Chapter One
Milo
ThefirstthingInoticed about the woman was the way sunshine from the wall of windows gilded her hair with red and gold. It was a shade of dark brown that might’ve been unremarkable from across the ballroom if not for the way it gleamed in the light. Her head was all I could see at that moment, since the rest of her was blocked by a shifting sea of bodies.
The second thing I noticed was that she looked completely removed from everything going on around her.
Utterly alone.
Her gaze was focused downward at something in her hands, either her phone or the brightly colored paper displaying the Comic Con schedule—I’d caught glimpses of both as the crowd seethed between us, cosplayers and regular attendees interruptingmy inspection with every passing second. A big pink flower held a twist of hair back from her face, with the rest tumbling in loose curls over her shoulders.
“Milo, for the love of Valhalla, just go talk to her.”
My head jerked back toward my friend Olivia, who stood behind her table of fan art paintings and prints with her hands on her hips. Even though my comic shop, Dueling Dragons, was decorated with her artwork, I made it a point to purchase something at retail price when she was vending at an event.
It was the least I could do to support my best friend.
She finished cashing out a customer, then scowled as she pointed a purple-tipped finger in my direction and said, “Go. I appreciate your help during the rush, but now it’s time for you to go enjoy yourself, especially if it involves scoring with the rockabilly goddess you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes.”
Goddesswas the perfect word for the woman shimmering in the sunlight across the room.
Olivia and I had similar tastes in partners, so we’d each played wingman for the other more times than I could count—though usually I was the one running assistance and she was the one to score.
“Liv, I appreciate that, but I’m not here to pick up women.”
Her scathing expression was the only sign she’d heard me over the din echoing across the hall, but before she could reply, my phone vibrated in my hand and I glanced down to see an email from my landlord, Jim.
Sorry, Milo, but a bid for the space next to DD came in just before yours. If anything changes, I’ll let you know. One came in after, too, but you’re second in line.
I swore under my breath, fighting down a wave of disappointment.
Dueling Dragons wasn’t going to make me a millionaire, but business was steady. From comics to collectibles, board games to dice sets, the store carried something for everyone, especially as traditionally nerdy pastimes experienced a renaissance among younger generations. Online shopping bit into my margins, since I’d been too preoccupied with the actual store to get my website ready for ordering, but the residents of Spruce Hill were nothing if not loyal to our little town. If they could patronize a local shop instead of a big corporation, they usually did.
I had just enough space to run some very small event nights in the store, but after my nephew asked to have a birthday party there last summer, I’d started thinking about what I could do with an extra room or two.
The storefront next to Dueling Dragons was vacant for months thanks to some hidden damage from the previous tenant. It had been home to a cat cafe for just over a year before the owner abruptly moved to Boston. Apparently, one of the feline residents spent a good deal of time using a particular corner as a litter box. The resulting smell was bad enough that I waited—too long, unfortunately—before telling my landlordI’d take it.
I allowed myself a moment of perverse pleasure thinking about my new neighbor scrubbing the odor of ammonia from the carpet before realizing Olivia was talking to me.
“—then send her my way, got it?”
“Find your own goddess,” I muttered, but I lifted my hand in a wave as I turned to seek out the woman across the room.
She was gone.
Afewhourslater,Isat at a crowded bar in the hotel lobby, swirling the dregs of a Jack and Coke while I considered all the ways my weekend trip to Comic Con could possibly get worse.
It seemed to have hit rock bottom, but I wanted to brace myself just in case.
Loving the subject matter of the event never quite translated into appreciating the crush of bodies around me for so many hours a day. I considered attending at least one convention a year to be a necessity for my business, but the thought of another day of this made me want to leave right then, even if it meant driving an hour back to Spruce Hill in the darkness of a December night.
I sat there, nursing my drink and wondering if I could get my store website launched soon enough to make up forlosing the added square footage, when the soft swish of fabric alerted me to someone by my side.
“Is this seat taken?”
At the soft words, I turned and almost choked on my drink. The woman—my rockabilly goddess—regarded me with huge hazel eyes from mere inches away.
“No,” I replied, more forcefully than intended. When her lips parted in surprise, I continued quickly, “No, I mean, it’s all yours.”
