Page 39 of Star-Crossed
“You guys heard about the new bakery that’s opening up in town?” Ethan, who had probably never eaten a baked good on purpose, asked.
“Oh yeah?” Marty said.
But Cy was already tuning them out again. His gaze had drifted across the lawn, where, at the edge of the garden, Lyra stood talking to a tall, broad-shouldered figure.
Cy squinted against the setting sun, trying to make out who it was. A flash of hair the color a fox pelt, and the recognition was instant and unwelcome.
Dr. McMuscleBro—or so Cy had nicknamed him in his darker moments—Townsend Harbor’s new veterinarian.
He leaned in to say something to Lyra, cupping her elbow in his large—probably manicured—paw.
When Lyra’s jagged laugh echoed across the lawn, it occurred to Cy how difficult the good doctor might find it to stitch up patients with a hand that had gone through a woodchipper.
His fingers tightened into fists at his sides as the question that had haunted him earlier returned for a second pass.
What kind of dick did that make him?
A jealous one.
The realization brought with it a caustic brew he hadn’t imbibed since he’d been little more than a boy grieving for his mom, seeing every other family in their perfect town seemingly living the perfect life while his own went to shit. Which made him want to smash everything else.
Starting with Dr. McMuscleBro’s perfect nose.
Cy wanted to run over there and shove the smug motherfucker away from her. Spout some dumb macho shit about staying away from his girl.
But Cy was no longer that kid, and Lyra was not, had never been,hisgirl. He was an adult now, not a walking hormone with no more control over his own feelings than he had over his dick.
So why the fuck was this all coming back?
The answer came to him on a breeze that somehow, inexplicably, carried a burst of her scent all the way across the field.
And damned if she didn’t turn to look at him the very second the burst of her essence lit up his brain like a Christmas tree.
“You okay, buddy?” Ethan asked.
“Uh, yeah. Just sore,” Cy replied, forcing a smile and dragging his gaze away from the infuriating scene unfolding before him. “Think I better call it a day, actually.”
He and Ethan traded a meaningful look. “Take care, man.”
“Will do,” Cy said with a nod, then turned to his father. “Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight, son,” Marty replied, a sincere smile replacing his earlier joking demeanor.
And with that, Cy trudged away, his heart heavy with a maelstrom of emotions he had no desire to confront and his mind vibrating with a single, solid thought.
He needed to stay the fuck away from Lyra McKendrick before the chemistry they both were obviously completely incapable of controlling caused an explosion that burned them both.
EIGHT
Sabbat or Esbat
A FRENETIC PAGAN CELEBRATION OF THE FULL MOON OR OTHER HOLY DAYS
“Uh-oh,”Lyra said as she flipped over a card and laid it on the silk-covered folding table with the gravitas of a Vegas dealer. “The tower card.”
Checking the shop’s wall clock, she barely stopped herself from counting the seconds. Business had been booming the couple of weeks before Halloween, and she’d closed up every night at six, exhausted.
It was now six-oh-five, and stragglers were not fucking off as quickly as she’d like.
