Page 3 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
If “island time” didn’t drive her insane first.
2
GIDEON
Gideon tossed his backpack over his shoulder and took a deep, satisfied breath of ocean air. Even from the airport, Gideon could tell the island was everything he’d hoped—laid-back, wild, humming with potential for adventure.
Like most things in his life, this trip had been spontaneous. The ever-present need to get away from Redemption Ridge and explore again was finally strong enough to have him clicking the Book Now button without a second thought. Although, his credit card might scold him for it later. Unlike his siblings, who had both recently found themselves married and taking ownership of their portion of Redemption Ridge Ranch, Gideon was happily single. And if a slightly deflated bank account was the price for his freedom, then it was one he was happy to pay.
Not that Cassie and Zeke seemed unhappy. Far from it, in fact. Despite the unorthodox means of their nuptials, his sister and his brother had both found the happiness they deserved. Zeke especially had settled into fatherhood, officially adopting his stepson, Stetson, as soon as Ruby Thompson could get the paperwork filed.
Cassie and Jason were expecting the newest member of the family in a matter of weeks. Cassie was already promising payback to her husband for the timing that resulted in her being eight months pregnant in the middle of July.
A beautiful woman in brightly colored clothes flashed a smile at him and held out a loop of flowers strung together.
“La ora na.”
Gideon had no idea what that meant, but he assumed some sort of welcome. “Aloha?” he offered in response with a flirty smile, ducking his head.
The woman laughed and shook her head, holding back the lei. “No, no. Not Hawaii, sir. Here, we sayLa ora na.” It sounded like “yoh-rah-nah” and he tried his best to imitate it.
She gave him a proud nod, then circled the flowers around his neck. “Very good. Welcome to Tealua.”
“Thank you,” he replied, his fingers falling to the new necklace and trailing over the live blooms. No cheap plastic party supplies here.
He wandered across the runway— though the term was rather generous—and stepped under the terminal roof, immediately grateful for the shade. He took a moment to check his phone while leaning against a pillar, sending a message to his family that he had arrived safely. His stomach rumbled unhappily as he tucked his phone away.
He spotted a snack bar near the welcome desk and headed for it. It wasn’t until he pulled up his chair that he paid any attention to the other occupant. A woman perched stiffly on the edge of her seat, several stacks of printed documents on the bar in front of her, the edge of a leather portfolio visible beneath the neatly stacked papers. A manilla folder labeled “Tealua: Honeymoon 2025” in fancy script letters caught his eye. He glanced around but didn’t spot her husband.
The woman was tapping furiously at her phone, then writing notes with surgical precision. Everything about her screamedI did not come here for surprises.
She looked like the type of person who had every day carefully segmented into ten-minute increments with ironclad plans for each one. The idea made his skin crawl. Gideon didn’t have a schedule for his trip, just a list scrawled on a napkin from his first flight: “Snorkel. Hike. Surf. Eat something weird. Don’t die.”
He sipped his pineapple soda and watched her try not to look irritated.
She’d angled her chair just enough to avoid facing him directly, but her eyes kept darting toward the entry doors, then her phone, then her papers, then the clock above the snack bar like she could will time to behave.
Intrigued, he offered a lazy smile and a “Rough flight?”
She looked up—sharp eyes, tidy bun, a practiced smile. “No,” she said crisply. “The shuttle I pre-booked is seven minutes late. This island seems ridiculously unprofessional.” She looked back at her papers.
He laughed, delighted that his initial impression had been so spot on. “I don’t evenhavea shuttle.” Before she could respond with what he was sure would be judgment or even horror, he leaned one elbow on the counter and gave her his most innocent smile. “You know, I’ve read somewhere that island time is more of a spiritual concept than an actual clock.”
She didn’t even look up. “I pre-booked a shuttle. With a confirmation number. And a driver named Makoa.”
“I’m sure you did. And yet, here you are. Abandoned. Hungry. One fruity drink away from throwing your notebook into the ocean.”
She gave him a withering glance. “The planner stays,” she said, tugging it a little closer to her and out of his reach.
He fought back a smile. “That’s fair. I was going to suggest a symbolic burning, but it’s probably fireproof or something.”
Her lips twitched. Barely. But he saw it. He rapped a knuckle on the bar top. “Tell you what—if you give me thirty minutes, I’ll change your mind about this place.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t get up and storm away either.
He motioned to the manila folder in front of her. “So what’s the deal—a pre-planned vacation with an hourly agenda and color-coded dinner options?”
She stiffened.
