Chapter 9: Lottie

Out of all the things going on right now that require my attention, like the skeevy man who was just hitting on me, the thing that grabs my interest is the mayor title he used towards Hunter. In our previous conversations, he and his sister failed to mention that little tidbit of information. It would have been nice to know I'm renting the mayor's cabin and hanging out with his sister.

Hunter turns his attention to me and ignores the rude man between us.

"Is this man bothering you?"

I could tell Hunter was an attractive man last night on my front porch—or rather his front porch—but now, in the full clear light of day without the evening shadows hiding his features, I can see he is a heartthrob. Tall, well-built, with a strong jawline and thick black hair that looks soft even in its smooth styling. I see now why Ginger warned me about his baby blues. They are mesmerizing. Like two ice-blue diamonds adrift in a dark sea beckoning me.

It's not only his eyes that mesmerize me, but his deep and low voice, which reverberates through my bones and echoes in my chest. Something about it makes my toes curl when I hear him speak, as if his voice is comprised of the most perfectly in- tune note ever to be played. It's seductive, and the strange pull I felt towards him when we first met tugs once again at my chest, urging me towards him.

However, the deep scowl on his face and his obvious rising anger convey less-than-pleasant emotions on his part. I can't tell if he's mad at the man for being pervy or at me for taking time out of his busy day Mayoring.

I didn't ask you to come to my rescue, Mr. Mayor. I was doing just fine and was just about to tell him off when you showed up and interrupted my well-scripted refusal.

The words die in my throat under his scrutiny, and every ounce of bravado and eloquence flies right out the door with that well-crafted refusal.

"Oh, um, well. . ."

The flirtatious man reaches out an arm and wraps it around my shoulders. I instantly cringe and try to pull away but don't get far. His arm is like a vice and oddly cold. A strange man hasn't dared to touch me in years, and for a moment, I wish Luna were here to pry his hand off me and break his fingers.

"Of course not, we're just having a friendly chat. Getting to know each other. Might even get some dinner together later tonight."

The scowl on my face must be deep because Hunter's expression grows harder and angrier seeing it. He reaches out and, with a strong hand, grabs the guy's shirt collar and pulls just hard enough to force him to remove his arm from my shoulders or risk knocking me over. I take the opportunity to step a healthy distance away out of reach.

Hunter drops his grip on the man once he's repositioned himself, placing his bulky body between us. The man now too far away to try to touch me again. Interesting. That's the type of maneuver I would expect Luna to pull. She said she knew people in this town. Perhaps that meant more than just Ginger? Was Hunter, at one point, a bodyguard as well?

That sounds like an interesting story—a bodyguard turned Mayor— it would make a good movie. They could get Henry Cavill to play Hunter.

"Hey, easy on the threads, man. No need to ruin the Gucci."

I poke my head around Hunter's massive body, taking in the man's shirt that he's smoothing down with one hand, and I don't know how I hadn't noticed before. Usually, I'm really good at spotting brand labels. Only weeks away from my former lifestyle, and I'm already forgetting it.

Hunter ignores the man's protests and scowls at him. Not giving two shits about his precious Gucci. "Don't touch people who obviously don't want to be touched," he practically bellows, standing his ground and still blocking me like any bodyguard I'd ever known would.

"You're the one who was touching without permission. And how do you know she didn't want to be touched?" the man with the death wish counters. This guy is really dim, isn't he?

"Anyone with eyes could see it."

"You wanted me to touch you, didn't you darlin?" the stranger asks sweetly as if it were unbelievable that a woman wouldn't want to be touched by him.

He might be physically attractive on the outside, but something about him that rubs me the wrong way.

"No. I most certainly did not want you touching me. Now or ever."

He pulls back in mock surprise, gasping and clutching his Gucci shirt as if he'd been insulted in the worst way.

"Sweetheart, you wound me."

"I'm not your sweetheart, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your clammy hands to yourself," I bite back.

I've always wanted to tell people like him what I really think of them, but I couldn't say anything with so many reporters always surrounding me. One wrong word in the press and my sweet, good-girl image would be ruined. If they knew the mouth, I had on me.

"Ouch. Feisty. I think I like you even more now. Are you sure we can't renegotiate the no-touching policy? Maybe add in a biting addendum."

Hunter actually growls in front of me, and his muscles bunch and tighten. Yeah, he was definitely a bodyguard in a previous career. But none of my past protectors ever made my insides quiver because of a growl. A sexy as hell growl. I don't even think a man has ever growled around me before. I kind of like it.

"Don't even think about it, Roman. She said no touching that means no touching . Am I understood?"

The timber of Hunter's voice changes and rumbles in a low and threatening way. It's not even directed at me and a chill rolls down my spine. Heated desire mixing with the cold stillness of submission. My insides warring between doing as he says and having my way with him.

The man, Roman's countenance completely changes. His playful smile flattens, and his casual posture straightens and hardens. It even looks like his eyes become darker.

"Yeah, I get you."

Roman's eyes shift to me, and his previously sweet flirtation turns into lewd leering paired with a suggestive biting of his bottom lip. My skin pebbles with goosebumps along the path his eyes take down my body, physically disgusted with his perusal.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Maybe we can play another time."

He really is that stupid, isn't he?

"Not likely," I state as firmly and rudely as possible.

He sighs but shrugs, finally taking backward steps away from us. "Too bad. You taste delectable. It would have been fun."

Hunter bristles and takes a half step towards Roman. The move is an obvious threat. He takes his position as mayor seriously. Or is it specific to me? The thought melts the previous chill, bringing me right back to boiling hot aroused.

Something deep inside me churns with delight at the prospect—something I've never felt before—not a gut feeling or heart thumping. This is something new and unexpected—feral. I don't have time to process the sensation before my attention is drawn back to the man in front of me.

"Move along. I'm sure you have work to do. You know, the reason you're in town," Hunter bites out at the still retreating man.

"Of course. Until next time."

Roman takes one last look at me and Hunter before spinning on his heel and sauntering in the opposite direction, whistling as he goes. Not in the least concerned with the irate Hunter still glaring at his back.

That was an extremely odd interaction. It seemed like they knew each other and weren't on the friendliest of terms.

"Are you okay? He didn't do anything inappropriate, did he?"

Looking up, I notice Hunter has turned to face me, and staring into those blue diamond eyes, I have to suck in a breath to steady my erratic heartbeat before answering.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He didn't do anything. We had only been talking for a minute before you arrived. He just sort of walked up to me and started flirting. It was kind of off-putting."

Hunter nods, grimacing, but quickly smooths over his expression into a soft neutral, all previous emotions now gone. The anger and throat-slashing wrath that I sensed in him before now replaced with a polite, calm demeanor. Doesn't make me any less attracted to him, I notice.

"I would steer clear of him in the future," he says.

"Why is that?"

He doesn't answer immediately seemingly determining his response. After years of dealing with people who tell half-truths and keep pertinent information from me, I can tell he's not going to answer candidly.

"He's not a trustworthy person. A bit of a cad. It's best to just not get involved with him."

Although I believe him and his opinion of Roman, I also know there's more to it than he's telling. I watch him for a moment, trying to understand more about this man I just met who so adamantly defended me without question with such heated veracity, then instantly went cold again.

At least I'm not the only one having hot flashes.

"Okay. I believe you. He wasn't exactly my type anyway. Too pervy. He probably has like five STDs and ten illegitimate children."

Hunter's stoic demeanor cracks, and a bark of laughter bursts from him, surprising me with its warmth. It sinks into my skin and slivers into my bones. I want to hear more of it, but he buttons his lips tight when he realizes what he just did. But the lightness in his eyes remains. Surprised by his reaction, he flounders for a moment and redirects the conversation, gesturing to the guitar case in my hand.

"What do you have here?"

"Oh," I smile brightly as the excitement I had in the store renews. "This is my new guitar. I just bought it."

"You play the guitar?"

"Yeah. My dad taught me as a kid, and I've been dying to play lately. I usually play all the time, but since I didn't bring a guitar with me, I really missed it."

"Do you sing, too?"

My heart stutters, and my brain short circuits. The question isn't one I thought I would have to answer. I suppose I brought it upon myself with the whole guitar purchase. Anyone would ask it. Hunter just doesn't realize what a loaded question that is for me. If I were to admit I sing, would he ask to listen? Would he then recognize my voice? What then?

I realize I've been standing here silent, Hunter looking at me expectantly and probably thinking I'm crazy for longer than normal. It's probably best to just admit it and deal with the consequences.

"Yes. Sometimes. You know, just for fun, in the living room. Alone ."

There, that wasn't too weird. Right? Totally normal response.

"Oh. Well, that's a shame. The local bar, Blue Moon, has a rather popular karaoke night. I'm sure everyone would love some new blood in the mix. There's only so many times you can listen to Dottie sing ABBA off-key before your ears start to bleed."

His easy-going reply has my nerves settling and shoulders relaxing.

"I don't know, I like ABBA."

"You won't after hearing her belt out Dancing Queen off-key for the hundredth time. It really is an assault on the senses. Just know," he adds in a lighter seriousness. "That if anyone else finds out you can sing, you're going to get a lot of guilt tripping and peer pressure to participate. So, if you don't want to sing in public, I'd hide that guitar before someone sees."

At his declaration, I start looking around the street to see if anyone is watching us. A few people are mulling up and down the street and in the storefronts. Thankfully, we're in front of the empty shop with a for lease sign hanging in the window. No one within our immediate vicinity. It's still possible someone may have already seen me with the guitar case, though. Hopefully, not Dottie. It sounds as if she is the karaoke queen and the instigator of all strong-handed entries.

"Will do. So, you're the mayor, huh?" I ask, diverting attention away from me and moving it to him. Hoping to bypass any more talk of singing, especially in public.

His cheeks pinken, and he makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, which makes me giggle. This strong, attractive man is bashful about being the mayor.

"Yes, I am. I guess I'm just not used to telling people they usually already know," he admits with a smothered grin.

It's like he's trying not to smile too much. He keeps catching himself and pulling back into a neutral expression. Reverting into a disinterested posture, yet he continues to appear interested. The signals he's giving are very confusing indeed. I can't tell if he's interested, not interested, impartial, or just being friendly. Perhaps it's part of his mayoral duties? It's all too confusing to understand.

"And mister handsy?" I tilt my chin in the direction Roman went. "Where does he work? If there's somewhere I should avoid, I'd like to know."

Hunter scoffs and even sneers. "He's not a resident of Snowberry. Just passing through. Hopefully, he'll be gone soon."

"But you know him. Have you met before?"

"In a manner of speaking. I know his boss," he says vaguely.

More half-truths. I have a feeling Hunter keeps a lot to himself. I doubt he'll answer, but I decide to keep asking anyway, just in case he deigns to divulge any important information.

"And who is his boss?"

"No one you need to bother yourself with. Just steer clear of him and anyone with him, and you'll be fine."

Hunter refortifies his stiff posture and takes a step back, making space between us that says everything his words keep mixing up.

Not interested.

My heart sinks a little, and the part of me that reacted to his voice and attention churns with melancholy. I realize I want him to be interested because I'm interested.

"Anyway, have a nice day, and if you have any issues around town or with the cabin, you can contact Ginger or my office at Town Hall."

He keeps backing away, taking measured steps back in the direction he came from. Probably a good thing. Getting involved with someone right now isn't a good idea. Not only because of the train wreck of a relationship I just got out of but because I'm literally living on the lamb right now. I have no idea what my future will be, where I'll be, what I'll be. A pop star, a musician, a recluse, a nobody.

Everything may seem calm on the surface, but underneath the pristine exterior is a maelstrom of chaos and uncertainty. Of fear for the future and the day when someone recognizes me and the paparazzi reappear. Or the day when my mother finds me and manipulates me back into submission. That is my greatest fear. Not being able to retake control of my life without my mother stealing the reigns right out of my hands.

I love music, I love singing. But being a celebrity is not what I want my future to be. It's a life filled with lies, greed, and loneliness. That's not what my dad wanted for my life. He wanted me to be happy, to love, and to enjoy life. I haven't been happy in years. I smile and wave and sing songs about love and happiness, but inside, I've been slowly cracking and losing pieces of myself. I just want to find them all and assemble them back into something resembling a person.

Ever since I arrived in Snowberry, I've felt like I've been slowly regaining who I used to be before all the fame and money. Who I am and what I want out of life. I don't know if I'll want to go back to my old life in three months. Living life like everyone else has been . . . easy. Nothing has been easy since I became Alexandria—pop superstar. Going to the grocery store, picking out my own clothing, dating. All of it required a dozen people and a security plan. But life here is easy. Simple.

Well, sort of simple. The mayor is making it less simple with his damn baby blues and seductive voice, and confusing behavior.

"Thank you. I guess I'll see you around town sometime," I say in farewell to Hunter's retreating form.

"Maybe," he says noncommittally; that makes me think he doesn't want to be seeing me around town any time soon. Or at all.

He gives me a little wave, and I pinch my lips into a thin line at the man who is more confusing than a pig in roller skates.

Since I am heading in the same direction as Hunter, I wait until he's made it far enough down the street that I won't appear to be following him when I resume walking. I take the opportunity to admire his firm backside, which flexes with each stride of his long legs. Not because I'm interested, but because it was in my line of sight. It's his own fault, really.

When I cross the street and turn the corner, I notice his tall form far down the street, bounding up the stairs to a white-wash brick building that is obviously town hall. He walks really fast. Must be those strong legs of his.

After stowing my guitar in the trunk of my car, I head to the next stop on my to-do list. I've been going through a lot of Polaroid film lately, and when I noticed the camera shop, I knew I would be going there sooner rather than later. I just hope they have the film I need.

SnapShot is on the opposite side of the parking lot from Dottie's and only a twenty-foot walk from my car. Inside, I find more than just cameras and film. There's a whole section of art and craft supplies. Colored pencils, paints, canvases, sketchbooks, and pens.

Bypassing the paint, I head straight for the film by the back counter. I'm surprised by how many film options they have. Nowadays, everyone uses digital cameras or their smartphones. It's nice to see such an extensive inventory of film and film cameras. As a matter of fact, I don't think I see any digital cameras at all. Old school. I like it.

"Hello there. Welcome," a male voice calls out, startling me.

I jump and spin in place, facing the voice. No one was in here when I entered, so he must have come from the back room because I didn't hear the bell at the front door ring after I entered.

"Hello."

"Can I help you find anything today?" the man behind the counter asks.

He's classically handsome, with jet-black hair that's graying at the temples. I can't tell exactly how old he is, as his characteristics could make him younger or older. I'm going to go with older, maybe around the age my dad would be if he were still alive.

The thought warms me to him immediately. Associating him with a father figure. With his welcoming smile and friendly attitude, he doesn't seem to be just for customers.

You know how sometimes, when you meet a person, you get a vibe? Well, his vibe is nothing but positive feelings. He puts off an air that makes me instantly like him. Kind of like Ginger.

"Yes. I'm looking for Polaroid film."

I hold up my white and blue Polaroid Now I-Type instant camera.

"Well, isn't she a beauty? Polaroids are one of my favorites. I absolutely have some film for you."

Stepping out from behind the counter, he walks down the next aisle and stoops. By the time I circle the chest high shelf and join him he stands holding a small box with the polaroid rainbow across the middle.

"Found it," he proclaims, handing the box over to me. "Do you need more than one?"

Each cartridge only holds eight photos, and at the rate I'm using them, I'll definitely need more than one.

"Yes. A couple if you have them. Maybe three or four?"

"Not a problem."

Bending down, he produces three more boxes of color I-type film and hands them to me.

"You take a lot of photos?"

"Recently, yes. It's kind of become a new hobby of mine."

The man walks back behind the counter, his broad smile still in place. I follow, unable to resist smiling in return. Placing the film, my camera, and purse on the counter, I pull out my notebook, which holds the majority of my photos.

"I've been taking them everywhere I go. Some around town as well."

He takes the film boxes and starts ringing them up, typing the prices into a register without internet or a barcode scanner. I spot a credit card machine behind the counter that doesn't look like it gets much use.

"Really? Any good ones?" His tone conveys true interest, not just polite conversation.

Flipping through my notebook, I pull out a couple of my favorites and lay them out one by one for him to see.

"I took this one of my coffee this morning. This one at Dottie's when I first arrived. Then there's the cabin I'm staying in."

He nods and inspects each one as I lay them out. Smirking at one of the cabins, laughter evident in his eyes. Then I place the final photo down, the one of the wolf. He picks it up and holds it in front of his nose for a closer inspection.

"I took that one in the forest where I'm staying. The wolf was surprisingly tame. He let me take his picture, then even rubbed against me and let me pet him."

"Really now?"

With the photo still held in his hand, he looks up at me in disbelief, eyebrows raising and the smile on his face amused. His dark eyes saying something I can't decipher.

"Is that weird? I sure as hell thought it was weird, but when he didn't bite or maul me, I figured maybe he was used to being around humans."

"Oh, he's definitely used to being around humans."

Shocked at the familiarity in his words, I look at him, my forehead pinching in confusion.

"You know the wolf? Has he been around a lot?"

"He's definitely familiar to the town. There are a lot of them in the woods, actually. We know them; they know us," he explains nonchalantly like it's a normal everyday thing to be friendly with wild wolves.

"So, I shouldn't be afraid of him then?" I ask.

It would make me a lot more comfortable knowing that one interaction wasn't a fluke and that if I cross paths with the wolf again, I don't have to fear it. For some unknown reason, I've been feeling drawn back to the woods ever since meeting the wolf.

"Not at all." The man looks me over, studying me. He grins as he sets the photo down on the counter with the rest of them.

"I'm sorry I never introduced myself." He extends a hand across the counter to shake. "My name is Michael. I'm Hunter and Ginger's father."

"Seriously?" I blurt out before I can stop myself with my hand halfway to his, frozen in shock.

There's no freaking way he's Hunter's dad. He can't be that old. If I remember correctly, Ginger said they have another brother who's older than them both. He must have been really young when they were born.

Michael chuckles and doesn't seem offended by my outburst. He closes the distance between our oddly outstretched hands, clasping mine in his. His hand is far larger than mine, and his grip is solid but gentle.

"Sorry. It's just—you don't look old enough to have a grown son as old as Hunter."

"Well, thank you. We live a healthy life and stay active. I think that's what keeps us young at heart."

He releases my hand, and it drops uselessly, resting on top of my purse on the counter. What some people in LA wouldn't pay to bottle whatever it is he's using to stay young. It has to be something in the water because Dottie didn't look as old as Ginger made her out to be, either.

"I actually just ran into your son before coming here," I admit.

Michael doesn't immediately speak. Just continues smiling and watching me.

"And, was he friendly?"

Odd choice of words, but whatever.

"Um, well, when we first met last night at the cabin, he tried to get me arrested for trespassing. But today, he was polite and helpful. I'm not sure he would consider us friends exactly."

Michael chuckles, and it ends on an exacerbated sigh. "He can be a little uptight sometimes. He takes his position as mayor very seriously and doesn't like when unexpected obstacles appear. New people in town always make him a little edgy. He'll get over it."

It's nice to know it's not just me. The inner part of me that was saddened at Hunter's initial distancing lightens. So, he's just a stickler for the status quo. Doesn't like change or waves in the water. That's fine with me. I don't want to cause a disturbance.

"I know," Michael proclaims suddenly, surprising me with his optimistic tone. "Why don't you come over for dinner with me and my wife? We can invite Ginger, Hunter, and Ryder, my oldest. You can get to know them, and they you. I'm sure once Hunter is more familiar with you, he'll be more friendly."

"Oh, I don't know—" I start to decline his polite offer, but he cuts me off before I can finish.

"Nonsense. I insist. Why don't we plan for this weekend? Say, Friday night? Saturday is karaoke night, and I know Ginger doesn't like to miss it."

I fumble my words, trying to find a way to reject the invitation, but nothing comes out. I've never received such a heartwarming invitation before. Most people only want me to attend their event to draw the media's eye to them. Bringing them the attention that always follows me everywhere I go. But Hunter's dad only wants me there to get to know each other better. How can I say no to that? And I secretly want to see Hunter again. Maybe his dad is right; if he gets to know me, he'll be more inclined to be my friend.

"Okay, then. Friday it is."

"Perfect. I'll let everyone know and don't worry about anything. I'll have one of the kids pick you up, say five?"

"Sounds great."

As long as that kid is Ginger.

I pay for my film in cash and chat for a minute longer with Hunter's dad before venturing back to my car. I think I've had enough excitement for today. Plus, I really want to get home and test out my new guitar.

I drive back to the cabin with swirling thoughts of Hunter, guitars, dinner with his parents, and the unexpected fluttering in my gut of anticipation.