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But when I reach the clearing, there’s no bear or human predator, there’s just Nora staring at her cell phone with her jaw dropped and her hand pressed to her chest. I take another scan of the area, looking for threats I might have missed, but aside from a few ominous clouds rolling in overhead, everything seems fine.
My relief quickly turning to irritation, I demand, “What’s wrong? Why were you screaming?”
She looks up, blinking fast, as if she’s only just realized I’m here. We’re definitely going to have to work on her situational awareness. Otherwise, she’ll be a sitting duck for Wimpy and every other predator down the line for the rest of her life.
And I won’t always be here to help get her out of trouble.
“My grandmother,” Nora wheezes, holding the phone screen out toward me. “Look what she did.Shedid this. Without asking me. Without even warning me!”
Frowning, I take the phone and glance down at an online article from the Bad Dog Daily Darling, the local paper. In it, a grinning Nora carves a pumpkin in a sexy green minidress above a headline that reads “Why the Younger Generation is Saying No to Intimacy.”
“And by ‘intimacy,’ they mean sex, Matty,” Nora says, beginning to pace back and forth across the gravel again. “My grandmother didn’t just talk to her friend Debbie about my sex life, or lack thereof. She talked to areporter. And now the entire town is going to know I haven’t gotten laid in over two years!”
I quickly skim the story, understanding her hysteria as I glean the content of the well-written, but breathlessly condescending, article and realize she’s been cast as the poster child for sexually dysfunctional twentysomethings everywhere. The line, “women like Nora perform sexuality with ease on social media, but when it comes to real-life relationships, she seems to lack the skills to move past swiping and into real life connection,” is especially vicious.
“And now I’m going to have to kill my grandmother,” Nora says, shaking her head as she continues to pace. “I love my grandmother. She means everything to me. I don’twantto kill her, but now, I have no choice.”
“You’re not going to kill Gram,” I say, nodding toward the phone. “You don’t even know if she’s the one who talked to the reporter. They just cite ‘a family member’ as the source.”
“What other family member do I have in town?” she asks, answering the question before I can speak. “None. And even if my brother were around, he wouldn’t talk to a reporter about me. Aaron’s trying to move up to the NHL from a feeder team. He knows the importance of the press. He wouldn’t throw me under the bus like this, especially when I can’t remember the last time he had a steady hook-up, let alone a serious girlfriend.”
She pauses to bury her face in both hands. “Oh my God, no one’s going to want to buy my clothes or accessories now. My business is going to be ruined. Ruined! Everything I’ve worked so hard to build.”
“I think you might be overreacting.”
Nora’s face pops up, her cheeks red and her eyes shining. “Fashion is all about image, Matthew. My brand is sexy sophistication with a touch of Mid-Century American Girl Lost in Paris. My brand is not timid homebody who’s afraid to date and only looks hot online.”
“You’re plenty hot in real life,” I say, scowling.
She scowls back. “Very convincing. Thanks for the pep talk. But sadly, even if you were telling the truth, it doesn’t matter. Once this article goes viral, I’m done for. I might as well start the fifty percent off sale now and try to move as much product as I can before the fallout starts.”
I arch a brow. “And why do you assume an article from a small-town newspaper is going to go viral? Who’s even going to read this?”
“Well, aside from the thousands of local subscribers who will get a copy on their doorstep tomorrow, and flip past this on their way to the Black Friday sales section, I expect my competitors will jump on this faster than a horny squirrel after a messy bun,” she says, making my lips twitch. At least she hasn’t completely lost her sense of humor. “I have enemies. Petty enemies who love nothing more than to put my name on a google alert and have their minions share every bit of negative press that comes my way. When Foxy Fashion, the top fashion blogger of our generation, called my heart-cutout knee socks a miss last season, less than twenty-four hours later, it was all over the internet. Along with posts wondering if Bonjour Baby is ‘over’ now that I’ve hit all the major Parisian tropes in my first few collections.”
She jabs an indignant finger toward the sky. “But I havenothit all the major tropes. Paris has a vast and storied fashion history. No designer in the world could thoroughly explore the highlights of that history in just a few collections. And I didn’t justhitthe tropes, anyway, Ireimaginedthem. I’m like a DJ sampling a track. Yes, there are some familiar elements incorporated into the presentation, but the song and the voice are uniquely mine.” She brushes her hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms with a determined clench of her jaw. “And if they think they’re going to take me down over a stupid article written by a reverse slut-shaming boomer with an axe to grind with my generation, then they are going to be very disappointed.”
I smile. “That’s the spirit. I’m sure it’ll blow over in a week or two. Everyone has such a short attention span these days.” Thunder rumbles, making my gaze flick toward the sky. “This will blow over, too, but it’s going to take a while. I should get to the bunker and stock up on supplies before the sky opens up. I’ll be sure to grab a few things for you to wear, too. Something to sleep in and extra socks and things.” I motion toward the path leading down into the forest. “The treehouse is that way. Just be careful on the ladder and make sure you don’t let Clyde out on the way in.”
I start toward the trail on the opposite side of the clearing, but Nora slips in front of me. “You have clothes in this bunker?”
I nod.
She frowns. “Female clothes?”
I nod again.
“Why?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “Are you planning on starting a commune or a harem or something out here? Is this a charismatic cult leader situation in the making? Because, if so, I want nothing to do with it. You’re charismatic, but notthatcharismatic.”
I step closer, unable to resist teasing her, just a little. I dip my face closer to hers, whispering, “So you don’t want to drink my Kool-Aid?”
She lifts her chin, bringing her mouth a breath away from mine, making me rethink the wisdom of flirting with this woman. Even something playful could quickly turn dangerous. The chemistry between us is one stray spark away from igniting into a fire neither one of us may be able to contain.
“No, I don’t,” she says softly, her breath warm on my lips. “I also don’t like to share.”
“I don’t like to share, either.” I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to reach for her with everything in me. “I’m strongly against it, in fact.”
She sways closer, until her breasts are almost brushing my chest and I can’t control my body’s response to her intoxicating Nora smell—like sea spray and a hint of lavender honey. My cock thickens, swelling thicker as she purrs, “So, you have a possessive side?”
