The Beginning

Chapter One: Thatcher

“Stop tailgating.” 

I slid my gaze to my mother and adjusted my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You should be two seconds behind that truck.”

The pink flower truck ahead of us passed a street sign, and it was exactly one-point-five seconds later that we passed it too. I slowed a fraction of an inch, then gave her a tight smile. “Better?”

“Much.” She adjusted the box on her lap. It was so big she could barely see over it, and yet she still thought she needed to side-seat drive. “I still can’t believe that girl canceled on you hours before the wedding. I hope you’re not planning to see her again. I didn’t like her.”

I smirked. “I think it’s safe to say she’s not planning to see me again. That’s pretty much what it means when you tell someone you’re just not that into them.”

“Did she say that?”

“She did.”

“Oh, now I really don’t like her.”

I chuckled. “I guess I don’t like her much either. But now it looks like I’m going stag to this wedding.”

Mom frowned. “That’s a shame. Now there will be an empty seat at your table, and they’ve already paid for her meal. Don’t you know anyone else you could bring?”

“Uh, no.”

We pulled into the lot of the venue, the flower truck apparently going the same place as us. Which made sense. It was a wedding, after all. I parked next to the truck and hopped out to help my mom unload. She’d been close with the bride’s mom for years, even though we’d lived in the next town over, so she was here early to help set up.

And I was here because now that I’d gotten stationed forty minutes away at the Marine base in Beaufort, my mom took full advantage of the unpaid labor that came with having a son.

I heaved a box of centerpiece items out of the trunk, careful not to break any of the glass bowls stacked inside. When I looked up, a gorgeous blonde hopped out of the flower truck, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

She offered me a small wave and a smile, and my heart stuttered in my chest.

“Hey,” I said, approaching her on the way to the curb. “You’re the flower lady for the wedding?”

Her blue eyes flicked to the sign on the truck, and she smirked at my ever-so-smooth opening line. “I’m the florist, yep.”

“Florist, right.”

“And you’re the…” She leaned forward, peeking into the open box in my arms. “Bowl guy?”

“Centerpiece deliveryman,” I said, raising my chin.

She grinned. “Ah, important job. I believe you’ll be scattering some of these rose petals around the bowls, then.”

“Oh, no scattering for me. I’m just the manual labor. If I tried to put all this stuff together it would definitely look like a five-year-old did it.”

“Thatcher Charles, are you going to bring those bowls over here, or would you like me to take them off your hands?” my mother asked, having already dropped off the box she’d held and returned for more.

In my mind, the answer was swift. I’d love to ditch the box and continue talking to this beautiful florist. But since she probably had work to do and my mother would probably kill me if that were my response, I sighed. “Duty calls.”

“Well, if you happen to be bored when you’re finished unloading, I could use some manual labor myself.”

I blinked at her. “Uh…”

“With the flowers,” she said quickly, hooking a thumb at the truck. I’m short-handed today. Well, every day lately, and I have a lot to carry. I can’t pay you for your time, but I would be really grateful for an extra set of arms.” 

I refrained from commenting on the lunacy of her having to pay me. I wouldn’t take her money even if she’d tried to give it to me. “Yeah, of course. It’s only a few boxes, so I can help in a sec.”

Her shoulders dipped with relief, and she nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” My gaze held hers, and my stomach tightened. Man, she was beautiful. And totally out of my league.

“Thatcher,” Mom said, breaking the spell between us as she grabbed another box from the back seat.

With a small chuckle that I hoped hid my frustrated sigh, I turned toward the venue. Without her face in my line of sight, my pulse returned to normal.

What was that?

It was like that woman had me under a spell or something. She could have asked me to take a nosedive off the bridge between here and Beaufort right then, and I probably would have agreed.

I set the box down on a table next to the others and gave my mom a small smile. “I’m going to help the florist unload when we’re done if you don’t need me for anything else.”

She quirked a brow. “I know better than to ask you to help me set all of this up. It would be faster to just do it myself.”

I gave her a tight smile. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m only teasing. Well, sort of. You don’t have much of an eye for design.”

She had me there. I’d never been what you’d call artistic.

“You know,” my mother said, her voice dipping in that telltale way it did when she was about to meddle, “she’s really pretty, that florist.”

I smirked, thinking that was the understatement of the century. That woman wasn’t pretty. She was stunning.

She had the kind of smile that dragged you in before you even knew what was happening, and her blue eyes were so striking that they’d make even the smoothest guy forget his own name. Which meant I was a goner from the start. When it came to women, I was far from smooth.

Just ask the chick who dumped me first thing this morning, citing a lack of chemistry.

My mom leaned closer conspiratorially when I didn’t respond. “Maybe you should ask her to the wedding.”

I balked. “Ask her to the wedding? Are you crazy? I don’t even know her name.”

“So learn it.”

My mother was a force. My dad—may he rest in peace—was more like me. Soft-spoken and more of a numbers guy than a people person. But my mom? She knew everything about everyone, had a million and one friends, and spent the better part of my life trying to get me out of my shell.

When I’d joined the Marines at eighteen, becoming an Aircraft Rescue and Firefighting Specialist, the first thing she’d told me was that she was excited for me to get out and see the world.

Make new friends, she’d said.

Have some fun, she’d said.

Well, she’d gotten her wish. I had friends, I’d had fun, and I’d done two overseas deployments in my seven years as a Marine.

I scratched my head, looking back toward the flower truck where the blonde was loading her arms with floral arrangements. “I don’t know.”

“Suit yourself. But you know what I always say, it’s always a no unless you ask.” With a wink, she turned back toward the car.

On an absurdly-bad-idea scale of one to ten, asking a woman I didn’t even know to a wedding that would start a few hours later seemed like an eleven.

No. I couldn’t do that. She’d probably look at me like I was a freak.

Shaking my head, I snapped out of it and got back to work. I wouldn’t ask her to the wedding, but I did promise to help her. And in doing that, maybe I’d at least have time to work up the nerve to get her number.

She headed my way with a basket of petals sealed in individual bags, and I nodded at her as I approached. “What’s your name?”

“Harriet,” she replied without stopping. “But I hate it, so everyone just calls me Hattie.”

I kept going as she breezed away, fighting the urge to turn and watch her go.

Hattie. Fine. I had a name. And the sooner I got the boxes unloaded, the sooner I could help Hattie. But I wouldn’t ask her to be my date.

Putting my blinders on, I made quick work of my job, then jogged up to her where she stood in the back of the truck. “Here, hand it down.”

She turned with the box of bouquets and set it in my arms. “Thanks. These go in the bridal suite. Just ask one of the people in black where it is.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As a Marine, I was nothing if not good at following orders.

When I came back from that job, she had another one ready for me, and then another. A few minutes later, the two of us had unloaded the truck.

That was fast. Too fast.

I racked my brain for a reason to keep talking to her. “Do you need any help with any of it? Setting up, I mean.”

She cocked a hip and grinned at me. “Will it look like a five-year-old did it if I say yes?”

“Depends on what it is. I’m coachable, though.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “I have to attach some of the bundles of roses to the garlands on either side of the aisle. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Totally. Zip ties?”

Surprise danced in her eyes. “Actually, yes. You do the zip ties, and I’ll tie artsy little bows around them.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I held my arm out, stepping back. “Lead the way.”

Hattie grabbed a box of bows and zip ties from her truck, and we walked over to the outdoor ceremony space, where I’d already deposited two boxes of roses, grouped together in small bouquets.

The venue was an American Legion post, as the bride’s father was a proud member, and they were on a tight budget. That was why my mom had been tasked with creating the centerpieces. She’d said most of the wedding tasks had been assigned to various family and friends in a DIY kind of way.

The flowers, however, were as beautiful as the woman who’d provided them, and the family had clearly avoided cutting costs in that department.

Hattie and I worked seamlessly to attach the colorful bundles to the garland, making small talk as we went. She was so bubbly and friendly that it was hard not to smile throughout the whole thing.

But I did my best to act cool, rather than grinning like an idiot. There was just something about her that drew me in and made me want to keep her talking.

And keep talking, she did. Either she was the most talkative woman I’d ever spent this much time with, or we had that chemistry that had apparently been missing with the girl who’d ditched me.

Interesting.

“So, how long have you been a florist?” I asked, sticking the plastic tip of the zip tie into the connector on the other side.

“My whole life, I guess. My parents own the shop, and I think I actually was a five-year-old when they first started putting me to work there.”

“Aren’t there laws around child labor?”

She laughed, the sound floating around me. “It’s a labor of love. My mom says I was born with flowers in my hair.”

I couldn’t help but picture her with a floral crown placed on top of her blonde locks. “I can see that.”

She didn’t reply, but a small smile pulled the corners of her lips up as she focused on tying an intricate bow around the bundle of roses I’d just secured.

“So, family business, huh?” I asked.

“Yep. My parents have owned the shop on Main Street since before I was born. We live above it in the three-bedroom apartment upstairs. And before you say anything, yes, I still live with my parents. It’s not always ideal, but since I’m at the shop from open to close—and sometimes even later—it just makes sense right now.”

“Hey, no judgment from me. It sounds like a pretty sweet commute.”

“Ha, yes. The traffic is minimal. Plus, I love being on Main Street. My window faces the street, and I love to people watch.” Before I could reply, her eyes flew to mine, round as saucers. “I just realized how creepy that makes me sound.”

A low laugh escaped me, and I shrugged. “Only a little.”

“I just love people. I like to sit and make up stories in my head about where they’re going or what they’re doing. It passed the time when I was little. My parents were always in the shop, so we didn’t get out much.”

“Oh, you’re one of those, huh?”

“What?”

I shuddered. “A people person.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Me? You seem pretty personable, yourself, Thatcher Charles.”

“Just Thatcher is fine.” I narrowed my eyes at her as we moved to the next peak in the garland, then shook my head. “Anyway, I’m not always like this. I’m usually pretty shy, actually.”

“Uh, you’re kidding. I find that really hard to believe.”

“I’m serious. When I was a kid, my mom used to walk me into birthday parties and introduce me to all the other kids before she left because she knew if she didn’t, I’d just stand in a corner like a weirdo. Even worse, she told the birthday kid’s mom to make sure I didn’t do it after she left.”

“And yet, you struck up a conversation with me,” she countered, lifting her chin.

I swallowed, meeting her gaze. “Maybe you’re special.”

Pink stained her cheeks, and she looked away, picking up a length of ribbon for her next bow.

I watched her face while she wove it into something that looked like it had come right out of a magazine, her brow level and her eyes laser-focused.

“Come to the wedding with me,” I said, the words falling out before I even had a chance to stop them.

Her hands stopped moving, and her head snapped up. “What?”

“Come to the wedding with me,” I said again.

Smooth? Probably not. But no going back now.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Sure, I do. Your name is Hattie, you’re a florist, and you have slightly voyeuristic tendencies. Shoot, I even know where you live,” I said, feeling warm as she laughed. Maybe I was a little smoother than I thought.

“Hmm.”

“Seriously, though, my date bailed on me a few hours ago, and the bride’s family already paid for her meal. You’d just be making sure their hard-earned money wouldn’t go to waste. Doesn’t have to mean more than that.”

But I wanted it to.

We prepped the next bundle of roses as she thought about it. “I highly doubt this couple would want you to bring a stranger to their wedding.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re their florist. They would probably prefer to have the person who created all these pretty flower things here than the girl I was dating up until this morning. She actually is a stranger to them.”

“You’re serious about this?”

“As a heart attack.”

She bit her lip, and my eyes traced the movement.

She wasn’t wrong. I really didn’t know her. But I liked what little I did know, and I wanted to know more.

But if she said no, I wouldn’t push it. To be honest, I was surprised enough that I’d suggested it in the first place, especially after how sure I was I wasn’t the kind the guy of guy who’d attempt such a thing and actually succeed in securing a date with a woman like her.

“Okay,” Hattie said with a sigh. “I have no idea why I’m agreeing to this, but I don’t have any other plans. Plus, my parents are practically forcing me to take the rest of the day off since I’ve been working on this wedding order around the clock the last few days.”

Relief flooded me, and I grinned. “Great. I’ll pick you up at four.”

“Guess I don’t have to give you my address,” she said with a laugh.

“No, I think I can find you.”

❤️ Marine/Firefighter Hero

❤️ Wedding Setting

❤️ Strong family ties

❤️ Love at First Sight (in a non-cheesy way!)

❤️ Career vs. Love

❤️ Small-Town Vibes

Brides of Beaufort

📚 The Proposal - Paul & Shelby
📚 The Planner - Will & Aria
📚 The Bridesmaid - Zac & Layla
📚 The Fake Date - Beau & Lindi
📚 The Contract - Chase & Zoe
📚 The Proposal - Nate & Nikki

Related Standalone:

📚 The Beginning - Thatcher & Hattie

Note: Chronologically, this one is set 30 years before book one of this series. It’s where you’ll meet Ms. Hattie (the much-loved, meddling matchmaker in the main series) and watch her find forever with her now husband, Thatcher. There’s no reason you can’t read it last if you’d like to start with the main books, but if you’d like to read them in chronological order, that’s how it goes! :)

📚 BONUS 📚

Love the San Diego or Kailua Marines? The Brides of Beaufort series follows our Kailua heroes, and you’ll even see cameos from the characters in San Diego! But, no worries, all of the books can be read as standalones if you’re just in the mood for a specific trope/location. It’s just fun to run into old friends sometimes if you read them in order! :)

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Love it!

"I have to say I love everything that Jess has written! I really appreciate how she weaves civilian and military into hermit line! This one did not disappoint!"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Charming

"Loveable characters and interesting story. I enjoyed following them through their life story. I could relate to so much of their ups and downs."

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Hattie and Thatcher's Story

"I love Hattie and Thatcher! It is great to learn their love story. My favorite dialogue is from the epilogue: Hattie: I don't meddle. Thatcher: Only every day and twice on Sundays. How can anyone not love these two characters?"