Page 1 of Bound to the Griffin
Chapter 1
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&B had managed to run it and make a profit.
I glanced down at the stack of papers I was holding and glared. He sure had made it seem likeHalver’s Havenran a tidy profit, but more likely the books had been cooked to convince me to buy. And like an idiot, I’d leaped before really looking. My Aunt Imelda was going to be so disappointed from beyond the grave. That I’d dared to spend her precious money on buying this place, just to have it fall apart around me.
When the house groaned, I wondered if it might be literal. The pipes certainly liked to clang about, there were cracks in the plasterwork, and the roof was leaking. No wonder Mr. Halver had signed the papers in a hurry and left his house—and much of his furniture—even faster. He probably feared the oh-so-quaint building would topple around his ears before the ink dried.
Too bad ithaddried. Now there was no backing out, unless I tried to convince some other hapless hopeful to take the place off my hands. Then I gazed at the detailed woodwork and mosaic tiles of the fireplace, the crown molding, and the beautiful views out the back windows of rolling forests and cornfields. Currently, everything was laden with a pristine layer of snow, making the world look hazy and ethereal. No, I didn’t want toleave. Those were the things that had made me fall in love on sight, that had made me want to buy, uproot my life, and start over, right here. That hadn’t changed.
Digging up some of that famous stubborn grit, I shoved the papers in the back of a drawer, ready to forget them. Then I rolled up my sleeves and considered what I had to do to get this place in shape. I’d have to get one of the guest rooms in shipshape condition as soon as possible, as well as the bathroom. Then I could rent out one room to guests while I worked on the rest. Not ideal, but it was the only way to make sure I didn’t sink every last penny I had into a dying venture.
And the roof, I added silently to my tally. I couldn’t have guests in a house with a leaking roof. Winter would make it nearly impossible to work on the outside of the building, though. Mentally, I adjusted my plans. I couldn’t—likely wouldn’t—have guests until spring anyway, so working on as much of the interior as I could would make sense.
Trailing my fingers lovingly over the beautifully carved fireplace, I gave in with a sigh. It wouldn’t hurt to give that piece the polish and love it deserved first. Then I’d unpack, followed by the large shopping list I had to fulfill. Thankfully, I had noticed that a general store, a diner, and a plumbing repair shop all lined the same Main Street as my B&B. I wouldn’t have to walk far to get my supplies.
By the time I’d finished cleaning and polishing my pretty fireplace, the day was already well underway. I’d arrived so late last night that I hadn’t had the chance to properly explore the town, and now I was itching to do that. Surely a walk through theankle-deep snow while I visited the local stores would be fun. I’d say hello to my new neighbors, introduce myself.
Nothing went according to plan. I’d ducked into the diner just to say hello and was met with the iciest stare I’d ever been on the receiving end of. It was hardly better when I visited the plumbing repair shop. That guy didn’t speak a word, just bared his teeth, and—though it had to be my imagination—they looked unnaturally sharp and mean. Too bad, as he was cute with his cowboy hat, in a very typical small-town way.
Turning to the general store was my final hope of meeting a friendly face. I needed to buy a long list of supplies that would cheer up any shop owner, wouldn’t it? The general store was across the street, and only two cars were parked in front of it. No sign of anyone else. I had to pass the very cute, white-painted town hall, with its bell on top. The rest of the street had shop facades that were abandoned and boarded up, and my stomach clenched with nerves. That wasn’t the kind of small-town Main Street that drew a tourist. Not at all. What was I thinking, coming here?
There was a building that made my heart ache when I stepped past it to reach the store. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven, which saved it from being slippery. The windows were tall and arched; 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 jingledmerrily 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 myname, 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&B in the dead of winter, didn’t know how to fix a roof, and had already irritated half the population with her mere existence. Excellent. “I’m not planning on leaving, you know.” I had no idea why that slipped from my mouth, but it was entirely in character. Stubborn as a mule, this hostility only made me dig in my heels.
The man tilted his head like I was a strange insect he hadn’t quite decided whether to squash or study. “You are, of course, welcome to try,” he said at last, his voice as smooth and cold as marble. “But I doubt it.” There was a sardonic tilt to his eyebrows and his mouth; almost cruel, like he was happy to watch me go down, burn up in that money pit of a house.
It stung far more than it should have. “Why’s that?” I asked, my voice a little too high, a little too defensive. It didn’t even matter why he thought so, just that he, and the rest of the town, were rejecting me before they even knew me.
He shrugged one elegant shoulder, the gesture impossibly elegant for someone standing behind a counter that also solddrain cleaner. “City folk never last long here,” he said, as if that was all the explanation I needed. City folk, lumping me in with people I’d never fit in with to begin with, which was why I was here. Damn it.
