Page 7 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

“Oh, yeah. The gargoyle, right?”

“Yeah. They’re a perfect match. I’m happy for them.”

My sister doesn’t miss much. Even from our sporadic conversations, she noticed I had a tiny crush on Ryder Thomas when he first came to stay with me. I mean, to be fair, who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and he writes my most favorite Otherkind romance novels in the whole world. When we first met, I was genuinely a bit starstruck—and woefully tongue-tied. I’m quite shy whenever I’m interested in someone, which is no doubt one reason I don’t have much luck in the romance department.

Ryder noticed my little crush pretty fast and let me down gently. I moved past it quickly, and we became close friends while he stayed at the B&B and prepared for the book tour he’s now on. Watching him find true love with Vash has been beautiful, but also a little heartbreaking.

I’m not holding on to lingering feelings or anything like that. On the contrary, I’m delighted for my dear friend. He and Vash are perfectly matched. But I can’t help but feel like the poor kid who doesn’t get picked to join a sports team and ends up all alone watching the others play from the sidelines. With each passing year, it seems as though my dreams of finding a partner to share my life with are slowly slipping through my fingers.

Cue my sad little mental violin.

“Come home. I’ll find someone to set you up with,” Fern says, intruding on my thoughts.

“Fern Atwood,” I scold her sternly.

She huffs in irritation. “You’re so damn stubborn, Halcyon.” She pauses. “And more than a little strange.”

“Diversity in nature aids evolution,” I reply pertly.

She snorts. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m truly fine. Life here is even better than I could have imagined. I may not have found love yet, but I still hold on to hope that my time will come.”

Reading a lot of romance novels helps keep the dream alive. To say I have a massive collection would be an understatement. Ryder’s books feature prominently, of course, but I have a personal library that runs the gamut from literary classics like Pride and Prejudice to scandalous bodice rippers. I read romances of all types because, for me, the pleasure is all about two—or sometimes more—people finding and experiencing true love.

“What about a matchmaking service? Is there one in town?”

I startle at her suggestion. “No, I’m afraid not.”

But wouldn’t that be a great idea? I should mention it to my new guest at the B&B, none other than the stunning dragon goddess, Astraea. After all, she’s been using her magic to try and bring more potential mates to this and other Sanctuary Towns. Maybe starting a more structured agency would help in her endeavors.

“How’s my nephew doing?” I ask, hastily redirecting the conversation.

To my relief, it works, and Fern spends the next couple of minutes updating me on the latest news about her two-year-old son.

When she’s winding down, I sense my opportunity. “It’s been so wonderful catching up, sis,” I offer cheerily, “but I’m afraid I need to let you go. Let’s talk again soon.”

Fern sighs once again. “Fine, my foolish little brother. I’ll let you off the hook for now. Don’t think I don’t know what you just did though, distracting me.”

I chuckle. “Love you too, my stubborn big sister.”

She grumbles something unintelligible in my ear and we hang up.

With a sigh of relief, I pocket my phone in my shopping apron. For now, I’ve bought myself a temporary reprieve, but Fern isn’t going to give up on this issue. Ever since she found her mate three years ago and had her first child, she’s been eager to reconnect and tries to convince me to return home every time she calls. I think she’s gained a new appreciation for family and wants me to be more involved in their lives, as minimal as it would be.

But I’m not willing to give up my life here to return to a place that doesn’t feel like home and a family that has never really understood me.

Momentarily gloomy, I lumber down the toiletries aisle to continue my shopping. The Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love” starts playing over the store’s audio system, and I hum to myself as I scan the shelves. I’ve always appreciated how dedicated and true Robert Smith’s love for his wife is even now, decades after success first found him. His happier songs speak to me.

After I study the selection of personal hygiene products, I pick up a jumbo-sized bottle of Monster Mane shampoo. According to the label, it’s “suitable for all Otherkind hair types.”

Right as I’m about to put it in my basket, a rough, raspy voice with a Brooklyn accent warns, “Don’t even think about buying that crap, man.”

I whirl around, nearly dropping the shampoo and my basket in the process.

Standing there is a human man with his brow furrowed and a frown on his face that’s on the verge of becoming a scowl. He’s wearing faded, ripped jeans and a worn leather jacket over a black Henley. Size-wise, he’s much smaller than me—most people are—but under those clothes, his body appears to be slim but sturdy. Colorful tattoos peek out from the collar of his shirt and wind up the right side of his neck to just below his sharp jawline. His head is shaved along the sides, leaving an artfully messy swath of jet-black hair on top that matches dark eyeliner framing gorgeous but visibly haunted sea-green eyes.

For a second, I can’t breathe. By the Light, Robert Smith might be right. It’s Friday and I’m in love. That can’t be a coincidence, right?