It was a quarter past eight on what had been shaping up to be a perfectly ordinary Saturday when Renee’s future husband fell out of the sky, rolled off of the roof of the chicken coop,
and had his landing soundly cushioned by the vegetable garden.
Renee, being the sort of sensible girl who knew that, while aesthetically pleasing, handsome men falling from the sky was not normal, ran outside to see what exactly
was about. There was a roughly man-sized dent in the tin on the roof of the coop, and a dark-haired man in a crumpled heap in the cabbage-patch.
Renee blinked, rubbed her eyes, and, when it didn’t disappear like any self-respecting hallucination, hauled up the man and half-carried, half-dragged him into her house.
Ten minutes later when her father came in from the fields, his daughter was not mending her apron but was instead scrambling eggs,
and a man with pale skin and green eyes was sitting at his kitchen table, in his jeans and Hana’s sweatshirt with a cartoon bumblebee on it, clutching a mug of tea like a lifeline.
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