Page 2 of Elusive Alpha
Magda pushed her glasses up and sighed. I didn’t even know why she wore them. No matter how many times she adjusted the prescription, she could barely see anything if the font was less than eighteen. If I ever found another job, she would have to hire someone else to read the titles for her.
And correct her accounting.
I picked up the boxes and carried them to the small desk in the back room where I catalogued the books we received. Thedrawer held my notebook of ideas. The goddess had given me a brain full of concepts and plots and plans, but none of them had come to fruition so far.
What a shame for someone bursting with ideas to work in a place with no chance for growth. I’d had a better job once, with a company I believed in that had an honor system and a foundation of community. Room to grow.
Then the owner decided to sell to a nest of snakes. Management promised no one would be laid off—a blatant lie.
Within two weeks, more than half the staff was let go. People with families, with hopes and dreams like mine.
Folks just trying to afford life.
If I ever came face-to-face with the former owner, we would have words, none of them nice.
With the new books in the system and on the shelves, I bid Magda good night. The scent of simmering soup crept down the stairs from her apartment.
I kept things simple in my life since the big change. My walk home took less than ten minutes, passing the grocery store where I could stop if I needed anything or if the scents from the bodega were too much for me to resist. I would often stop in for my favorite Jamaican patties and one of their house-baked honey buns to keep the bear inside me happy. But today, I had dinner waiting at home.
My tiny apartment was comfortable enough. I didn’t need much as a single guy. The place was filled with the smell of chicken, pasta, and mushrooms. My thrift store Crock-Pot came in handy on the days I worked.
Easy meals. Huh. That gave me another idea. I jotted it down in my journal before going to shower and wind down for the day. I wasn’t one to go out and club or even to a bar. Ipreferred home. My parents said hibernating was never going to find me, but, I wasn’t changing to please some mate I didn’t even know yet. If they didn’t like me as I was, they were not the one for me.
I read books. I stayed home. I cooked comforting meals. I laughed loudly in my little space. I danced with myself. I lit candles for no one but me.
If I had a fated mate, we would find each other. I’d made peace with that on my thirtieth birthday and didn’t intend to change my viewpoint.
I sat down with my bowl of chicken tetrazzini and my roasted vegetable salad. My mail from the week was stacked up on the corner of the table. While I ate, I went through each one. I lived a simple life, a saver at heart; bills rattled me only when they were outrageous for no reason.
At the bottom of the stack, a blue envelope caught my eye. I slid it out from under the rest to find my name and address in calligraphy.
This was no electric or water bill.
No return address.
My heart sped up as I peeled the wax seal from the envelope and unfolded the sheet of fancy paper. A letter. For me. From a man named Franklin.
Chapter Three
Rook
The mailbox for my mountain retreat was at the bottom of my driveway, far far away from the cabin. But managing my investments didn’t take long, so each afternoon, I trotted down the gravel road to see what exciting junk mail had arrived. Why, one grocery store ad offered a full dollar off the brand of dishwashing detergent I purchased. Worth. It.
Not.
But it was something to do. Pathetic though it may be. I’d been putting off making travel plans lately because I had a feeling that seeing Paris and Rome alone would be about as much fun as sitting in front of a fire without anyone to talk to.
Who would I marvel about great works of art with or laugh about a shared experience in a taxi-ride-gone-wrong with? I’d even reached out to my siblings in desperation, but they were all mated, employed, and not free to travel with me. Somehow, by the time I finished speaking to each of them, I’d agreed to send them money.
I didn’t mind. But it didn’t do anything to solve my issue.
On this particular day, I strolled down the drive taking in the autumnal beauty of the aspen trees. They were my favorite deciduous tree partly for the magnificent leaf colors and partly because they made that cool rattling sound.
It was certainly more entertaining than the mail I was likely to be carting back up to the house—or possibly tossing in the little bin I’d placed next to the box for depositing all those flyers and offers. With the chill that autumn in the mountains never seemed to quite lose, even in the middle of a sunny day, I considered shifting to my panther for the trip down.
But the box stood at the side of the highway, and while I wasn’t too worried about someone seeing my cat out here in the forest, I’d once been standing sorting the mail, tossing away the junk, when a car full of elderly ladies drove by.
Having shifted back for the process, I was of necessity nude, and I either gave them a thrill or a shock. Since such attention might lead to some sort of visit from the local human authorities, I chose to walk down in two-legged form until such time as the bear box I’d ordered arrived. I planned to tuck it into the trees and leave sweats and shoes in there.
