Page 8 of Unhinged Magic
This morning, I’d casually thrown his name into my conversation with Scar and got more out of her than I expected. It seemed Wesley’s flirty nature had earned him a reputation around town. I never liked to take words as gospel, but, so far, he had not made a great impression.
If he thought using the mate bond was how to come onto a girl, the guy needed his balls stuffed up his ass, and I would relish in the humor of watching him attempt to walk afterwards.
I spent the morning roaming the streets on my own, needing space to filter my thoughts into something more plausible. I valued my own company and felt it was entirely underrated. Sometimes life was so noisy I could barely hear myself breathe, much less think.
I found myself standing outside a small shop with the sign 'Revival' perched above it. As I stepped through the front entrance, I immediately warmed to the place.
It sold mainly antiques, but also had pre-loved items tucked away in the cluttered aisles. I soaked up its timber ambiance as it filtered through my nostrils, like each item had its own story it wanted to share with me. Warmth filled my soul. I loved this smell. It reminded me of the shed my father liked to tinker in when I was a child.
The timber floorboards groaned as I moved through the aisles between items arranged in a way that was a hoarder’s dream, yet a delight to walk through. I suddenly stopped short, my gaze climbing to where a collage of fabric lined the back wall, stacked one on top of the other. Running my finger down the piles nestled on the shelves, a sense of longing anchored in my heart. I gathered a bunch of fabric someone had stashed away, foldingit neatly again, repeating the process with the other few until all were neatly folded back in place.
I stepped back, admiring my work with a satisfied smile. It irritated me that people could be so careless.
Not far away, a large pane of glass separated this room and another. For a moment I imagined how perfect this shop would be to do upholstery, being able to create in the back room and sell on the shop floor. When I was young, my Uncle let me help him upholster my childhood rocking horse in new pioneer red leather and bronze studs. It fascinated me that such an old, well-worn piece could be given a new life for decades more. In my mind, everything deserved a second chance.
Upholstering became a creative outlet for me and I’d always dreamed of owning my own upholstery business. But my family had never been that way inclined, preferring the nine-to-five grind working for someone else. I had no idea where to start, and, as much as I hated to admit it, I lacked the confidence to ask. In short, it would never happen.
I lowered my knee to the ground, running my finger over a plain linen fabric that I wanted desperately to find a use for. Its neutral tone could easily find a home in any room, and I searched my mind for a use for it but came up blank. The smell of new fabric called to me like a siren, and I knew one day I would return with the perfect item to use it on.
Suddenly, a not-so-familiar scent drew my attention, and I turned to find Wesley staring down at me, his gaze lingering on the fabric in my hand.
Frowning, I huffed out an irritated sigh. “What are you doing here?”
Wesley towered over me, wearing a black, oversized hoodie and gray sweats. I never quite understood why women went on about sweatpants on a man. I mean, they were justpants. Swiftlyfolding the linen back into a neat pile, I placed it on the shelf, achingly aware of his watchful eye following my every move.
The corner of his mouth peaked ever so slightly, his foot shuffling against a floorboard. “Good morning to you, too.”
I rose to my feet. “It’s no longer morning,” I retorted, folding my arms around my waist. I knew for a fact it was noon, and he deserved all the lip after last night’s antics.
He lifted a brow. “A little touchy this morning, aren’t we?”
Ugh.
“I don’t have time for this, Wesley,” I lied. I had all the time in the world today. But he didn’t need to know that.
Darkness stole the light from his eyes, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “We need to talk.”
“So you follow mehere?”
“I could have come to your house…” His stare moved over me in a slow, deliberate crawl, causing my skin to come alive.
I held a hand in the air between us. “Please don’t.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
My insides sank. He really wanted to do thishere.
“I couldn’t,” I gritted out. It was the truth.
He stared me down, not believing me. I didn’t blame him. It was a shitty excuse.
He lowered his voice. “You left without even saying goodbye. Ty told me you went to some school.”
I stammered for words, not prepared to have this conversation rightnow. “I’m sorry, I...”
“Is this all a game to you?”
His accusation slammed into my chest. This was not a game to me. It never had been. How dare he accuse me of that after the shit he pulled last night?
