Page 1 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)
Gwendolyn
Standing in the middle of the doily- and lavender-decked-out living room, I seriously began to reconsider the choices I’d made.
This place was a money pit, the town was deserted, and tourism was bound to be absolutely nil around here.
There was no way the previous owner of this B there might have been stained glass in some of them at one point, but they’d been boarded up.
It was a library, or what was left of one.
The lights were on inside the general store, though the sign out front was old and weathered, as if it had hung like that for the last century.
I could see half a dozen aisles lined with colorful products.
Foods, but also paint and animal feed. A bell jingled merrily when I stepped through the door.
The glass panes of the store front were all clean, shimmering and reflecting the white snow outside.
I stomped my boots on the mat so I wouldn’t track snow all over the floor, my eyes wide as I took in my options.
The bell above the door jingled again as it settled, and I stood for a second longer on the threshold, blinking in confusion.
The store didn’t smell like old wood or dust, as I’d expected.
Instead, the faint scent of eucalyptus and something darker, richer clung to the air like velvet.
It was...odd.
I stepped farther in, eyes scanning the shelves with growing surprise.
There was flour and sugar, canned peaches and cleaning supplies, sure, but then I spotted locally roasted coffee in sleek black bags, bars of handmade soap wrapped in twine and wax-sealed parchment, and fresh loaves of artisan bread under a glass dome on the counter.
Fresh. Bread. In a town where two of the whopping three open businesses had snarled at me like I’d kicked their dog.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t brioche.
A soft shuffle of movement made me glance up, and my breath caught mid-inhale. The man behind the counter didn’t look like any shopkeeper I’d ever seen. He had the kind of sharp, elegant beauty you’d expect from a magazine ad selling thousand-dollar watches—except those guys usually smiled.
This one didn’t.
Black hair, slicked back and impossibly glossy, paired with a rich tan that made his skin glow like honey. His eyes—ice gray and glinting like storm glass—met mine with a stillness that made me acutely aware of every creak of the old floorboards under my boots.
I forced myself to smile, though it felt a little wobbly. “Hi. I, um, just moved in. I bought Halver’s Haven,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why, because I’d already decided I was going to change the name, and none of the other store owners had seemed to care.
This guy was no different, and his cover-model looks made me deeply uncomfortable for some reason. He didn’t blink, definitely didn’t smile, but he gave a short, precise nod, like he’d already known. “Yes.”
“Right. I was hoping to grab a few things.” I held up my notebook like it was some kind of proof that I belonged here.
“Cleaning supplies, light bulbs, maybe a loaf of that bread if it isn’t decoration.
” I eyed the pretty twists with a glossy brown crust dubiously.
They looked tasty, sure, but also easily twice as expensive as any bread I’d ever bought for myself.
“It is not.” His voice was smooth and deep, with the faintest European lilt I couldn’t place.
“Everything in this store is for sale, Miss Avery.” His tone suggested it might be for sale, but not to me.
His eyes were disdainful as they took in my puffy winter coat, my scuffed jeans, and even more worn boots.
I glanced down to double-check that I hadn’t tracked in any snow or mud, just to be sure.
“How did you...?” I started to ask, but faltered abruptly, feeling silly.
Like it was a surprise in a town this size that he knew my name, even before I’d introduced myself.
Though his stare was frigid enough to give me frostburn, at least he was talking to me.
A marked improvement over my previous, rather fruitless attempts to start a conversation.
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it might have been its distant cousin. My heart surged hopefully in my chest. Was that the first hint of a welcome? “You are the talk of the Hollow today,” he drawled, but the tone was once again cool, judgmental.
“Oh.” My face warmed instantly. Of course I was.
The fool who bought the crumbling B almost cruel, like he was happy to watch me go down, burn up in that money pit of a house.