Page 12 of Sleepless Beauty

I skulk as I plaster my back against a wall. Man, you sure can't escape the holiday feel around here!

'Nightmare Before Christmas', one of my favorite movies growing up, is playing in front of me on a large projector screen, orange and purple fairy lights are strung above us in a damn accurate gigantic spider web pattern and the air smells like everything I used to love and now loathe about this holiday.

The spicy scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and clover waft through the air from every direction, probably from the million and one pumpkin pies scattered on the tables covered to bursting with Halloween treats.

I shiver. Dammit, it's too fucking cold out here!

I wouldn't be surprised if we woke up with several inches of snow in the morning.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and try Adam's cell again. Zilch.

I fire him another quick text.

"Bro, you alive? You still at The Castle?"

No answer.

What in the actual fuck?

Shit, I love that big bastard, but for him to drag me to a fucking Halloween party supposedly as his wingman and then ditch me up here when he knows how very fucking much I hate the very thought of being here, is a new fucking low.

My conscience pricks at me.

Could something have happened to him?

A picture of my brother flashes through my brain and any fear fizzles out.

I'm a big motherfucker, but Adam is on a league of his own. The man is a behemoth with the training of a freaking ninja. I'm pretty sure they haven't unleashed Godzilla on our little unsuspecting town, so there's no way someone could ever harm him –unless one's counting that little bespectacled librarian that could crush him with a mere refusal.

I text again.

"Man, what the fuck! Where are you? Is everything okay?"

My phone finally beeps with a reply from him. Thank Fuck!

Adam:"I'm okay. TTYL."

What?

I'm about to ask what the fuck he's all about when my eyes catch a glimpse of something —someone— that cannot be here.

My jaw tenses, my heart goes from a calm staccato to a fast and furious rhythm.

It can't be…

It can't be her.

It's been seven years, but I haven't forgotten her looks.

How could I when her memory is branded into my fucking brain and soul?

The sky-blue eyes almost too large for her little face, the porcelain quality of her skin, the pale pink pouty lips, and that long wavy waterfall of golden hair that I've been dreaming of gripping in my fist as I make us one over and over again for far too long.

Aurora Roses.

Back in town and even dressed the fucking part, apparently.

I remember every single thing we talked about in that hospital room as I held her and I recall with perfect clarity the way she scrunched up her nose when I likened her name to that of the famous Disney princess that my little nieces loved so much, the way she liked being called 'Rory' better.

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