that didn’t involve the wordssuperstitious nonsense. “Is there a manager I can speak to?”
“You’re looking at her,” the woman said brightly. “I’m Lani.La ora na. Hello.”
Of course.
Juliana pressed her lips together and glanced at her watch. 1:02. She could already feel the sheen of sweat forming at the base of her neck. If the shuttle didn’t show by 1:40, she’d give it five more minutes. Then she’d contact the resort directly. Or hire a car. Or commandeer a bicycle from that hammock guy in the corner.
“Miss Emerson?” The woman tilted her head. “You seem tense.”
“I’m not tense,” Juliana lied, adjusting her grip on her leather itinerary folder.
The woman gave her a warm smile and gestured toward a fan blowing weakly in the corner. “There’s iced hibiscus tea at the snack bar. You should sit, relax, and let the island greet you.”
Let the islandgreether?
Juliana inhaled through her nose. She didn’t want to be greeted. She didn’t want tea. She wanted to be transported. Preferably by a man who didn’t consult barnyard omens before operating a vehicle.
But the air was thick and still, and the relentless stress of the past several months still pressed down on her shoulders. And it seemed like she couldn’t do anything but wait. With a sigh, she walked across the room to the snack bar, grabbing a stool as Lani followed and slipped behind the counter withthe unshakable calm of someone who’d never evenheardof an Outlook calendar.
She accepted the chilled glass the woman handed her. The hibiscus tea was surprisingly tart, with just enough sweetness to make it drinkable. Juliana took a small sip, setting the glass down carefully on the rough-hewn counter.
She was supposed to be arriving in Tealua as a newlywed, smiling beside a man who had promised forever. Instead, she was alone, overdressed, and fighting the urge to take control of something—anything. Her color-coded travel folder stuck out of her bag. Her high bun hadn’t moved an inch despite the gentle island breeze, and her sandals were already collecting sand from the rough floor. She wasn’t here for spontaneity or soul-searching. She was here because canceling the trip would’ve been wasteful—and Juliana Emerson never wasted anything.
Her eyes drifted to a couple approaching the welcome desk, laughing and leaning into each other as they toyed with the leis from the welcoming committee. For a moment, she let herself imagine what this trip might have been, what it should have been if Leo had been sipping hibiscus tea with her.
A sharp ache curled behind her ribs, fast and uninvited.
But no. She didn’t want Leo back. She wanted the version of herself who hadn’t picked him in the first place.
Juliana sat up straighter, pressing her palms to her lap. She could put healing on the itinerary, right between the sunset catamaran and the reef snorkeling. She could schedule recovery, one checklist box at a time.
She uncrossed her arms, unfolded her meticulously organized itinerary, and scanned it again, willing the minutes to pass faster. The clock ticked on. The shuttle might end up being late—just as she feared—but if anyone could make a plan work, it was Juliana Emerson.
