Chapter 2 #2
My sister doesn’t miss much. Even from our sporadic conversations, she noticed I had a tiny crush on Ryder Thomas when he first came to stay with me.
I mean, to be fair, who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and he writes my most favorite Otherkind romance novels in the whole world.
When we first met, I was genuinely a bit starstruck—and woefully tongue-tied.
I’m quite shy whenever I’m interested in someone, which is no doubt one reason I don’t have much luck in the romance department.
Ryder noticed my little crush pretty fast and let me down gently. I moved past it quickly, and we became close friends while he stayed at the B&B and prepared for the book tour he’s now on. Watching him find true love with Vash has been beautiful, but also a little heartbreaking.
I’m not holding on to lingering feelings or anything like that.
On the contrary, I’m delighted for my dear friend.
He and Vash are perfectly matched. But I can’t help but feel like the poor kid who doesn’t get picked to join a sports team and ends up all alone watching the others play from the sidelines.
With each passing year, it seems as though my dreams of finding a partner to share my life with are slowly slipping through my fingers.
Cue my sad little mental violin.
“Come home. I’ll find someone to set you up with,” Fern says, intruding on my thoughts.
“Fern Atwood,” I scold her sternly.
She huffs in irritation. “You’re so damn stubborn, Halcyon.” She pauses. “And more than a little strange.”
“Diversity in nature aids evolution,” I reply pertly.
She snorts. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m truly fine. Life here is even better than I could have imagined. I may not have found love yet, but I still hold on to hope that my time will come.”
Reading a lot of romance novels helps keep the dream alive.
To say I have a massive collection would be an understatement.
Ryder’s books feature prominently, of course, but I have a personal library that runs the gamut from literary classics like Pride and Prejudice to scandalous bodice rippers.
I read romances of all types because, for me, the pleasure is all about two—or sometimes more—people finding and experiencing true love.
“What about a matchmaking service? Is there one in town?”
I startle at her suggestion. “No, I’m afraid not.”
But wouldn’t that be a great idea? I should mention it to my new guest at the B&B, none other than the stunning dragon goddess, Astraea.
After all, she’s been using her magic to try and bring more potential mates to this and other Sanctuary Towns.
Maybe starting a more structured agency would help in her endeavors.
“How’s my nephew doing?” I ask, hastily redirecting the conversation.
To my relief, it works, and Fern spends the next couple of minutes updating me on the latest news about her two-year-old son.
When she’s winding down, I sense my opportunity. “It’s been so wonderful catching up, sis,” I offer cheerily, “but I’m afraid I need to let you go. Let’s talk again soon.”
Fern sighs once again. “Fine, my foolish little brother. I’ll let you off the hook for now. Don’t think I don’t know what you just did though, distracting me.”
I chuckle. “Love you too, my stubborn big sister.”
She grumbles something unintelligible in my ear and we hang up.
With a sigh of relief, I pocket my phone in my shopping apron.
For now, I’ve bought myself a temporary reprieve, but Fern isn’t going to give up on this issue.
Ever since she found her mate three years ago and had her first child, she’s been eager to reconnect and tries to convince me to return home every time she calls.
I think she’s gained a new appreciation for family and wants me to be more involved in their lives, as minimal as it would be.
But I’m not willing to give up my life here to return to a place that doesn’t feel like home and a family that has never really understood me.
Momentarily gloomy, I lumber down the toiletries aisle to continue my shopping.
The Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love” starts playing over the store’s audio system, and I hum to myself as I scan the shelves.
I’ve always appreciated how dedicated and true Robert Smith’s love for his wife is even now, decades after success first found him. His happier songs speak to me.
After I study the selection of personal hygiene products, I pick up a jumbo-sized bottle of Monster Mane shampoo. According to the label, it’s “suitable for all Otherkind hair types.”
Right as I’m about to put it in my basket, a rough, raspy voice with a Brooklyn accent warns, “Don’t even think about buying that crap, man.”
I whirl around, nearly dropping the shampoo and my basket in the process.
Standing there is a human man with his brow furrowed and a frown on his face that’s on the verge of becoming a scowl.
He’s wearing faded, ripped jeans and a worn leather jacket over a black Henley.
Size-wise, he’s much smaller than me—most people are—but under those clothes, his body appears to be slim but sturdy.
Colorful tattoos peek out from the collar of his shirt and wind up the right side of his neck to just below his sharp jawline.
His head is shaved along the sides, leaving an artfully messy swath of jet-black hair on top that matches dark eyeliner framing gorgeous but visibly haunted sea-green eyes.
For a second, I can’t breathe. By the Light, Robert Smith might be right. It’s Friday and I’m in love. That can’t be a coincidence, right?
I desperately try to not start hyperventilating.
The mystery man frowns. “You all right, pal?”
He’s devastatingly handsome, but it’s those sad eyes of his that draw me in. The pain I see reflected in them and the guarded, tense way he holds himself speak volumes. I don’t know who hurt him, but the very thought distresses me.
He gestures to the bottle in my hand. “That stuff’s total shit, man. Trust me, you don’t wanna use it.”
I stare at him unblinking, and my mouth won’t move.
Work, damn you! My brain screams at my tongue.
Still frowning, the man reaches out and yanks the bottle from my hand, pointing a finger at the label.
“See? It’s full of parabens and sulfates and fuck knows what else.
It’s murder on your hair.” He eyes me up and down, assessing.
“And you have amazing hair, I gotta tell you. Don’t ruin it with this garbage. ”
He’s wearing black nail polish. I never knew I’d find that so cute.
“You still with me, man?”
I shake off my daze and swallow hard as I finally register his compliment. “Uh… you know a lot… about shampoo.”
Smooth, Hal. Real smooth.
He laughs softly and points to his own spiky hair. “Well, yeah. Kind of goes with the territory.”
I tilt my head in question.
“I’m a hairdresser. It’s kinda my thing.” He shrugs.
My eyes widen. “Really? Do you happen to cut Otherkind hair?” I blurt out that last bit and immediately feel like a fool.
Ever since I moved to Mystic Hollow, I’ve found it difficult to locate a hairstylist in this area who’s familiar with sasquatch hair—and we have quite a lot of it.
All over. Getting a haircut is a more involved process for us.
These last few years, I’ve been forced to cut my own, but I’m not very skilled and some places on my body are hard to reach.
“I’ve cut hair for a couple of Otherkind before, but never a sasquatch.” He looks me up and down thoughtfully. “I’m game to try though. Those gorgeous locks of yours definitely deserve some tender loving care.”
My heart does a little somersault in my chest at his words, and I’m strangely weak in the knees all of a sudden.
Get a grip, Hal. He’s not flirting with you.
Sigh. Wishful thinking.
My would-be hair savior returns the bottle to the shelf with a shudder of distaste. In exchange, he picks up a fancy and far more expensive one that’s half the size.
“This should be safe for you to use, but with all that hair, you might wanna look into ordering online for bulk options. It’s more expensive but worth it.”
I reach out a trembling hand and take the bottle with as much reverence as if it were a red rose.
“Th-th-thank you,” I stutter awkwardly. “No one’s ever cared so much about my hair before.”
I never knew that sentiment would fill me with butterflies.
The man puts his hands in his back pockets and shrugs uncomfortably. “No problem. I’m not good at much, but hair I know like the back of my hand.”
I just met him, but it hurts to hear him talking down about himself. I fight back the urge to tell him he’s amazing and beautiful. Way to creep a poor guy out, Hal. Instead, I offer him my friendliest smile and ask, “Are you new in town?”
“You could say that. I came here looking for answers, I guess.” The haunted look in his eyes intensifies. “Gotta start fresh now that I’ve put out the dumpster fire that was my life not too long ago.”
Right now, I want very badly to hold this man in my arms and let him know he’s safe here. He looks like he needs a warm hug more than anyone I’ve met in a long time.
But I restrain myself and swallow hard once more. “If you need somewhere to stay while you’re in town, I run the B&B just off Main Street.” My cheeks warm and I reach out my hand. “I’m Hal Atwood, by the way.”
He studies my hand for a heartbeat and then slowly reaches out his own and shakes. His hand is much smaller than mine, but nice and warm.
He lets go far sooner than I want and takes a step back. “I’m Skylar. Thanks for the offer, Hal. Honestly, I’m kinda broke right now, so I was thinking about camping out on the beach. Do you know if that’s okay with the cops around here?”
A quiet ache stirs in my chest.
“It is, but it’s far too cold at night for that at this time of year. At least, not without proper gear. Do you have any?”
The way Skylar darts his gaze away answers my question.
The ache inside me intensifies. “You could stay with me, no charge. You can pay me back later.”