Page 16 of Princess Seeks Dragon

“I’m so sorry!” we both cry out, turning to face each other.

“Pregnancy brain! I’m going to milk this excuse as long as I can,” she giggles, rubbing her shoulder.

“My fault, I... I don’t have a pregnancy to use as cover, I’m just new here.” I manage a smile and weak laugh, internally berating myself for admitting I’m new.

“Ooh, summer courses start in a couple of weeks, don’t they?” Pregnant with Paw Prints smiles. “I’m in the veterinary medicine program myself.”

“I’m...not. No. I’m not a college student. At the moment. I have a degree and I’m looking for work. For a fresh start.” What the hell? She opened up, and I kind of decked her. I guess I can be a little open, too. At least I didn’t say, “I’m looking for a fresh start so I don’t end up as some mafia moll in an arranged marriage.”

“Pine Ridge should seriously change its name,” Blondie sighs. “It should be called Second Chanceville or something like that. You’d be surprised how many people come here for a “fresh start.” There’s a lot of energy around this place. How you use it, positively or negatively, depends on the person.”

“Oh. Cool.”Great. Next, she’ll tell me to mosey on down and get my palm read. Maybe tell me my aura needs a cleansing.

“Where are you staying in town? Country Pines?”

“I’m not sure. Is Country Pines a good hotel?”

“It’s theonlyhotel—unless you want to rent a room at the White Pines estate. They usually only do that if you’re here for a work conference or something.”

“Which one’s closer? Or cheaper?”

“Is money an issue? Because—”

“No, I’m just trying not to spend my savings before I have money to replace them,” I wave off her concerned face with a laugh, but my insides suddenly hurt with a new layer of pain. Such genuine care and concern from a stranger makes me miss the relationship I used to have with my mom, when it was just her and me, alone against the world. Before she became the capo’s queen and stuck me in the role of confused-as-fuck princess.

“When you say fresh start, you mean like living here?”

I nod as we start walking toward the noisiest spot on the block. I don’t know if I’m just stopping for the night or for the foreseeable future, and it’s probably smart to keep my plans close to my chest. A harmless fib or two is in everyone’s best interest. “I’m staying if the rent isn’t too steep and work is available.”

“Work is usually available.”

Her sentence hangs, like there might be an explanation as to why work is so easy to come by, but she doesn’t add any other information.

“I’m Libby Angelakis. My husband works at the Night Market. He makes the coolest things out of metal. See?” She lifts a pendant from her neck and shows me an intricately forged anchor on a silver chain. “He made this for me before we got engaged. Because he’s my anchor—and this place is my safe place.”

Apparently the “energy” around here equals oversharing.

Apparently it’s catching, too. “A safe place sounds amazing. I’m not on the run because of anything I’ve done! Just... I need to get away from someone who wants me to do something,” I conclude with a hopeless shrug. “Running away doesn’t solve any problems, does it?”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes you have to run in order to fight. It’s called a strategic retreat.” Libby slips a protective arm through mine. “Country Pines is a few miles out of town, but I’ll drop you off there if you want to stay in a hotel for the night.”

“Oh, I can walk—” The words hang.

“Sure, but I wouldn’t recommend walking in the dark. It’s hard to see, and if you don’t know the area... Yeah, why don’t you let me drive you? Or we’ll find you a ride.”

I hesitate. Sure, she has a point. I don’t know the area, and it’s dark, even with a bright moon in the sky. Women walking alone at night on the highway... Hello, horror movie.

Don’t trust overly friendly strangers.

Don’t walk alone in the dark. Don’t go to isolated little towns in the mountains, idiot.

“Um. Why don’t we go to the Night Market first?” Libby asks. “I have to drop off my husband’s dinner and pick up our cats. You can meet some of the folks around here, get a feel for the place, see if anyone is hiring. What kind of work are you looking for?”

“Wish I knew,” I mutter, wriggle my blistering toes, and let myself be led toward the bustling center of the avenue. Up ahead, half hidden by the shops in front of it, is a large lot covered in stalls and vendors and lit by strands of fairy lights. Behind the lot is a solid mass of pines, a black-green strand standing between civilization and the rising hills that lead toward small, rocky peaks in the distance.

“I see why it is called Pine Ridge.”

“I’m taking this history course at the library with Milo—that’s my husband—and we learned that pine trees are symbols for birth, renewal, life, longevity, and even immortality.”

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