Page 3 of Sent To A Fantasy World and Now All the Men Want Me: Vol. 1

My restlessness from earlier skyrocketed. Suddenly feeling like the walls of my apartment were closing in around me, I dug through my closet for a clean shirt, hoodie, and jeans, and then put on my Vans and left.

Going out would be good for me. Jonah would be proud.

The sun hadn’t fully set yet, leaving some areas of the sky dark. Orange, red, and streaks of dark purple washed across the horizon. I moved down the sidewalk, hands shoved in the front pocket of my hoodie. Cars drove past blaring music, the bass thumping heavily and rattling the windows. Smells wafted in the air, coming from the different restaurants.

In the distance, flashing lights bled through the darkening sky.

The festival.

My feet carried me that way. I didn’t have anything better to do. Might as well stop in for a funnel cake or hot dog. Or both because I was grieving the death of a dear friend and deserved to eat everything in sight to help soothe my broken heart.

Main Street had been roped off for the event, and I entered the fray of people. The free admission was a nice perk.

The church parking lot at the corner had been transformed into a sort of fairground with a few rides. Lights blinked on a Ferris Wheel, the carts of people rocking a bit too much for my liking as the ride moved in circles. Screams came from the evil monstrosity known as the Zipper. Trapped in a rotating metal cage while being spun in the air? Yeah, no, thanks. Hard pass.

As I stood in place, debating which direction to go, a little girl bumped into me. Slammed was more like it. Pretty sure if she didn’t have a future career lined up, she’d make a great linebacker.

“Say you’re sorry, sweetie,” the woman with her said before giving me an apologetic smile.

The girl ignored her—and me—and instead pointed up at the Zipper. “Momma, I wanna ride that!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that one.” The mother grabbed her hand. “Let’s find something else that won’t scare you.”

“Only babies would be scared of that.” The little girl rolled her eyes before the two continued walking.

“Thanks, kid,” I muttered under my breath. I guess I was a baby now.

I continued down the street, heading away from the rides. It was my twenty-third birthday, and I wanted to live to twenty-four, thank you very freaking much. Vendors sold jewelry, clothing, and wind chimes, and others offered services like face painting and henna tattoos. Kids crowded around the petting zoo off to one side, squealing so loud they could probably be heard from Mars. Those poor animals.

People gathered in front of the lit-up food stalls, and I scanned the menu items on the front of each one before committing to one of the long lines. Snow cones, hot dogs, burgers, funnel cakes, and popcorn.

“Jesus,” I muttered. Seven bucks for a corn dog? What a rip-off. Now the free admission made sense. Everything was grossly overpriced.

Deciding on popcorn—because the line was shorter—I bought a bag and munched on it as I strolled along, checking out the festival. Overpriced games to win crappy stuffed animals, creaking rides I was fairly sure would break down any minute, and massive crowds of people? Why did I ever leave my apartment? The overly salted bag of popcorn wasn’t worth this level of torment.

“Do you believe in magic?”

I turned and came face-to-face with the hottest guy I’d ever seen in my entire life. He had a dark complexion, shaggy brown hair, and big brown eyes.

“Uh. Magic?”

He smiled and motioned to the store behind him. “Adventure awaits inside.”

The storefront had been vacant the last time I’d visited the downtown area. Now, an antiquated sign hung above the entrance, reading:Lupin’s Mystical Emporium.The window was dark, as if covered by some type of curtain, preventing me from seeing inside the shop from the outside.

“Why do I feel like if I go inside, someone will hit me over the head, and then I’ll wake up with one of my kidneys missing?”

“Such a wild imagination,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. “Rest assured we have no interest in your organs.”

“Only in my money? How rude.”

That amusement in his eyes dropped down to the dimple in his cheek as he smiled.

I glanced at the sign again. “Are you Lupin?”

“No,” he responded. “He’s my husband. My name is Saint.”

Husband. The ease with which he admitted it to a total stranger—especially there in the freaking asshole of the South—surprised me. It also made me happy.