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“Are you feeling okay?” Maya asks.
Somebody snorts from a nearby booth. I know it’s one of those old retired farmers who have nothing better to do than hang around the diner and collect gossip, harassing everyone in the process.
My eyes dart left, and sure enough, one of the old men in the feed store cap has a twinkle in his eye. “Go talk to her, son. The population boom around here is starting to slow down.”
“You mind your own business, Merle,” clucks a familiar voice that can be no one but Ernestine Jenkins, town matriarch and top-tier busybody. She then turns her sharp gaze to me. “But he’s right. You should go talk to her.”
Talk? I can’t talk to a strange woman. I’m a mess. Lately, my life has been all about getting my new game store ready to open. I’m covered in paint and dust. Hell, I don’t think I remembered to brush my teeth or put on deodorant today—I’ve become one of those reclusive forest dwarves who’ve been alone for so long they don’t remember what touch feels like. I went to seed eons ago, and now I eat bugs and build shelves. Well, I don’t literally eat bugs, but that would probably be better for my health than the constant flow of burgers and fries and banana pudding that’s been sustaining me lately.
I’ve stood here for a second too long. Ruby has disappeared into the kitchen to put the woman’s order in, and now the stranger has caught me staring.
Shit.
She holds my gaze for a beat, and her beaming smile fades. Just barely, but enough for me to catch it. Of course, because I look like a freak with all this food.
“You’d make pretty babies,” murmurs Ernestine. Oh god. I suddenly feel aware of eight pairs of elderly eyes on me, likeevery bored retiree in Fate is willing me with their minds to give them all something to talk about.
I consider my options, but one factor supersedes everything. I smell. I reek of paint and body odor.
Even if I could take the initiative and talk to a pretty girl, I’d kill her with my armpit stench. What’s more, up close I look like a serial killer with red paint spattered on my clothes and dirt under my nails.
Nah. This isn’t happening today. I need a shower and lots of therapy first.
“Where is he going?” I hear muttered among the crowd of regulars as I bolt out the door and head back to my shop.
Downtown and safely done with my quest for food, Forrest and Rhys act like I’ve been away for hours.
“Finally!” grunts a paint-smudged Forrest when I shove the bags of food onto the counter by the register at Love Games.
“We’re starving!” exclaims Rhys, looking men’s-magazine perfect in his designer sweater and tailored trousers — less than ideal for lifting boxes and building shelves. Rhys is more concerned with arranging the coffee station than he is with actual work related to the purpose of the store: fantasy tabletop gaming merchandising and events.
Ernestine’s seen-everything voice echoes through my head.You’d make pretty babies…
She’s not wrong.
Forrest catches me staring into space as he and Rhys dive into their burgers and fries.
“You gonna eat that?” Forrest asks this through a mouthful of beef as he points to my food, which remains wrapped in its packaging and abandoned by the cash register.
I shake the virtual bees from my brain. “Ah…no. You can have it. I’m not hungry.”
“Suit yourself,” Forrest says with a shrug. “You?” he asks Rhys.
Rhys shakes his head, says, “Have at it,” then aims his gaze at me.
“Stop staring at me like that; it’s freaking me out,” I say, turning away from him and heading to the front window to rearrange the display of cosplay weapons.
“Something happened to you,” Rhys says.
“Not now, Rhys,” I mumble, switching a double-sided ax in the mannequin’s hand for a mace.
“Yes, now.”
Here we go. We’re gonna talk about feelings.
I grumble, “This is a game store. We steal gold from dragon lairs. We collect custom 20-sided die and the bones of our enemies. We do complicated nonsense to power up a steampunk airship time machine. We don’t pry about real life.”
“You’re grumpier than usual. What happened?” Rhys hovers nearby, his lunch forgotten, as I begin disrobing one of the mannequins. The leather and faux fur barbarian costumes in the window seem to draw people in who think this place is a sex dungeon, so I need to do something about that.
