Page 1 of Carver’s Craving

Chapter One

Carver

As I hustled down First Avenue, I nearly bumped into a tall, slender, good-looking man.

I stopped short.

And squinted.

Then I cleared my throat.

“Styx?” My tone was laced in disbelief because no way—absolutely no way—was Styx Smith walking on the street in Mission City, British Columbia. I didn’t believe in coincidences. I didn’t believe in fate. So I was completely incapable of explaining why I was looking at Styx.

Unless either I was hallucinating or I’d just found Styx’s doppelganger. Either of those options felt more realistic.

Except his mouth dropped open. “Carver? Like, really, Carver? What the hell are you doing here? How the hell are you? Why did you leave? Are you going back? I mean, I’m gone, but might you go back? Do you have family back there? I can’t remember. But still—”

I held up my hand to stop his…whatever that was. I didn’t do people. In fact, leaving my cabin was a rarity. Yet here I was—after visiting my bank in person to do a transaction I wasn’t comfortable doing over the phone or, God forbid, the internet. I was lucky they were open on Saturdays. “Uh…hello.” I rubbed my forehead. “I suppose I should ask you how you’re doing. Or why you’re in Mission City.”

Dickens, the proprietor of The Owl’s Nest bookstore, appeared beside us. “Oh, hey. Nice to see you again, Styx. And good to see you too, Carver.” He’d probably been standing there for a moment—but I was too fixated on the rock star I’d only ever seen in Southern Ontario. Styx was part of a life I thought I’d left four thousand clicks away.

Styx grinned. “Dickens! Hey, thanks for yesterday.”

Yesterday? How long has he been here?

“Everything work out?” Dickens, all blond hair, blue eyes, and super-cute, grinned. He had the same pale skin as Styx—a stark contrast to my own dark umber.

“Yep,” Styx rubbed his neck.

“And you’re still here? I thought you might’ve taken off by now.” Dickens, oddly, said this with the enthusiasm of a Labrador retriever puppy.

Way more animated than I was accustomed to seeing him. Well, unless he was with his husband, Spike.

“Still here.” Styx gazed up and down the street. “Just haven’t found a way to leave town yet. Plus, you know, Baxter might turn up.”

“Your friend, right?” Again, Dickens with the sunshine.

Baxter’s missing? That sounded odd, since Styx was never without his keyboardist. Styx was the guitarist and vocalist. Frank had been— Nope, not going there. Bad enough, I’m facing Styx. I can’t—

“Yeah. Me and Baxter have been friends since we were, like, five. I want to say his disappearing is weird—but it’s sort of not. I mean, he’s never abandoned me in a strange town before, but, uh—” He eyed me. “Things have been off for a while.”

Right. And that would be my fault. Well, sort of my fault. Okay…they decided it wasn’t my fault. But it had been my responsibility—which is almost worse.

I was about to apologize when Dickens gestured to Styx’s bag. “Are you still looking for a place to stay? The apartment above the store’s still available.”

“Maybe?” Styx hefted his clearly heavy bag.

I blinked. “You’re looking for a place to stay? In Mission City?” Again, I still didn’t know how he’d wound up here. Maybe he discovered I was here and followed me. Maybe he’s stalking me. Maybe he blames me for—

He shrugged. “I’m a little short on cash—”

Dickens waved him away. “The place is sitting empty. Look, you’ll want work too, right? Something short term? I have a friend—”

“Styx is staying with me.” Okay. What the actual fuck? Do you hear yourself? Still, I straightened my shoulders. “Old friends, and all.”

This time, Styx blinked.

I was surprised he wasn’t wearing sunglasses or something. He always wore sunglasses. And no guitar? I didn’t think I’d ever seen Styx with a bag and no instrument. He was a musician down to his bones. Something had clearly happened, and I had to suppress my curiosity,