Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(28)
Author: Mimi Strong

Without pausing, he said, “No. He came up with that himself.”

“I sense disapproval in your voice, Vern.”

He chuckled and pushed the button to jokingly raise the glass between us by a few inches.

~

Vern dropped me off at home, and I ran into the house and up to my room.

Instead of looking at the ring, I folded the red jacket around the box and stuffed everything in a dresser drawer next to my bed. The red foil heart-shaped balloon my family gave me a week earlier had completely deflated, and the crinkled heart gently settled on top of the jacket.

When I woke up Thursday morning, I stared at the closed drawer for a long time.

I didn’t look, though. I left the drawer closed and went to work early.

At the bookstore, I settled into my comfortable routine. Plenty of customers came in to check out the tables of deals on select books. Like most bookstores, we’re able to send back unsold books. They get returned to the distributors. Overstock is not a problem in the book business, except for with a few smaller distributors, where Gordon pays for the books outright, but at a steeper discount to offset the risk. Customers really don’t care about the business model of a retail store, though. If you’re moving locations, they expect a sale, regardless of the economics.

After lunch, our delivery man, Carter, came in with three boxes on his wheeled cart.

“Those can’t be for us,” I said, shaking my head. “No new inventory until the move. I don’t need more things to pack.”

Carter stopped and pretended to have hurt feelings, both hands over his heart. “You’re not happy to see me? I’m crushed.”

The new ink on his arms had healed, and countless bright-hued fish swam up and down Carter’s arm amidst fine, red-gold arm hairs.

“Of course I’m happy to see you.” I smiled and stared up at Carter’s friendly eyes, blue with an inner ring so pale it looked white. He and I had been friendly since he moved to Beaverdale to play guitar and enjoy the small-town life. We’d flirted a few times, but never dated. The topic had only come up once he’d found out I was with Dalton. As I stared up into Carter’s eyes, fringed by pale gold eyelashes, I wondered if he was in my bookstore to further complicate my love life.

“These boxes aren’t for you,” he said.

“I’d celebrate being right, as usual, but people take it the wrong way. Maybe it’s the song and dance I do.”

He grinned. “Do you know I’m the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“I’m dating Golden, who’s seeing Adrian, who’s—”

“I know the rest!” I put my hands on my h*ps and looked at Carter through the new filter of him dating Golden. They would make a cute couple.

“My other girl is my guitar, though. My dating life isn’t as exciting as yours. I have thought about asking out Kirsten, from Java Jones, but I don’t know.”

“So, you’re just here to let me know we’re in the same dating chain?”

“And to say hello, because I’ve missed delivering to you.”

His adoring gaze started to feel weird.

Some customers came in the door, putting an additional layer of awkwardness on the conversation.

Carter and I talked a little about the store’s upcoming move, and then he left with the three boxes, which were actually for the music store a few blocks over.

After he was gone, I wondered if he’d come over to ask me on a date, turning our dating chain into a circle. Little did he know I was pretty booked up, what with the upcoming wedding.

~

Ten minutes before closing, Adrian came in, wearing shorts and running shoes with a sleeveless shirt that showed off his long, muscled arms.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said.

I stared at his face, at the light glinting on the short beard growth on his face. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and he had what always looked to me like brown sugar granules along his jaw.

“Of course I’m hungry,” I said. “I’m totally hungry for our… date tonight?”

“You forgot all about me.”

I was standing behind the store’s counter, so I did what I always do and dumped out the pen holder for a good sorting.

“Remind me what we have planned,” I said, smiling down at the pens as I arranged them by color.

“We’re getting a quick bite to eat then hiking out to Phantom Bog.”

“Hiking?” You’d think I’d remember agreeing to something so ominous. “Oh, right. Good thing I’m already wearing my most rugged sneakers. Do I need hiking boots? Because I don’t own hiking boots, so we’ll have to do something else, instead.”

He leaned on the counter and peered over at my footwear. “Nice try, but those are fine.” He paused, his face inches from mine. “Do I get a kiss hello?”

I kissed his cheek and he leaned back again, satisfied. “Want some help closing up shop? You count up the float while I get the sandwich board and lights.”

“Yes, boss.” I started punching the end-of-day codes into the credit card terminal.

As Adrian helped with the closing, I counted up the totals. I had to keep restarting my count because my mind wandered. This is nice, I kept thinking. Having Adrian help with closing and winding up the exterior awning for me… it was downright f**king romantic.

What the hell was I doing messing around with Dalton Deangelo when I had the guy of my dreams within reach?

Eyes open, Peaches.

Over the past few whirlwind weeks, I’d forgotten about the promise I’d made to myself many years ago, to keep my damn eyes open. Life isn’t about closing your eyes and making a wish. That way leads to denial, disappointment, danger, and a bunch of other D-words. Smart people keep their eyes open and make their own good fortune.

CHAPTER 13

We got takeout from Burt’s and drove west in Adrian’s mother’s car.

People in Beaverdale will argue over the name of Phantom Bog. Some people say it’s named after the Phantom Orchid, which is native to Washington State. This rare orchid only blooms in conjunction with perfect soil conditions and a specific fungus it has a symbiotic relationship with. Local legend says this chlorophyll-devoid orchid will only blossom near the fecal droppings of Forest Folk.

These local supernaturals are not anything you’d want to encounter in the wilderness, unless you enjoy the company of human-sasquatch-hybrid cannibals. According to local parents, Forest Folk eat the toes of children who don’t clean up their bedrooms, and they have Santa Claus on speed dial. (Unlike regular sasquatch or yeti, Forest Folk have telephones.)