Page 47 of Mountain Grump
A loud quack replies from somewhere outside.
Chapter 26
Ethan
Music plays from speakers overhead.Old-school hip-hop that I wouldn’t expect in a store like this. But the volume is low, and it’s somehow… welcoming.
Welcoming in an overwhelming sort of way.
Overwhelming in aI’ve never seen so much color in one placesort of way.
There are displays of paper in every color and pattern imaginable. Rows of paint. A wall of flowers—that must be fake but looks incredibly real.
Candles. Beads. Unpainted birdhouses.
It’s chaos.
It’s a mountain fairy’s dream.
I take a step farther into Which Crafts.
The store isn’t huge. Not a big-box chain store like I was imagining. But it’s not tiny. Rows of bookshelves create aisles, displaying items for sale. Origami birds and paper hot-air balloons hang from the ceiling.
And… I inhale. It smells…nice. Like cedar and roses.
I don’t know if adults buy other adults gift cards, but if they do, and if I ever have cause to buy Tilda a birthday present, it should be to this place.
Taking another step into the store, I wonder if that’s what I should do. Let her buy her own replacement ribbon.
But that’s not really a gift at all. Even if it meant that she’d be able to pick out her favorite, she’d have to drive all the way here to do it. And a forty-five-minute drive isn’t the end of the world, but it’s not convenient. And it makes a gift card feel more like a task than a present.
“Welcome,” a scratchy voice hails from deeper in the store. “Can I help you find something specific? Or are you browsing?”
The person sounds completely serious. Which is kind of them, since I couldn’t look more out of place in my filthy ranger uniform.
I move toward the voice, pressing my arms tight against my side as I maneuver between two displays of delicate stationary. “Yes, I’d like help. Please.”
I feel like I’m going to break something just by being here.
“What is it you’re looking for?” the person asks from my left as I’m turning right.
Careful not to bump into anything, I shift my attention to the left as I answer, “Ribbon.”
Except I don’t see anyone.
I glance to my right.
Still no one.
What the fuck?
“A specific kind?”
My head snaps back to the left, and my wildlife training is the only reason I don’t stumble when I spot a person standing not more than two feet in front of me.
I doubt they’re even five feet tall, but I don’t believe I missed them. They had to have been somewhere else.
I blink.
