3. Gordy
Chapter 3
Gordy
I hear the first rumble of thunder, then the deluge of rain. It draws me to the shop door, something about the heaviness of the downpour troubling me.
Before I have a chance to open it, the door flies open and thuds heavily against my chest. I stagger back a step, meaning to steady myself against the counter, but I miss and fall backward, sending my shades flying.
A woman with waterlogged brown hair and an apologetic grin stands before me, her maxi dress clinging to her like the petals of a drenched marigold .
“Sorry! Oh, my gosh, I’m so clumsy,” she blurts, cheeks flushing a bright and lively red. “I didn’t mean to crash-land in your… um, very nice bookshop.”
“Crash-land is right.” I chuckle, trying to ignore how my heart hammers against my ribcage as I stand. Maybe it’s the shock of sudden contact or the fact that her smile, crooked as it is, shines brighter than the fluorescent lights overhead. She’s like a walking, talking beacon of disarray, and I can’t help but feel that something big just walked into my life.
My stakes start to hiss angrily, and I shake my head to calm them down. She’s busy swiping at her face as water drips down her face and doesn’t notice.
“Are you okay?” I ask, plucking my glasses from the floor and scanning her for injuries. But all I see is the chaos of her vibrant dress and the raindrops falling from her hem to seep into the wood floor beneath us.
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit… wet.” She laughs, a sound that’s somehow both awkward and melodious. The sight of her trying to wring out the hem of her dress should be comical, but she has a grace about her, even now.
A little water won’t hurt anything.” I glance down at the puddle expanding around her feet, then back up to her eyes, quickly averting my gaze to a nearby shelf. Can’t risk looking too long. Her presence is unsettling in the best possible way.
“Sorry, I’m just…” She trails off as she steps back, only to bump into a shelf. Books wobble precariously, threatening to topple.
“Careful,” I warn, my voice low as I reach out to steady the shelf.
Her eyes are wide, and something about the way she looks at me, like she sees me, really sees me, makes my chest tighten.
“Did I break anything?” She glances around in panic, her hands flailing like she’s trying to catch invisible falling objects.
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I reply, but my heart is pounding for a different reason.
I’ve never been good with people, let alone women. And here’s this whirlwind of femininity, causing a commotion that somehow feels right in my quiet world. But I can’t look her in the eye, not fully. Not when one accidental gaze could turn her moments of chaos into an eternity of stone.
“That storm came out of nowhere, didn’t it?” she rambles, her voice a warm rush against the otherwise silent backdrop of my shop. “I mean, one second it was cloudy, and then, bam , it was like Poseidon himself was having a temper tantrum.”
“Poseidon, huh? Apt comparison.” My response comes out more amused than intended. It’s hard not to be charmed by her, even as she unwittingly wreaks havoc on my carefully arranged displays.
“Right? Anyway, I was looking for someplace dry and…Whoops!” She stumbles again, this time sending a small stack of paperbacks sliding to the floor. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay. Really.” I crouch to gather the books, keeping my head turned slightly away from her. I have the urge to comfort her, to tell her it’s all fine, but I need to keep my distance. Especially since my snakes seem to be trying to pry themselves from my scalp. What is up with them ?
One particularly dramatic serpentthrows itself over my forehead like a fainting Victorian lady, letting out a long, exaggerated hissss .
Another coils slightly as if preparing to strike.
“Whoa, easy there. I come in peace,” she says, holding her hands up, palms facing outward. “Here, let me help,” she insists, kneeling beside me.
Our hands brush as we reach for the same book. An electric jolt shoots up my arm, and I jerk back as if stung.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Static.”
“Must be the storm,” she says, her laugh light and unburdened. She doesn’t know how close she came to being a statue in my mythology section.
“Must be.” I manage a smile, though I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something extraordinary about her, something beyond the chestnut hair and the quirky dress. A sense of connection that’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. She’s everything I never knew I wanted. But that’s not possible, is it ?
“Are you new in town?” I ask once we’ve set the last book back in its place.
“Yeah, I just arrived. Talk about a welcome, huh?” She stands, brushing her hands on her dress, which clings to her skin, still soaked from the rain.
“Welcome to Screaming Woods,” I say, finally standing. “Where the weather is as unpredictable as… well, everything else around here.”
“Sounds exciting.” Her grin tells me she’s up for the adventure, and something inside me wants to be part of that adventure with her. Even if I’m only the monster lurking in the background.
“Never a dull moment,” I mumble, hoping my nervousness doesn’t show. Because despite everything, I find myself wanting to know more about her, to hear her talk about storms and gods like they’re old friends. To feel that spark once more.
Then, she seems to trip over thin air as she turns to look around the shop.
“Please, just…stand still for a moment, miss,” I urge, reaching out to steady her as she wobbles on the spot. Her eyes brim with tears that threaten to spill, and her distress tugs at something inside me .
I offer a smile that I hope conveys calm instead of my inner turmoil and gently guide her to the armchair that’s more my home than any other part of the shop, nudging it closer to the warmth radiating from the old electric heater.
She sinks into it, the chair's fabric absorbing some of the rainwater clinging to her like an unwanted second skin. She looks up at me, and I’m careful to meet her gaze without locking onto it.
“Thank you,” she breathes, a shiver running through her. “I’m Alice Hawthorne.”
“Gordon Stone.” I offer a nod instead of a handshake. Less contact, less chance of slipping up and doing something irreversible.
“Wait... your name isGordon Stone ?”
I groan. “Yep. Gordon Stone. Gordy to my friends. Or to people who enjoy tormenting me with the obvious.”
“Stone? Seriously?” Alice tilts her head, barely holding back a grin. “That’s either fate, cosmic irony, or the universe having a really dark sense of humor. ”
I sigh. “Try all three. I was a regular guy until I drank one scientifically questionable party punch and boom —I’m suddenly a walking cautionary tale.”
“Oh, I love this for you.” Alice claps her hands. “Tell me you leaned into the branding. Please tell me your business cards say, ‘Stone-cold book recs from your favorite Gorgon.’”
“No, but thanks for giving my snakes a new reason to hiss at you,” I deadpan.
“Hey, I’m just saying—it’s a marketing goldmine.” She pauses, then nudges me.
“Do you at least sell souvenir bookmarks that say, ‘Don’t look directly at the owner?’”
I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Okay, that one I might actually use.”
Alice nods in approval as she swipes at her hair, now a dark curtain plastered to her forehead. Her maxi dress, a riot of pastel colors dulled by the rain, sticks uncomfortably to her legs. She plucks at the fabric in a vain attempt to unstick it from her skin .
“Here, let me get you something to dry off with.” I leave her side reluctantly, heading to the small bathroom tucked away behind a shelf heavy with travel memoirs and books on foreign lands. Grabbing a stack of paper towels, which suddenly seems like such an inadequate gesture, I hurry back to her.
“Thanks again,” she says as I hand them over, her voice steady despite the chaos she’s walked into—or perhaps brought with her.
Alice starts chattering then. About the weather, books, and this little town of Screaming Woods and its peculiar charm. How she visited a few times with her best friend, Verity, and decided to move here since Verity and her husband, Gideon, live in the neighboring town of Fable Forest.
And every so often, Alice gives me this look like she’s trying to figure out something. It’s probably best she doesn’t solve that particular puzzle.
“Sorry for the mess,” she says with a chuckle, gesturing vaguely at the disarray she’s caused, which somehow looks like a representation of her scrambled thoughts. “Seems I have a knack for causing trouble.” Her lips curve into a smile that suggests she’s far from sorry—it’s infectious.
I find myself smiling back, genuinely amused. “Trouble’s not always a bad thing,” I counter, feeling bold. “Sometimes, it’s the universe’s way of shaking things up. Like when you walk into a bookshop and turn it upside down.”
“Or when a gorgon tries to play host without turning his guest to stone?” she teases.
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
“Your snakes are pretty upset.” She nods toward the serpents twisting and hissing atop my head, making my scalp itch. “Scary.”
“Ah, right.” I clear my throat, willing my nerves to settle. “They’ll calm down in a bit. I guess you startled them.”
“Is that so?” Alice dabs at her hair, the brown strands slowly regaining their vibrancy with hints of gold as they dry. “What’s the reward if I sit still and don’t cause any more chaos?”
“An espresso?” I suggest, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the flip-flopping of my stomach.
“Sounds perfect,” she agrees, her grin lighting up the room.
I press the button on my espresso machine, the familiar hum and aroma a welcome distraction from the storm outside. Alice sits across from me, still swiping at her hair, her story unfolding in staccato bursts between deep breaths.
“The bus was delayed, then the rain started, and before I knew it, I was drenched and ducking into your shop,” she says, laughing nervously. “I knew Screaming Woods was different, but not this different.”
“We don’t get storms like this often,” I reply, keeping my tone light as I watch the espresso drip into the cups. Her voice has a melody that’s easy on the ears, even when detailing mishaps.
“Thank goodness for that,” she muses. “I’m glad I found this place.”
“Me, too.” The words slip out before I can stop them. The snakes seem to calm a little as she smiles at me, their heads weaving closer to her, curious and less threatening .
She doesn’t flinch or scream, which is new. Instead, she tilts her head, observing them with interest. “They’re sort of cute, in a reptilian way.”
“Careful, they’ll get ideas,” I joke, but the laughter dies in my throat when I risk a glance at her. Something about her casual acceptance is like a balm to my isolation.
“Here we go, liquid warmth.” I set down the espressos and slide one toward her. “It’s not much, but it’s got a kick like a mule.”
“Perfect.” She wraps her hands around the cup, and I catch myself staring at the contrast of her pale skin against the dark porcelain.
“Um,” I start, a stutter creeping in, “would you want to grab dinner later? My treat, to make up for the weather… and the chaos.”
Her smile widens, and she nods. “I’d like that, Gordy.”
“Great.” A weight lifts off my chest. The idea of dinner suddenly seems less daunting and more like the next chapter I’ve been waiting to write. “It’s a date. ”
“Looking forward to it.”
With those four words, my heart skips a beat, hopeful and terrified in equal measure.
I stand behind the counter, mind racing like a hamster on a wheel. Where do I take Alice for dinner? The Screaming Woods Diner ? Too casual. Marcel’s Mysterious Meats ? Too… adventurous. And how will I keep myself together enough to make it through an entire meal?
“Uh, so any preferences for dinner?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant as I avoid her gaze and fiddle with a book spine.
“Somewhere cozy,” she says, brushing a water droplet off her dress. “I’ve been traveling all day, and I could use a place that’s… inviting.”
“Cozy, right.” My brain does somersaults. Cozy is good. Cozy means less chance of me turning her into a stylish but very permanent statue.
“Maybe The Howling Crust ? It’s got this wood fire pizza that’s…” My voice trails off as my hands start to tremble. Great, putty mode activated .
“Sounds wonderful,” she replies, that same brave smile in place.
Okay, Gordon, you can do this. Don’t think about the snakes. Don’t think about your stony gaze. Just be normal.
“Great!” I manage not to trip over my tongue. That’s a win, right? “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Perfect.” She stands, her hair a damp halo around her pretty face. “Thanks again for the coffee and the dry-off. I should head off to find my apartment, I guess.”
“Anytime.” I mean it, too. If she wants to roll in here like a hurricane every day, who am I to stop her?
“See you at seven, then.” She hesitates for a moment before heading toward the door.
I fight the urge to escort her out. After all, one accidental touch could end this whole thing before it even starts.
“Looking forward to it,” I call after her, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
With the door closing behind her, I slump against the counter. Dinner. A date. With Alice. How am I supposed to eat with trembling hands and a heart that feels like it’s trying to break dance out of my damn chest?
“Get it together, Gordy,” I mutter to myself. “It’s just a date.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s not just anything. It’s everything.