Prologue
?
Lol, can you imagine?
Storm
A prologue? Written by me? When I can instead put prologue content in chapter one to trick the losers who don’t read prologues into readingallof the content intended to be consumed in this book?
I don’t know, man. Doesn’t sound like something I would do. Notme, Storm Sterling, total angel who never does anything sneaky ever ever ever at all ever.
Anyway.
Chapter one is a page turn away!
Love you byeeeeeee.
Chapter One
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Sarelia
Park benches at dusk are not as poetic as they once were. Park benches at dusk while I’m bawling, a strange man has just sat down next to me and offered up a handkerchief, though?
Still not poetic. Stop reading dark romances. They’re messing with your worldview.
“N-no, thank you.” I sniffle. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.” His British accent takes me off guard, and I accept the handkerchief by rote when he offers it again. “There you go, love. Wipe away your sorrows.”
Staring at the man, I clutch the fabric in my lap instead.
He sighs, pulls a second handkerchief from the pocket of his…
I blink against my tears.
“Are you wearing a Hawaiian shirt?”
He takes his second handkerchief and dabs at my cheeks as he answers, “Of course I am.”
“Of course,” I repeat in a shaky whisper. Because obviously the British man in the landlocked state of Kentucky would be wearing an impeccably tailored black Hawaiian shirt.
I squint at the blooms against his chest. “Are those vanilla flowers?”
“They are,” he confirms, gently guiding my hand up to my face to help me wipe away the wetness he can no longer get, because I’ve soaked through his spare hankie.
“Where–” I hiccup. “Where did you even get that?Whydid you even get that?”
The shirt isn’t ugly or anything, but… again. Kentucky. Landlocked. And, beyond that, not known for its tropical vacationing. We’re more mountains and woodlands type of relaxation. T-shirts and hiking boots, not Hawaiian shirts and flip flops, which he also wears at the end of his pale,palelegs.
He shifts on the bench, wiggling his shoulders. “Do you like it? I got it online as a retirement gift to myself. I’ve got one last work task, then I’m off to a beach. Any beach.”
“Oh?” I ask. “Retiring?”
He barely looks fifty, at a stretch. Which is just… wonderful. For him. To be able to retire at such a young age and it to be a happy enough occasion to warrant a fancy new shirt that he can wear to his fancy retirement on his fancy beach.
How. Absolutely. Wonderful.
