Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 58

Chapter 58

I haven’t slept. Agnin. Not because of Thane, or at least not just because of him. It’s the fancy invitation, the damn dress that’s now hanging like. judgment incarnate in the corner of my bedroom, and the way Griffin–slash–Mike’s note has made my brain a war zone.

One side wants to go. To storm that gala and set the world on fire in deep violet velvet. The other side, which is tired, raw, and defensive, wants to burn it all down, just to prove a point.

The night bleeds into morning without ceremony, and I reluctantly get up when the light through the curtains hits a shade of Intrusive. My eyes feel gritty, like they’ve been sanded from the inside with a 40–grit sheet. And for a moment, I just lay there with the blanket twisted around my legs, staring at the ceiling like it owes me life–altering answers.

Eventually, I roll out of bed, and my body creaks in protest, but my brain creaks even louder, as 1 Ignore the dress like a stop sign and head downstairs to make myself some coffee.

But then I remember the flat tire from yesterday with the kind of slow dread that’s usually reserved for horror movies, I should’ve handled it. I didn’t. So now I’m walking to work in the same hoodie I wore to bed and jeans that may or may not be clean. My hair is scraped into a ponytail that’s hanging on for dear life, and my face is bare–no mascara, no concealer, just vibes and caffeine.

The morning air outside is brisk enough to wake me up a little as the leaves crunch underfoot. I pass the same three people I always do on this walk–Mr. Halberd with his corgi, the guy who jogs like he’s got a vendetta against the pavement, and an elderly woman who always glares at me like I once stole her youth.

By the time I reach the bookstore, I’m a touch winded and thoroughly annoyed with myself.

I unlock the door, flip the sign to “OPEN“, and get all the lights going. There’s something sacred about this early hush before the customers start filtering in, and I breathe it in, letting the quiet wrap around me like a balm. For a few moments, I’m able to shelve my spiral and just exist,

Gemma is off today, so it’s just me. I settle myself behind the counter, sipping my lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance at the front window every ten minutes like some forlorn Victorian heroine.

I’m halfway through updating the calendar on the computer when the bell above the door jingles..

He walks in like he’s part of a movie scene–tailored blazer, button–up shirt open at the collar, and that easy kind of charm that makes women in novels drop their groceries. He’s tall, but not in a way that looms, with a warm smile—the kind that could disarm a bomb.

“Harley?” he asks, his voice smooth with just a hint of mischief

I blink, attempting to find my vocal cords, but eventually say, “That depends on who’s asking.”

He chuckles and steps closer. “Uliot Langston. We scheduled a meeting for today about my book signing next week.”

Shit. Crap. Fuck

My brain stutters, and my mouth opens and closes like a guppy for a second or two before I eventually get dot, “Right. Yes. Totally. I didn’t forget

He grins like he sees through me, but doesn’t mind. “You’re not exactly dressed for business warfare, Ms. Blake. Long night?”

1 gesture to my general state, and with mock haughtiness, I say, “I call this look accidental cryptid“.”

Elliot laughs, and it’s warm and genuine, then says, “Well, it’s working for you.”

We sit down at the little reading nook by the window, and I pull out my laptop while he flips through one of his own books–the kind of literary fiction that gels rave reviews and quiet nods from college professors.

We talk logistics–how many people to expect, where we’ll set up the table, and if he should read an excerpt aloud. He’s personable, easy to talk to, and surprisingly funny. His stories from past book tours have me laughing out loud. A real laugh, the kind I haven’t had in days.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, Thane is still there in all his Doom Daddy glory.

Elliot makes a joke about accidentally Insulting a librarian in Ohio once, and 1 snort into my coffee. But as I glance at his smile, I can’t stop myself from thinking, ‘Thane doesn’t smile like that. He doesn’t fill space with Jokes or small talk. He fills it with silence, intensity, and with his presence. Like he doesn’t even need to try.”

I shake it off, though, and focus back on our conversation, and luckily, Elliot doesn’t seem to notice my occasional drift into mental chaos. He’s charming without being pushy, and respectful without being distant. Objectively, he’s the dream guy every woman fantasizes about. Which is probably why my heart won’t shut up about the guy who hasn’t texted me, called me, or even apparated in front of me like some dark prince of brooding.

By the time we wrap up the meeting, it’s late morning and the sun outside has edged out most of the early morning cloud cover. I walk Elliot to the door, still amused by our last exchange about awkward author autographs, and as we reach the sidewalk, he pauses, then opens his arms in a casual offer. “Hug goodbye?”

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