“That’s adorable,” I reply, jotting down the recipe to the Mapletown Mule in my notebook so I can refer to it later. “So that was one shot apple cider and one tablespoon of maple syrup? Or was it two tablespoons?”
“One shot, two tablespoons.” She delivers the drink to the shy gargoyle at the end of the bar. He’s been here for two hours and has barely spoken. Vyla told me he owns the bookstore, Tome Time, in the center of town.
Vyla must catch me eyeing him because she whispers, “Interested in Clark? He’sverygood in bed. Want me to put a good word in for you? We used to be neighbors.”
Panic dries up my throat as I say, “Oh, no. That’s not necessary.”
Her eyebrows lift at my quick dismissal. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” It’s not…right? Even if I didn’t pull away from Winston’s kiss earlier, it’s not like we’re dating. Technically, we can’t even go on a date, since he can't leave the grounds. We’re nothing. Just roommates who kissed.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on him, though. Can forty-somethings still have crushes? It feels like a term I’m much too old for, but what else would I call it?
Even before the kiss, I was thinking about him a lot––his lips, those strong hands, that deep rumbling voice. And fucking hell, that body of his. He doesn’t look like a bulky gym rat. His muscles look like they were built from manual labor, rescuing damsels in distress, that kind of thing. Lean, but expertly efficient. A boyish face with the body of aman.
“Oh, are you queer?” Vyla asks, pulling me out of Winston-filled haze. “I am too! Most of the town is pan, actually.”
“That’s so cool,” I tell her. “But no, I’m straight.”
“Aw,” she says with a sympathetic frown as she pats my shoulder, “sorry, babe.”
I laugh. “Yeah, thanks.”
She starts listing everyone in Mapletown that she’s had sex with, and whether she recommends them as sexual partners. At one point, Dominic takes a break from beer inventory to gentlyscold her for gossiping. Vyla brushes him off, and I half expect her to reveal she’s slept with him too once he’s out of earshot. She must read my expression because she shakes her head without me asking.
“I wish,” she says. “Him and his ex have been off and on for years. They’re off right now, but I haven’t seen him show an interest in anyone else.”
“Who’s his ex? Has he or she been in here yet?”
“No, she’s a succubus. You’ll probably meet her tonight, though. Whenever there’s a softball game, the winners come grab a drink here after.”
That doesn’t end up happening. Apparently, Dominic’s infamous ex plays for the team that lost tonight, and they don’t make an appearance. The winning team, however, piles into the bar covered in dirt and eager to celebrate their victory at quarter-to-six. The Big Bloomers are sponsored by the town florist, and according to Xavier, the burly werewolf who plays first base, they “crushed the Sweet Tsunami’s into motherfucking oblivion.”
“Wow, was it a shutout?” I ask him as I pour a dozen tequila shots for him and the rest of the team.
“Nah, they got a few runs in, but we blew ‘em out of the pahk. A grand slam and three homahs.”
His Boston accent is thicker than my waist, and it instantly calms my nerves. It reminds me of family gatherings with my mom’s side of the family on Cape Cod.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asks.
Xavier’s hazel eyes are kind as he watches me from behind his glasses. He’s got wavy reddish-brown hair that falls over his forehead, and a smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. The man is built like a tank, big and wide all over, with a softness to his middle that makes me think he’s an excellent hugger.
“Is it that obvious?”
He chuckles. “Very. Mostly because you’re human. We don’t get too many of you in Mapletown.”
I would guess he’s around my age, but werewolves might age slower. Vyla gave me a detailed rundown of the different monsters I might meet tonight, but there’s still a lot I don’t know about each species.
Scanning the bar, I see a wide range of them milling about, including vampires, satyrs, a Minotaur couple, a harpy, several gorgons, zombies, a gargoyle, and the rest appear to be human, which makes me think only a couple are actually human, and the rest are either witches or shifters.
No part of me is afraid, which might be because none of them seem to notice me. They’re minding their business, enjoying a drink after winning a softball game. Not one of them appears to want to eat me, so that’s good. Just regular folks looking to blow off some steam.
Xavier thanks me for the shots with a wink and carries the shot glasses in his giant hands as he walks gingerly to the booth near the front doors.
I notice the garnish tray is low, so I start cutting lime wedges before the next rush begins. Dominic calls me to the end of the bar a few minutes later, where a short woman in a crisp baby-blue pantsuit is sitting. Instead of heels, she’s opted for white sneakers, giving her an approachable, sensible vibe. She’s sipping a Guinness from a frosty pint glass as she wraps one of her long, black ringlet curls around her finger.
“Natalie Lambert, meet Mayor Emma Crane,” Dominic says with his winning smile. “Mayor Crane, this is our new bartender, Natalie.”
