Page 1 of Not Like The Other Girls

CHAPTER 1: DARKINDEEP EBONYNGREY WOLFMANE RIDGE-CLIFF CAFE

It is an awfully hot day, even in early winter, at the cute little small town with a very unconventional name, Darkindeep Ebonyngrey Wolfmane Ridge-Cliff. And although the weather is already hot, the citizens of this town are even hotter.

The whole population of seven thousand and thirty-eight is a whole smoke show.

Especially our dear main character, Lily Lylahna Lynnica, who is totally not like the other girls.

She may be a plainly dressed girl with a messy bun of curly red hair and a thrifted oversized hoodie, but she has the cutest freckles and the most stunning green eyes. Simply catching the sight of her magnetic emerald orbs (at times also called viridian, jade, or even teal, depending on the lighting of the room) could make a guy fall in love.

So don’t let your homeboy see her. Protect him from her witchcraft at all costs.

Now, the secretly beautiful Lily Lilyanne Leannalah stands all by herself at the mahogany cashier kiosk that has seen better days, as she is, again, different from the other girls and has no friend in the world except for her ancient cat Daisy. Which had actually given up and died a few years ago too. But she is completely content with only herself. Reading, eating, baking, playing, all with herself.

What a weird way of wording things; totally intentional, though.

The soft smell of coffee wafts through the room as the barista-girl starts brewing black cocoa beans in an old, rusty bronze kettle. How nostalgic. And be sure to take a preventive tetanus shot if you ever drink anything from that cursed thing. It can’t be safe.

The door slowly creaks open, signaling the arrival of the first customer of the day. Chills run down her spine as our main character hears heavy footsteps coming her way and the broad shoulders of a suited figure crowd the doorframe. She could feel the radiating aura even from behind the cashier.

Like, is he radioactive or something?

She smells his scent from afar, clearly a rich man’s. Because, of course, the golden rule is that the love interest who rescues the poor—both literally and figuratively—girl from poverty must be an extraordinarily wealthy man, either via an inheritance, illegal activities, or by being a self-made man. Or all of these combined. In all the three thousand rom-coms and fan-fictions we have come across, have we ever seen a leading male character who is, frankly, broke?

Nope.

Anyway, he smells like sandalwood, sea salt and cinnamon. It is as if the man had taken great pains to chew heaps of sandals and chopped wood just to smell like that for her. Apparently, he also consumed such a large amount of sea salt that it would have given a normal man kidney failure just so he would smell nice. And he also overdosed on cinnamon just so he could smell like a Cinnabon bun.

And yes, this all makes no sense.

“Hello, and welcome to the Darkindeep Ebonyngrey Wolfmane Ridge-Cliff Cafe,” says Lily Lydia Lindana, “what can I get you?”

Of course the coffeeshop’s name sounds like a Lana Del Rey song title. But some background information would tell you that it is actually named after the town, which is in turn named after the main male character’s family.

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers deep. The most expensive one you have.” He recites his generic rich guy lines dryly.

Lily-girl rolls her eyes. “Sorry, sir, but this is a small-town coffee shop close to bankruptcy. And we don’t sell alcohol so close to college areas.”

The mystery man grumbles, a deep rumble in his throat.

“A cup of black coffee, of course,” he then says, like the overly confident, arrogant CEO he is. “And no sugar, please.”

Then we cue in the classic line that says he looks up, his dark gaze meeting hers.

Outwardly, our Lily Lilynique Lilacka-Barista is totally unfazed by the charm of bitchy bro, crinkling her nose in disgust at the words and scoffing. “Sure, buddy. What’s your name again?”

But inside, her organs have all liquefied into a puddle of chocolate. Just from hearing his commanding, stern voice.

Like, just why, girl?

The bitchy bro, as he is over seven feet tall, bends his head to get a proper look at the petite pixie girl, a tiny little ant compared to him, the towering anthill. His mouth pinches into a thin line, as if he is somehow angered by her mere existence, yet underneath the stern countenance, he is dying inside, laughing at how weird her accent is.

Wait, no.

Wrong line.

Her accent is perfectly the perfection of perfected perfect.

Inside, he is secretly fascinated by the courage and confidence of the girl who just dared to talk to him like a normal person. In his head, most women only approach him to flirt, while others are too intimidated by his ninety thousand five hundred aura points.