Page 86 of Cherish

“I don’t— I can’t— What does that—” Eventually, Flint gives up trying to formulate a full thought and just throws his hands up in the air.

“Tell them, dude,” the guy says to Hudson. “You obviously get it.”

“I don’t know about worship.” Hudson puts his tongue firmly in his cheek. “But I am the president of the Hudson Vega fan club.”

“What the actual fuck?” Jaxon mutters under his breath once more.

The guy grins. “And here I thought that title went to my girlfriend. It’s why I’m here, in fact. Their collectibles are second to none.”

“Collectibles?” I repeat.

“Oh yeah. There’s, like, an entire aisle over that way.” He points toward the left side of the store.

“What theeverlastingfuck?” Jaxon says this time.

He starts to say something else, but I’m too busy heading in the direction the guy pointed to listen. I just hope I’ll be able to find what he’s talking—

I turn down an aisle and freeze. Because there isabsolutely no chanceof me missing the collectibles he’s referring to. No chance at all.

They take up the entire aisle.The entire aisle.

There are T-shirts with “Hudson Vega Forever” scrawled across them. Cups with “Bloody hell” written on them in red letters. Notebooks with his smirking face staring out from the cover. Kitchen towels with vampire fangs and a variety of Hudson’s favorite Britishisms embroidered on them. Statues—so many different kinds of statues that I lose count somewhere around the twelfth pose I find.

And, maybe most surprisingly, vials of dirt labeled “Authentic dirt from TAM farm, touched by Hudson Vega.”

Suddenly, that moment when Arnst ran out after dinner last night to chase away the dirt thieves makes so much more sense. As does his and Maroly’s evasiveness afterward. Those people were there to steal dirt that just might have possibly been touched by Hudson Vega.

And here I’ve been low-key worried that it was the hunters. This is so much better.

Not to mention, the question of where they got the statue of Hudson has also been answered. They didn’t have to have it specially cast after all—they just needed to walk into the closest souvenir shop.

My mind is boggled. Actually, it’s whatever word is beyond boggled. Because nowhere in my wildest fantasies could I possibly have imagined something like this happening—to Hudson or to anyone else for that matter.

Except maybe Harry Styles.

I glance at Hudson to see how he’s taking this latest development and find him staring at a statue of himself flexing his arm muscles up near his head with a truly horrified expression on his face.

When he sees me watching him, his face smooths out. But he gives another one of those British sniffs he’s so fond of and says, “I’m fairly certain I’ve never made that gesture in my life.”

“Don’t worry, babe. It looks to me like they’ve taken a lot of artistic license here.” To prove my point, I hold up a shot glass with directions for Hudson’s favorite “Bloody Cocktail” on it.

“I can’t drink anything in this beverage,” he says as he squints to read the tiny writing on the sides of the glass.

“Exactly.” I smile up at him. “I say forget about the inaccuracies of it all and just enjoy it. I mean, who else do you know who has a whole aisle devoted to souvenirs of himself?”

“Not to mention his very own fan club,” Macy teases, and for the first time in a long time, there’s an impish gleam in her eye. “I think we should join, Grace.”

“I completely agree,” I answer with a laugh. “I can spill all his secrets.”

Hudson rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

“This is my favorite,” Eden tells him, picking up a Hudson mask from the costume section and putting it over her face. “How do I look?”

“I’m in hell,” Jaxon opines to no one in particular as he stares in horror at the shelves. “In actual hell.”

“You’ll be okay.” Flint plops a snow hat that reads “I do it like Hudson” on top of his boyfriend’s head, then pulls out his camera. “Here, let’s take a selfie.”

I’ve never seen Jaxon move so fast in my life, and that’s saying something.

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