And then there’s Lilith’s Garden—wedged between a candle shop and a yarn store like a gothic fever dream that refuses to tone it down.
Eve, naturally, took one look at the town’s softer color palette and said, fuck that—which explains the dark pink exterior and bold black trim. It doesn’t exactly blend in, but I’ve learned in my three weeks here that as long as you don’t bother anyone, you can get away with just about anything.
I swerve down a side street and pull into the narrow lot tucked behind the converted townhomes.
Shit. Eve’s already here, and that obnoxious orange “Open” sign is flickering even though we’re not open yet.
Overachiever.
I stumble out of the car, shoes sliding on loose gravel as I slam the door open with way more force than necessary.
Eve’s behind the counter, casually checking her watch, while I’m doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping for air.
“Girl. Fifteen minutes late again. I’d ask what’s going on with you, but let’s be real, you’ve always been like this. Now, if you told me you got lost in a man last night instead of a book, I might consider letting it slide.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I just saw the back of my skull.
“E, please. If I so much as breathe in a man’s direction, you’d be the first to know,” I mutter as I walk behind the counter to put my bag away.
I’ve tried dating. I really have.
But my last attempt—a few years back—was a goddamn train wreck.
The guy showed up ten minutes late, reeked of cheap body spray, and spent the entire meal explaining cryptocurrency to me like I was a toddler. When I finally got a word in, he interrupted to tell me he “prefers girls who don’t talk so much.”
So, yeah, I noped out of that bullshit ever since.
Romance is dead, and magic only exists in books.
Excuse me if I’m not rushing to let some mediocre dude fumble his way through disappointing me in bed. If I’m dumb enough to believe there’s more, that’s on me.
I want something that scorches. Something thathurts.
But somehow, I keep ending up with someone who couldn’t light a fire with dry wood and an entire fucking can of kerosene.
I’m already burning. Modern men—the Chads, the Jakes, the ones who think vulnerability is a venereal disease? They flinch at the flame.
Let them.
I’m not shrinking myself for some limp-dicked loser who gets intimidated when a woman breathes too loud.
I don’t guard my virginity like it’s some sacred relic. The whole purity myth is just patriarchal bullshit laced with misogyny and topped with virtue-signaling. Hard pass. And I’m sure as hell not handing over my first time to some beige-ass man who thinks foreplay starts and ends with his ego.
Thank Lilith’s left tit for the adult store down the road. I’m not getting laid anytime soon, but at least my vibrator knows where my clit is.
“Aury, all I’m saying is you need to get laid. There’s no shortage of burly, big-dicked mountain men around here, and I’m sure a few of them would gladly offer their services. Hell, I’ve got a couple on standby myself. I’m not opposed to sharing.”
Eve grabs her phone, muttering to herself as she scrolls through her contacts.
“No, no, no. I love that you know exactly what you want, but I’ve never been good at casual. I want something that leaves a mark. Something that sees me, touches me, and doesn’t flinch. Which has obviously gone great for me so far. I just … I want the romance and obsession of Elle Thorpe and the carnal magic of Opal Reyne. Is that too much to ask?”
With a sigh, I tug on my apron and glance around the shop, scanning desperately for any excuse to dodge Eve’s questions.
“You gotta get your head out of those books and spend some time in reality. I get the appeal of fiction, but real life isn’t like those romantic novels. I know someday you’ll find the magic you’re looking for—you’re that pigheaded and stubborn—but it’s okay to indulge a Mr. Good-for-Right-Now. It doesn’t ruin you for Mr. Forever.”
Eve looks at me with large, icy blue eyes, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
I fucking love this woman.
