Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I’m an independent, modern woman, but a tiny feral part of me wants to hear someone say something like that about me. “Do you want that someday? An old lady?”
He chokes on his coffee. “Haven’t thought about it much. You?”
Why does that make me sad? “I’m not in a rush, but eventually, sure.”
“Did you have the white picket fence childhood? Mom, Dad and a dog named Spot?”
“I wish.” Nervous about opening up, I fidget with a ring I found in my grandmother’s things. It’s nothing fancy, just a gold band that looks like braided rope, but I remembered it from when I was little and going through her jewelry box. “This place is the closest I’ve ever had to a real home. I bet your birth certificate doesn’t say Dragon, but my full legal name is Willow Aurora Skye. My Dad’s from Ohio and my mom grew up here, but they like to say they’re children of the wind. They’re in Thailand right now, working at a yoga retreat for some influencer, but that could change tomorrow. I’ve lived in a van following the Dead. On a boat for a year. In multiple communes.” I count things off on my fingers. “Mom does online tarot reading, and Dad builds websites for alternative communities. He’s basically the go-to guy if your coven needs a shop portal. You name it, they’ve tried it unless it involves a real job contract and a permanent address.”
“They sound… fun?” Dragon says it like he had to dig really deep to find a positive description.
I have to cover my mouth not to spit out eggs when I laugh. “Oh, they’re a blast. Honestly they’re nice people, but they had no business raising a child. The only reason I have a high school diploma is because they always came back here when they ran out of money or needed time to plan their next adventure. My grandmother put her foot down one summer when I was about twelve and it was obvious ‘unschooling’ wasn’t working. She told them either they got me a laptop and signed up for online classes, or she was going to report them to child services and fight for custody. I had to do most of it on my own, but I did it, and then when I was seventeen, I sat them down in an ayahuasca retreat and told them I felt called on my own journey and left. Why are you looking at me like that?”
He laughs, an utterly baffled sounding rumble in his powerful chest. “You seem so well adjusted, but that's fucked up. How did you end up back here?”
Talking about myself so much makes me uncomfortable. “It’s not that exciting really.”
“Fucking sounds it.” He sounds genuinely interested.
I understand why people are fascinated by my family, but I usually feel like a fraud when I talk about growing up all over. I didn’t get the rich kid travel experience. There were some good times, but most of my childhood memories revolve around sitting alone in a dingy room while my parents were off with the other adults. That’s probably why I became obsessed with writing. In stories I could be anyone, anywhere.
“I moved to New York City because it was the farthest I could imagine from how I’d grown up, paid way too much to live in cramped little apartments with other people because I had no money, and I loved every second. I always wanted to be a writer, and I ended up self-publishing a series of books that didn’t make me rich, but did well enough to get an agent interested in my ideas.” I look around the kitchen and smile. “My grandmother was always my biggest fan. I came back here to be with her before she died, and once I was away from New York, I realized I didn’t have much holding me there. Keeping the house is a great way of saving money while I write my next books, but it’s also been nice to reconnect with my memories here. I’ve never really belonged anywhere before, you know? And maybe I won’t end up staying, but it’s worth a shot.”
He nods. “I kinda know that feeling. Not the same, but my childhood was… how do I put it nice? Independent. Mom ghosted earlier than I can remember, and my father wasn't around much.”
“I guess if he was raising you on his own he had to work a lot.”
Dragon runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Not work. Jail. It was always petty stuff. He'd take whatever he got his hands on and try to hock it, but he was never fucking smart about it. Too much booze and too many pills. I got shuffled around a lot between foster care and relatives that didn’t need another mouth to feed. I was fourteen when I started working at that diner I told you about, and as soon as I started getting paid, I took off and never looked back.”