Page 61 of Ink Deep Devotion

It didn’t.

My stomach started to hurt because I ate too much, and that’s when I went to find her, but instead, I found her in a bathtub filled with her own blood.

I’ve never eaten a cookie since.

I look away from the gallery, trying to erase that memory.Running down the street, I catch a glimpse of reddish-golden hair attached to a female rushing to work.

That’s a pretty color—like molten gold, still gripped in a fiery furnace. The long tresses belong to a tall girl sprinting toward the small bookstore beside the art gallery.

I know everything about this town. The bookstore usually opens at 8 a.m., trying to stay ahead of its rival across the street. Toasted Beans, the local coffee shop, is where I usually sit and watch Mila as she hands over artwork and helps hang it in the gallery.

The coffee is decent, but the bookstore is famous for its hot caramel lattes—or so I’ve heard. I haven't been inside the bookstore because the vantage point doesn't allow me to see Mila.

The local bakery supplies cookies to the coffee shop and gallery owners. I know the old lady doesn’t bake her own cookies, but I won’t tell Mila about this harmless lie.

It’sthatkind of town, one that supports each other. It’s small, but like every aspect of the world, it has good and bad sections.

I glance at my watch. Hmmm, the bookstore usually opens at eight, but judging by the employee's mad dash, she’s the culprit.

The cold wind has me slipping my hands inside my jacket. I glance at Mila. Good. She looks happy as she points to where herpainting should hang. I wish I could keep that smile on her face. Fuck, Dash and his antics!

I’ll talk to him. Again.

I’m fucking tired of his bullshit.

I roll my eyes, but they land on the bookstore employee again. Nice ass, but wait, why is she dressed like that? Are those pajama pants? Flannel pants with a pattern of candy canes and Christmas trees fill my eyes.

The girl’s hands shake so badly from the cold she drops the keys, cursing as she tries to get them. Her jacket, if you could call it that, is full of tears and stains.

I never understood that fashion statement. Why bother putting a jacket on when it’s full of holes?

She drops the keys again and then hits the door in frustration. My feet are crossing the road as I prepare to get to the bottom of what’s going on.

“Come on! If you drop it again, you better buy a lotto ticket.” She babbles to herself, flicking her long hair back to reveal a face that has me pausing. It’s rare to see a woman without any makeup on, but here one is, living in the shivering flesh.

The only color on her cheeks comes from the first chill of winter, leaving them flushed. Like always, I was prepared for the cold front we got overnight. I even texted Mila to add another layer just in case she got a chill when we traveled.

My eyes look at her trembling hands. She’s freezing. That’s when I really look and note that her jacket wasn’t a fashion statement. She’s just…I look at her shoes, her torn socks that don’t match; one shoelace is a string, the kind you'd find on the end of a balloon; her fingernails, which are unpainted and chipped, and the inside of her palms, which are the hands ofsomeone who works. Vogue might call her a fashion statement, but the cold, hard truth is she’s poor.

However, she wears it with such confidence that it makes you want to give it a try, just for one second.

“You need help?”

She jumps, turning suddenly.“Oh shit. You’re here for a latte. I’m opening the store. I promise! I just,” she struggles with the key and finally gets it into the old lock.“Shit, I’m sorry. Oh shit! I shouldn’t say shit in front of a customer! Fuck.”

I snort a laugh,“You probably shouldn’t say fuck either.”

Her gaze rises, and a grin spreads across her face.“Don’t tell my boss.”

Fuck. She’s stunning. Not in a supermodel way; she’s not a size zero; she has curves and hips, a woman’s body. She’s the girl next door if I hadn’t grown up in a castle.

She has no idea she’s smiling up at a dragon. Her lack of sense angers me. I could be a serial killer, and she’s opening the door now, waving me inside with her. Alone.

I look left to right, then step inside, following her. No other employee is inside. Just me and her.

You can’t be that naive today.

It’s unsettling.

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