Page 29 of Home to the Hollow

Amusement flits over her caramel skin and she shakes a finger at me. “Now, Jolene. Just because people are wealthy doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy doing ‘normal’ things on their own occasionally. It’s good business sense to cater to their need for being ‘one of the little people’ and showing off for their other wealthy friends.”

I blink. She has me there. To that end, I could do craft classes with Dylan in his bookshop or teach yoga or self-defense classes in the park. The nearest gym is twenty minutes out of town if the traffic is good, and I’d bet most of them simply use Pelotons or something equally expensive in their homes instead of making the trip. All those things will expose me to gossip and chatter without having to interrogate, and no one would be the wiser.

Now I know why Nelia has been mayor since I was in high school—the woman is savvy as hell. She’s also possibly drinking from the ruddy Fountain of Youth, but that’s a puzzle for another day.

“That gives me great ideas, Nelia. I don’t need to charge much—money’s not the issue now—but it would help me re-acquaint myself with the town. I appreciate your input,” I reply.

“Well, Zareb and I have a few more stops to make before we need to be at Town Hall for meetings. Please contact me for that info, and anything else you need. Have a lovely day, Jolene.” The lion turns tail and heads into the front as she winks at my own companions, then exits in a trail of spicy perfume.

Looking down at Jekyll and Hyde, I whisper, “That was weird, right?”

“Mow!” they reply in unison.

“Yeah, super fucking weird. She showed up before I could find her, and she’s accompanied by a bloody lion. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any stranger…”

* * *

After I finishedup at the studio, I went to Atwater’s and loaded up on groceries. Going into town for meals or DoorDashing stuff is a short-term solution, and now that I’m living in a functional home like a real girl, I gotta start cooking again. I’ve been far too complacent with my routine since that stupid agent gave me the brush off. I didn’t spend my college years studying while on the bike and treadmill to go back to the body I hated as a teen. I’m not ‘skinny’; in fact, I’m definitely a mid-sized curvy woman and I’ve learned to love this shape without developing an eating disorder.

Plus, if I’m going to be banging that hot little vet on the regular, I need to be comfortable in my skin. Wolfie seemed to appreciate my curves, and even that jackwad Edgar didn’t act like the teenaged twit he used to be about my nakedness. I’m a straight eight in Europe, but they have different body standards than Americans do. I can’t help but get a little nervous when I remember the hurts in my past.

Okay. Enough moping.

I’m an adult now, and my high school shit needs to stay in the past where it belongs, even here. Besides, what am I doing acting like I’m going to hop on the Teddy train and take another blind ride? He’s on my shit list for the foreseeable future, and people are going to wag their tongues like puppies after word of my romp with the town vet gets around. I can’t start building a fucking harem.

Although, there are a few other sexy specimens floating around…

Oh my god, what is wrong with me?!!!

Saoirse would cackle her tits off at this line of thought, and she’d be right to do so. I’ve never successfully datedoneguy. My pathetic attempt after my weight loss in college ended in betrayal and a pain so deep that I started dating women when I moved to Paris for my first consulting job. They were hot, French, and didn’t mind my curves, which helped me heal from the destruction Trevor left in his wake. I’m pretty fluid with lovers—again, Thailand rears its head—and I had a grand time with the ladies for the first few months.

That’s how I met Saoirse—we hit it off at a bar, went to her place and discovered after one kiss that we were best friends, not lovers. She still threatens to wife me if I don’t eventually find someone serious. Neither of us believe in that sort of patriarchal BS, but the threat tickles me, nonetheless.

By the time we met up again in Germany a month later, I was simply picking whatever dessert I wanted from the cart and so was she, so we cavorted around Munich throughout my entire contract like wild women. I haven’t met any women who don’t look like they have a stick permanently wedged in their ass in the Hollow outside of Hazel and Nelia, so that option isn’t on the menu. It would simplify things immensely, I think, but also complicate them. I’ll reserve judgement on that for a time when it’s relevant.

Breaking out of my reverie, I look at my computer screen. Two hours ago, I brought the groceries home, peeled off my sweaty work clothes, and donned comfy stuff while I started knocking shit off my list. So far, I’ve emailed Nelia and Jackson, ordered most of my art materials for the studio, and cleared my Amazon list for home and office furnishings. I’m due a little physical activity before dinner.

I stand and stretch, walking to the hall closet to pull my yoga mat out. Plopping my Air Pods in my ears and my phone in the pocket on my thigh, I pad out through the kitchen towards the backyard. The landscaping here is immaculate—obviously a result of Gene and his boys keeping it over the years. Stepping onto the smooth concrete of the patio, I look out in the wide expanse, studying the direction of the sun as it sinks into the horizon. There’s room on the porch past the long table, chairs, and cooking setup, but I think I’d prefer to be closer to nature.

The grass is slightly damp as I walk out into the yard, flicking my mat out in an open space between the swings and fire pit my parents put in years ago and the patio setup. That circle of fire and air was theonemajor thing I asked my parents to give me that they didn’t fight me on. In fact, they loved the idea of a roaring fire pit in the autumn evenings with large comfy basket swings big enough for two placed around it. Sometimes, when my mom was home, we even sat out there together, reading in our swings by the waning light until it was too dark to see.

I’ll be damned. That memory came easier than any memory has recently. Maybe it’s because it’s so innocuous.

Shaking my head at the ridiculousness that is my psyche, I pull out my phone and turn on my patented ‘Bad Ass Bitch Mix’. I know it’s weird to do yoga to loud slammin’ tunes, but re-affirming my inner strength and my physical strength is what I’m after. Hence, I listen to a playlist full of women who aren’t here for men’s shit. With the week I’ve had, it can’t hurt to gather mycajonesand get tough.

I start intadasana,feeling my breath flow as I close my eyes. As the music pumps in my ears, I move throughuttanasanaand intoardha uttanasana. The stretch in my back after all the lifting, carrying, and fucking is marvelous. I pause for a moment, breathing through the muscles as they ache. Not doing yoga for a week was a mistake I won’t make again. I can’t even imagine what would happen if I’d driven to that gym I looked up to practice my Muy Thai.

The sounds of nature filter in past the headphones occasionally as I slide my hands down my calves, walking them forward until I’m in plank position. Holding it while the muscles in my abs tighten, I open my eyes, looking out at the sunset as I breathe.

Dipping tochaturanga, I hold again as my breath pushes in and out, and loud music fills my mind. My body goes to pure muscle memory as I curl my toes and push up tourdhva mukha svanasana, making my calves and hamstrings sing with the burn this time. By the time I switch toadho mukha svanasana, I’m really feeling my lack of commitment and the bloody sexcapades.

I’m gonna be sore AF when I go to bed. Maybe it’ll keep me from jumping the next hot dude that bats his lashes at me and uses an infuriating nickname.

Jumping back touttanasana, I stop to breathe again as I finish my sun salutation. I’m about to raise my arms and start myvirabhadrasanasequence when a loud screech followed by a small, more high-pitched call startles me. The birds are loud enough to cut through the pounding bass of Queen B, and I turn around, putting my hand up to my eyes to shield them as I face the brightest point of light coming from behind my house.

An enormous eagle—literally the biggest damned bird I’ve ever seen in flight—comes swooping down into my yard. It’s fucking beak is the size of a bloody bear's paw, and there isnomistaking that this is a predator bird. Where in the seventh circle of Lucifer’s whorehouse did thismonstercome from? Is this one of the townspeople’s crazy-ass companions? After meeting Zareb, I wouldn’t put it past that old bitch Zelda to send her man-eating eagle after me.

Eyeing the bird carefully, I bend to pick my phone up, making certain that I don’t make any sudden movements. Jekyll and Hyde are in the house, and for once, I’m glad they aren’t here to mix it up with something that’s spooking me. This bird has talons that look like it can kidnapchildren. I sure as hell don’t like their chances if they start shit with it.

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