But I had to admit that I found Monty’s blabbering comforting. At least I always knew where I stood with him. I couldn’t imagine him ever thinking anything other than what he was saying.
There was only one thing that didn’t compute in my head.
What the hell made him so cheerful all the time? Because he clearly wasn’t as dense as I’d thought. How could he walk around the world, see the shit people did, understand it, and continue just being happy? I needed to figure that out. Maybe he had a miracle recipe I could copy.
I drank more beer and popped a few fries into my mouth when I noticed Jordy staring at us from behind the beer taps. He put one full glass on the counter, grabbed another, pulled on the lever, and expertly filled it, without taking his eyes off us.
This wasn’t how someone with the nickname Jordy was supposed to look. I would have expected a Jordy to be nerdy,maybe a little chubby, cute, and funny. Orson Jordan was none of those things.
A big part of the tough-guy impression he gave must have been the tattoos and piercings, but I was used to those. Most of the people I worked with had gone through enough procedures to keep an entire body-modification studio afloat. On Jordy, the jewelry and ink only enhanced what nature gave him, and the result was awe-inspiring.
The guy was nearly as tall as Monty, and on top of that, he had hypnotically dark eyes with a strange blueish glow that made you wonder if he could cast spells. His independently moving black eyebrows would make every classic movie villain jealous. He had a slight bump on top of his impressively sized nose—maybe a healed injury—and you could have cut yourself on his jawline. Wiry arms, wide shoulders, flat stomach, large hands, and long fingers. Freakishly long fingers. The way he handled those glasses…
When he cast all that intensity my way, I found myself squirming. Yeah, the omega in me liked that hunky bear, even when he was scowling.
“Why’s Jordy glaring at me?” I asked, trying to disperse the sudden tension in my gut. “Am I somehow screwing up his business?”
Monty craned his head to look at Jordy and waved, fluttering his fingers. Jordy turned away, muttering something we had no chance of hearing over the ruckus in the room.
“It’s not his business,” Monty said. “He works here, but I own the pub.”
I’d known that. The deal between those two was weird. Jordy lived at the B&B, possibly without paying rent, and ran the pub for him, but he often acted as if he was the boss.
“Besides, he’s not glaring at you,” Monty added. “He’s pissed at me.”
“Why?”
“He thought I was going to bother you.” Monty smiled, the embodiment of innocence and good-naturedness.
I squinted at him. “You almost did.”
He blinked with surprise. “Really?”
“But I’m feeling tolerant today.”
Hunter snickered. “You always have more luck than sense, Monty.”
5
LAUREL
I slept like shit. The heavy pub dinner didn’t help, but mostly it was the new bed and everything that had been going on. The things Monty had said about my supposed burnout or creative block or whatever bugged me more than they should have.
I was going to be a good boy today and make my therapist proud. I had a lazy morning, ate eggs and veggies Monty made for me, did some yoga in my room with the balcony door open, and took a long walk around town.
This time, I dressed for a chilly fall day in the mountains. Hiking pants, fleece hoodie, waterproof jacket, thin gloves, and my new, ultra comfy hiking boots. I’d forgone the sunglasses. Eyeing the locals in similar outfits, I felt like I might even fit in.
I passed the school, the library with a new wooden sign dangling above the door, and the town hall. All the buildings in Beauville were somehow chunkier than normal houses. Most of them were built from thick, round logs, and nothing stood taller than two stories. Every cottage looked squat and heavy, as if it was rooted in the ground the same way trees were. It was likewalking through a movie set or a cartoon, and I found myself smirking at the picturesque signs and little lanterns hanging on the walls.
Would you look at that?Beauville had a pharmacy.
I peeked inside through the picture window and realized I was staring straight into the intimacy aisle. A ginger omega with a round belly sticking out of his open jacket stood there, studying something on a white package. Before I could move away—because hey, not being weird, spying on people shopping for sex stuff—the omega spotted me and waved through the glass.
It was the guy from the town hall, the overactive one. Oliver…something.
The next second, the bell above the door dinged, and he burst onto the street, his coat flapping around him.
“Mr. Riley, hello! How are you? Great to have you in Beauville.”
