Page 17 of Home to the Hollow

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After that clusterfuck,I decide that I’m not going to attempt clothes shopping until I acquire another cup of coffee. It’s a risk—the diner is a favorite spot of those from Town Hall and the courthouse, so I could conceivably run into Mr. Dine and Dash—but my caffeine addiction wins against my irritation.

Walking down the street, I look at the shops with a keen eye, muddling out the provenance since they will essentially be my neighbors. Grant Home Furnishings is at the far end of Main Street, closer to the schools and Atwater’s. Next, the professional offices like Hamilton Clinic, Fletcher Veterinary, and theHollow Hollarfill wide spaces.

I peek into the window of the paper, unsure who might run it now. My eyes fall on the unmistakable face of Amy Matilda Behle at a desk in the back and I hot foot it away quickly. That’s not a bridge I want to cross this soon, either. Looking across the street, I see Derby Pies (the pizza joint), Tame Your Mane (the salon), and Bound Together (the bookstore).

I’m not sure why all the people here feel like their niche stores need corny names, but I can promise you, I’m sticking with Whitley Gallery. I don’t need to brand myself a small-town rube, thank you very much.

Passing the Happy Happy Toy Toy, the Star-Spangled Bank, Close Encounters of the Baked Kind, Bottles ‘N Cans—which I shit you not—has an image of clapping hands in the logo. I wonder if they made weed legal in this state. I didn’t pay attention while I was busy staying as far away from the Hollow as I could, but it would sure as hell explain the naming scheme here.

I stop blinking as I hit the florist.

There’s no bloody way.

Ihaveto have breathed in varnish at that stupid old crone’s store.

The fucking florist’s shop is named Wild Astor Plants—with the first letters twice the size of the rest of the words. There isno waythat’s a design error.

A chuckle sounds behind me, and I’m too stunned to even react.

“Yeah, I told Doyle that updating all these store names to trendy stuff isn’t going to make us go viral or anything, but he never listens.”

Arching a brow, I turn, and my jaw drops.

Is the Universe actively trying to make me lose my shit?

The dude standing behind me is another fucking supermodel. He’s the picture of a Latin lover with his dark hair and olive skin, and as if that wasn’t enough, he has the most unique eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re deep black, ringed with brilliant white and I wonder if that’s some genetic thing or if he’s just wearing SFX contacts. The effect is shiver worthy, and I blink at him like an idiot as I stare into them.

“Um, well. I… mean…”

New hot guy laughs and tilts his head. “It’s a genetic thing. The eyes, I mean. I know it’s shocking at first…”

My face heats and I know I must be beet red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just…”

“No worries. I’m used to it.”

I try to regain some composure as I turn back to the storefront. “Do the owners have any idea what he’s gotten them into?”

“No,” he rumbles. “They haven’t a clue. This town is very sheltered from the outside world, and well, Doyle has a mischievous streak a mile wide. I think it amuses him that they don’t get the jokes.”

Frowning, I waffle over whether that’s funny—because a lot of these people have enormous sticks up their asses—or mean.

“It’s funny, trust me. At least, it is until they figure it out, and then it’ll be a headache for Nelia.”

“How did you—never mind.” I shake my head, unwilling to ask if I got caught thinking out loud again. I already look like an idiot. “Well, good luck to him when it lands on her desk. She’s not one to take excuses. At least, she never was when I was growing up.”

Gorgeous eye guy tilts his head and gives me a small smile. “You’re the girl who just moved back, right? The one teaching art and opening a gallery?”

I nod, gesturing in the direction of the space that will hold the gallery. “That’s me. I’m Jolene Whitley. And you are….?”

“Hugo. I teach history,” he says, suddenly looking off into space as if he heard something.

Shit. Am I that boring? Did pretty eyes just space out before I could even finish introducing myself? That’s it. I’m zero for five in the smoking hot dude department. Even the Bengals wouldn’t draft me and that’s saying something.

“Jolene, I apologize for my rudeness, but I must hurry. Please come see me once you get settled and I’ll fill you in on the staff.” He gives me a smile, acting like he didn’t just pluck one of my biggest worries out of thin air, and hurries down the street towards Atwater’s.

I watch him go, speechless for the ten millionth time since I arrived in my hometown.

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