Chapter 1 #2
“Alright, well, I’m officially sending you on a mission to go hunt down a single and willing-to-mingle Christmas snow bunny. Scour that tiny little mountain town from top to bottom, Mia. And then casually over a coffee, or a hot cider, enquire if they’d quite like to bottom.”
“KATHERINE.” My scolding does no good. She’s semi-delirious on painkillers and giggles into the phone.
“We all know Mia’s just gonna go all hermit crab and hide in the nearest bookstore,” Sasha calls me out. Those damn head-chef observation skills are her superpower.
I make an unimpressed squawk of protest, but she’s absolutely right. From my parking spot, I can see the outline of a stack of books decorating the metalwork sign only fifty feet or so away.
“Books have never let me down.” With a huff, I start to stuff everything into my handbag.
No way am I leaving this gargantuan strap-on and assorted kinky toys on the seat for any passerby to get nosy and look in on.
Knowing my luck, I’d arrive back at my car to be promptly surrounded by the entire town serving disapproving judgmental glares—maybe even with their pitchforks at the ready—along with a trespass order against setting foot in this isolated little mountain village ever again.
“Text us once you get settled in,” Sasha hollers, being the practical one.
“Love you. Remember to keep your eyes peeled for holiday fling material,” Keri mumbles, sounding more groggy now.
“Love you, too.” I let out a wry laugh as I get out of my car and slam the door with my hip, using all my weight. Putting in that extra bit of effort that it requires to properly shut on the first try.
“Wait, wait… Don’t forget to wear the green dress tonight and shove your ta tas in someone’s face. You’re a sexy bitchhh,” she slurs a little more.
I’m a librarian with a chronic affliction for being alone, and I’m on a first-name basis with my local Vietnamese restaurant when I’m ordering pho for one, is what I am.
“Find a playmate for Christmas. I wanna know all the details of using your new presents.”
Rolling my eyes, I carefully pick my way across the patches of snow on the sidewalk. “The delusion is strong with you, my girl. Go nap off your pills. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Byeeeee.”
Hiking the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I hang up and then shrug deeper into my coat collar. The wind is bracing—an it’s about to snow any second motherfucker chill to the air—as I make my way toward the bookstore. The front door curling a finger in my direction and singing my name.
Because, of course, it does. I’ve forever been the girl who felt more at home in worlds of fantasy.
Always stumbling through life with my head in the clouds.
The little kid who went to bed every night with a flashlight hidden under the covers so she could read a little more in secret.
Who went to sleep wishing I’d wake up to find myself being spirited away by fairy princes, or whisked into the depths of the ocean by mermaids.
Probably why my Aunt’s family, who took me in after the accident, have always given me that look.
As if I’m some strange, confusing little oddity they can’t understand.
A charity project they’ve tried their best to fix up.
Puzzling in an alien way. Like everyone knows there’s something faulty with me, but can’t really be bothered to figure out what to do about the glitch in my wiring.
I just wish their opinions didn’t feel so true.
I really am the odd one out. The girl who loved to hide away with her nose in a book, when my cousins were cheerleading on the sidelines at every football match.
Barely scraping past five feet tall, with curves and thick thighs, instead of gliding through life, as blond and tanned as a runway model strutting Milan fashion week.
Getting sweaty palms and wanting to escape from crowds, rather than thriving off being the center of attention.
My aunt always gets this pinched expression on her face when she looks at me, even now as an adult, when we meet for an obligatory coffee a couple of times a year.
Her eyebrows zip together when she tilts her head to one side, mouth pursing, as she lets out a sigh.
One of those long-suffering sounds of displeasure.
Unspoken words hover in the air, even if she never actually says them.
What on earth am I supposed to do with you, Mia?
Why can’t you be more like your cousins?
Who would want to be with someone more interested in fictional characters than going out with friends on a Friday night?
So, I push my way inside the cute little bookstore, with a bell ringing above my head as I pass over the threshold. I take a deep hit of that scent of paper and printer ink and second-hand stories in search of a new home… and I feel like all is right in the world for a brief moment in time.
A raspy female voice calls out from somewhere hidden among the shelves.
“Take all the time you like browsing. Oh, and Margot, if that’s you, I’ve got your first editions with the step-back covers safely behind the counter, waiting for you.
Don’t go panicking on me now, I kept them aside just for you. ”
I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.
Not only a bookstore, but a well-stocked bookstore, it would seem.
There are a few sections of non-fiction, travel, the usual heavy hitters where thrillers and mystery are concerned…
and it’s as if the snowy-laden clouds overhead part, to beam down a smutty choir song and act as a glowing beacon.
A dedicated romance section fills the entire right-hand side of the store. Row after row. Shelf after shelf. I have to suppress a squeal of delight, determined not to lose my cool at finding such a treasure trove.
Maybe I can convince the owner to let me hide out here for the next couple of days? They’ve got a handwritten “help wanted” sign jauntily taped to the front window after all.
Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I snap a quick photo to send to Keri.
Me:
Found utopia.
Browsing quickly evolves into pulling titles off shelves with a growing stack to purchase. They’ve not only got just about every subgenre of romance, but my attention zeroes in on the true love of my adult reader life.
Horns. Knots. Razor-sharp teeth.
Monsters will always have my heart.
All those nights spent staying up long past my bedtime reading about enchanted forests, beasts, and things that lurk in the shadows have given me kinks I can’t deny. A gruff, growly, possessive creature with special skills? Give me as many as possible. Preferably all at the same time.
I’m officially in my element, lost to the thrill of plucking monster romances off the shelf as if they’re fancy-penis flavored candy, when a text pings in reply from Keri.
My brief moment of delight turns into a nightmare.
Keri:
Emergency.
S O MOTHERFUCKING S
Image attached.
At first, I assume it must be her painkillers working overtime, and my best friend is playing a prank on me. Then I see that she’s sent me a screenshot of an Instagram post.
Big flashy diamond ring.
Polished white teeth dazzling the camera.
A perfectly posed “she said yes” among the same snowy mountains I just saw right outside the door to this bookstore.
My ex-boyfriend. A tall, blond, yoga instructor-type on his arm. He’s the one taking a selfie of the two of them, unmistakably from the main street, only a few hundred feet from where I’m currently standing. From the place where I’m all alone, on Christmas, cuddling a stack of monster smut.
In the photo, the woman holds up a diamond on her finger that looks big enough to put a hole in the side of the Titanic.
Oh, and it was posted five minutes ago.
S O motherfucking S, indeed.
I don’t care about engagements or marriage or anything traditional in that sense of a relationship.
I truly don’t. But something about seeing him and her and the two of them like that truly blindsides me.
My brain does a quick calculation, trying to figure out how he could so quickly move on from ending things with me to now being engaged?
Isn’t that the type of life-changing decision that should take a year to make at the very least?
Not barely twelve weeks. Not in the space of three months.
Wait… as I look back at the image, blinking slowly, I realize she looks familiar. There’s a sickening flop in my stomach. They work together. I definitely remember seeing her in photos from somewhere. A conference in Florida wasn’t it?
My fingers go numb.
Of course. How much more of an idiot could I have been? The writing was on the wall this entire time, and I was willing to ignore it.
I was already well aware of his track record, wasn’t I?
Shuffling further between the shelves, I sink into the familiar smell of biblichor and peace that being surrounded by stacks of books always gives. With my back against the wall, I slump to the floor.
Maybe just bury me under an avalanche of smut, Universe? Is that too much to ask?
This would be a fitting penance for my own stupidity. A lovely little bow to wrap up my mistakes and shove them in my face. The irony of the two of them being here, in this same village, and of course, they had to go and get engaged while perched on top of this remote mountain.
Another message comes through. I don’t even want to look, but the masochist in me takes hold, and I do anyway.
Keri:
Fuck.
I’m so sorry, Mia.
You’ll never guess where they’re staying…
She sends a screenshot of an Instagram story from earlier today, showing them checking in to the very ranch where I’m due to be a guest. Just fucking peachy. White spots begin to float across my vision. Am I hyperventilating?
Squeezing my eyes closed, I let my head softly thud against the wall. Hell has nothing on my current situation. This is going to be worse than hell. This is going to be the Christmas of nightmares.
All eyes on poor, single, awkward Mia.
A throaty, masculine cough startles me from my pity party, ticket for one. So much so that I jolt, banging my head even harder this time, spilling my pile of books onto the floor with a yelp.
When my eyes pop open, I’m met with the sight of enormous boots, worn jeans, and an imposing figure looming close.
A deep, velvety voice rumbles over me, causing my jaw to almost hit the floor to join my books.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”