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The cleaner waves me off with a grumble and I abandon the catwalk moves for now, instead making my way down to the hotel lobby via my regular gait.
It’s my first time in Green Haven and, like every place I visit, I’m eager to see what this town has to offer. And it seems the town's very eager to show me.
I pull out my phone, double checking the email I got from the fashion show organizer earlier that day.
Welcome to Green Haven!
Since the event isn't for a couple of days, we thought you might like to get to know the town a little bit in the meantime. I recommend the hotel bar to start with – they make a mean whisky sour! Then the duck pond in the park, then the yacht club!
If you tell them all Glenda sent you, you’ll get special treatment. Except maybe at the duck pond, those ducks don’t care for name dropping.
I chuckle to myself at that last line. This town, it seems, is nothing if not quaint and even though I’ve probably seen a dozen towns just like it this year alone, I’m always happy to explore a new place. Besides, my photographer’s eye is always hungry for interesting locations to shoot in.
I make my way over to the bar, since it’s already nearing evening, figuring I’ll swing by the duck pond tomorrow instead. Maybe I’ll even stop by the grocery store on the way and pack myself a picnic lunch. The yacht club intrigues me too and I decide I’ll head there for dinner after sampling these famous whisky sours.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as I approach the bar.
“I’ll have a whisky sour, thanks. And Glenda said to mention her name,” I venture, wondering what kind of special treatment that might get me. The bartender is cute and my mind starts to wander.
“Oh, you must be Bradford, then!” she replies with a broad smile. “So you’re here for Green Haven Green Earth?” she asks, referencing the eco-charity event I’ll be working in a few days.
“That’s right,” I reply with a smile. This town is the third stop on a long list of small town events my PR agent set up for me.
Though Green Haven isn’t as odd as Curiosity was, the little town I just left. Their mayor was a gorgon and I was forced to work with a witch and a werewolf. I’m no stranger to the paranormal after I went to boarding school with me, but Curiosity was…more than I was expecting.
“Well then, the first drink is on the house,” she tells me, still grinning widely.
“That’s very kind of you…?” I trail off, waiting for her to tell me her name.
“Katie,” she says, grabbing a whisky bottle with one hand and a tumbler with the other.
“Katie,” I repeat, looking intentionally into her eyes. “Well, Katie, it’s a pleasure.”
I watch as her cheeks turn slightly pink, and she glances away from my gaze, a little flustered. It’s endearing and I've decided I already like this town.
But as Katie busies herself preparing my drink, I pass my gaze over the room. I want to give her enough space to decide if she wants to flirt back or not. The bar is already bustling, with more patrons coming in the door. Several other bartenders are behind the bar as well, serving up drinks. I get the feeling Katie won’t have much time to talk anyway, but maybe I’ll just slip her my number.
I’m about to reach into my pocket for a card when something through the crowd catches my eye. A shock of red hair against green skin.
It can’t be, I think, trying my best to stay hidden at the same time as straining to see. I can’t tell if I want to go running up to the orc, or running away, but first I have to figure out if it’s him or not.
Suddenly another bar-goer steps out of the way and I see him. Ragnar.
My heart immediately feels as if it’s forgotten what it’s supposed to do, along with my lungs. I’m frozen, staring through the crowd, knowing that if he turns, he’ll see me and I’ll have no other choice than to face the first man I ever loved, but who couldn’t admit he loved me back.
I can’t turn away though, my eyes locked on that thick mane of red hair, those broad, muscular shoulders, those smoldering hazel eyes. He’s ten years older now, of course, but he’s still the Ragnar I knew back in boarding school and I can almost feel his strong arms around me again.
I’ve thought of him often in the years since we parted ways and though I’d never admit it, I haven’t been able to resist the urge to look him up from time to time, lurking on his social media pages for snippets of what became of him.
Not that I could have avoided knowing, even if I hadn’t guiltily typed his name in that search bar. He’s a billionaire tycoon now — practically everyone in the Western Hemisphere knows who Ragnar Gruen is.
“Bradford?” a voice behind me says and I practically jump out of my seat.
It takes me a second to realize it’s only Katie, serving me my drink.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, trying not to look as rattled as I feel.
I take a sip of the drink, hoping the whiskey will steel me. The cocktail is as good as advertised and I try my best to concentrate on tasting it instead of trying to see out of the back of my head to check on Ragnar’s whereabouts.
