Page 16 of Home to the Hollow

Letting out a breath of relief, I smile despite the shittiness of my morning. A nice long chat with Saoirse is exactly what I the doctor ordered. I frown as my closest friend describes every little thing that’s happened since we spoke two weeks ago. We don’t get to talk as often as I’d like—my quest for F.B.I. acceptance and her high-profile career as personal seamstress to the wealthy often keep us from doing more than texting or swapping memes on social media.

“I’ve missed you, Seer. Where have you been?” Her tinkling laughter makes me smile, and I listen to her describe her antics at a party for a well-known movie star at Cannes. I met Saoirse when I was on assignment with a CEO’s daughter in Dublin, and we hit it off immediately. Hearing her voice makes me feel a little less like an outsider looking in, and I decide to forego the furniture for a little while longer while we chat. “Well, what did the Sultan’s son do when you dumped a bowl of fondue in his lap?”

“He said, ‘you’ll pay for that, peasant’ and I said, will I yea? Then the little shit threw a bloody fit and the entire party went minus craic in a flash. If you’d been there, you would have been up to 90, and we would have both ended up in jail again, Peanut.”

My nose wrinkles. Seer willneverlet me forget Thailand and when she hears what a monumental fuck up my move here has been, she’ll laugh until she busts a seam in whatever monstrosity she’s sewn herself into today. “Seer, you know I hate when you call me Peanut. Plus, you forgot the cardinal rule—if his net worth could buy my hometown’s GDP, we stayaway.”

“Y’can’t invoke the ‘if the family has sheikhs, the thighs don’t quake’ rule. I was off my head on ouzo, and my supposed date disappeared with some underwear model—and I don’t mean a lass.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, snickering. Saoirse has the rottenest taste in men I’ve ever seen. “Seer, you can’t toss all the rules in the bin just because I’m here and you got hammered. The rules are final—you know that.”

“Mow!” Hyde proclaims loudly.

“What the feck isthat?”

I sigh, looking around to see why he yelled. Squinting, I catch sight of the reason for his distress. When I see the man strolling towards the diner, I nearly drop my phone. Oh, I donotwant to face Edgar the escape artist before I even have my coffee. “Seer, I gotta go. There’s… uh, an issue. Talk soon!”

Clicking the phone off before she can answer, I jerk my head at the cats and scurry as quickly as I can towards my original destination. I push the door open, cringing at the loud jingling bell as our motley trio enters. Ducking around a corner, I peek out the window, watching the broad shoulders of the jackass who left me to deal with our mess alone stride down the opposite side of the street.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I saw him frown as he passes the Grant’s even though I know he can’t see me.

“Excuse me. I’m Zelda Amelie Grant, and I’d love to assist you if you need it.”

The voice catches me off guard, and I suck in a breath. “Oh, shit. Um…it’s okay, Mrs. Grant. I can… I can look around first.”

Her sharp gaze looks at me as if she’s going to flay my soul from my body. “Jolene Whitley,” she spits. Her tone is now disapproving, and the lines around her mouth are deeper. “What in the name of all that’s holy areyoudoing in my store?”

I blink in confusion. Her son, Dylan Marlowe Grant, married one of my high school tormentors, but he was a couple of years older than us. I have no idea why she’d react like this. Sherilynn never saw me as more than a speck of dirt on her Pradas, so I can’t imagine she’s relayed anything that would cause a random town maven to act like I just pissed on her carpet. “Uh… I’m looking for…furniture?”

Sniffing, Zelda looks me up and down, judging my platform Chucks, leggings, and zip up yoga sweater. “I’m certain that you won’t find anything here to suit your tastes.”

Did this bitch just tell me I’m too skanky to shop in her store?

Jekyll and Hyde rear back, their tails puffing as they snarl at her. Zelda lets out a squeak of fear, and I tilt my head at her. My instincts say that I can’t attack this old lady, but something inside of me wants to teach her a lesson. I’ve never felt the need to make someone submit so keenly as I do right this second.

A piercing whistle echoes off the walls, and my hands unclench from fists to cover my ears. Jekyll and Hyde immediately drop to the floor, their heads going into their paws. I’m sure with their animal hearings and large ears, they’re suffering even more than I am. The sound stops, and I turn to look at the source of the sound.

Standing in the doorway to the back of the store is yet another ass-clenchingly hot dude. He pulls his fingers from his plump lips, grinning as he stands there—shirtless, I might add—and looks at the commotion. “What in the seventh circle of Hades is going on? Zelda, you asked me to help evict the family of redbirds from your rafters, not calm wild kitties.”

The harpy in front of me blushes beet red, her bony hand fluttering at her collarbone. “Presley Hamilton! You are not dressed for receiving company—even if it is unwelcome visitors.”

My glare narrows and I look at the bitch who just insulted me asecondtime in two minutes while I’m trying to buy shit from her damned store. Hyde growls this time, and I touch his head, hoping he knows that means to chill. “I don’t know, Z. Looks like he’s dressed to be receiving something, but I doubt it’s what you’d like him to.”

His rich laugh skates over my skin as the Botoxed bat huffs loudly. She’s only two decades older than me, but I can promise you she was on the prowl like some fucked version of a cougar from TV. Kim Cattrall she ain’t, but that’s never stopped a washed-up Southern belle in the past.

“I’m Jolene Whitley. I moved back here a day or so ago. I needed some furniture to replace the stuff at my folks’, but…” I glance around, purposefully curling my lips in dissatisfaction. “… I can see that this is a little old school for my taste. I’ll let you get back to your bird removal, Mr. Hamilton.”

Sexy bird man arches a brow, his lips twitching at my word choice. “I apologize for my appearance, Jolene. Miss Zelda’s crawl space is a bit musty.”

“I’ll bet it is,” I mutter under my breath. Making a clicking sound, I look at Jekyll. “Are you ready to go, boys? I think we’ll need to look at more contemporary designs online. I don’t want to live in a museum.”

Zelda makes an affronted sound and I smile internally. That’ll teach her toPretty Womanme. I shoot the hot dude a wink, pretending to stroll out so he doesn’t notice my shuffling walk of shame. I’m out the door when I hear him call after me.

“Oh, and Jolene? It’s Dr. Hamilton.”

I keep walking until I’m out the door, carrying my yet again shredded dignity in hand as I curse under my breath.

Of fucking course it is.

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