Page 62 of Monsters in Love

Annie to me. I can’t believe you’re back in town. I thought I’d never see you again!”

“One can dream,” I mutter. “Look, I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Oh, come on. Surely you can spare a couple minutes for an old flame? We should get coffee and I can catch you up on all the things you’ve missed around here.”

“I’m pretty caught up, and really, I need to go.”

“Seriously, though, I’d like to talk to you. I’m planning on buying the Winslow property out on the bluff.”

“I’ve heard.”

He beams. “Yeah? Isn’t it great? You should come by my office and I’ll show you the plans. It’s gonna be excellent.”

I stare at him. “Yeah, it’s awesome how you’re trying to buy my family home out from under me and tear it down.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. It’s not like you care about the place. You’re the one who ditched this town, remember?”

“Chad, what on earth makes you think you have any idea what I care about? You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “I know you better than most, babe.”

I make a face like I just sucked a lemon. “Ew. Never call me that again. My name is Anya. Not Annie, and sure as hell not babe. And since you can’t seem to take a hint, let me spell this out for you. You don’t know me, we’re not friends, and I don’t support your plan to ruin my life again. I’ll be fighting you on this property development thing.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “It’s your funeral. Miller showed me the terms of the loan. There’s no way you can afford to pay it off.”

I straighten my spine and glare at him. “You don’t know anything about me or my finances. So you can kindly fuck right off.” I march out the door and onto the sidewalk, out of his sight, and then lose the wind in my sails. I feel aimless, like a piece of driftwood caught in the current, just tugged wildly in all directions. I wander down to Queen of Tarts and text an SOS to Haven.

There’s a new woman at the counter today, and she’s freaking stunning. Long, dark hair, chocolate chip eyes, dusky skin. Pouty lips and cheekbones that could stab a man. Delicate tattoos of moons and stars—whole constellations and galaxies—decorate her fingers.

“Welcome to Queen of Tarts,” she says in a perfectly husky voice. “What can I get for you?”

“Do you have anything that can save me from getting screwed by a complete asshole?”

Her dark eyebrows shoot up and she chuckles. “Not specifically, no. But I’d recommend the cherry Danish. It might help your mood.”

“Sold. I’ll take four.”

“You got it.” She slides them onto a plate and I take them to a corner booth to wait for Haven, who arrives a few minutes later.

“Hey, Libra,” she calls to the beauty queen at the counter, who nods in response. That must be Libra Cartwright, the mysterious granny-biker siren who owns this place. Haven slides across from me, grabs a Danish, and takes a huge bite. “I’m starving,” she mumbles. “What’s going on?”

I recount everything that happened at the bank as Haven devours her share of the pastries. At one point she pauses me to get a giant cup of coffee, but otherwise, she’s silent as I tell the tale.

“Wow. So what you’re saying is Celeste totally fucked you over. And opened the door for Chad to do the same. Again.”

“Chad,” I mutter. “More like choad.” Haven snickers and I consider what she said. “It sure looks like Celeste is screwing me with this, but why? Why would she set up the spell that way? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know,” Haven says, “but she must have had a reason.”

I give her a look. “Can you think of any possible reason to do that to someone you like? A relative, no less?”

“Not off the top of my head, no. But like you said, Celeste wasn’t senile. And she wasn’t out to punish you, so there has to be a purpose for this. You just need to figure out what it is.”

“Hell, maybe she was losing it. She was 97, after all.”

“Not when she put all this in place. There’s a reason,” Haven says again.

“Come on, this is hopeless. I only have two weeks.”

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