She leaned forward, gasping. He didn't like the way she looked. Were her hips too wide, her breasts too big or too small? Did he hate her face? Or worse—the color of her skin? She didn't want to believe that could be the cause of his coldness, but the world rarely operated based on what Dew wanted to believe.
In the end, the cause of Stetson's demeanor to her didn't matter, because the effect was the same. He could barely stand to look at her.
Her phone buzzed in her hand—Blythe had brought it to her when Dew returned from the failure of a conversation with Stetson.
Now, Jillian was texting her back.
Take as long as you need! You deserve a vacation!
Thanks, Dew texted back. I hope to be back soon, but prepare for a couple of weeks, okay?
Gotcha. I hope you have a grand adventure.
Dew blinked back tears. Passion. Adventure. She’d thought they were within reach, but now, after talking to Stetson? She didn’t think so.
It had been fake. Everything had been fake.
“Hey, Dew—hey, are you all right?" Blythe stood in front of her, a look of concern in her green eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay,” Dew said. “I mean, as okay as possible."
Blythe nodded. "Were you able to talk to your boss?"
“We texted back and forth. She told me to have fun on my vacation. I hated lying to her, though."
"I'm sorry," Blythe said. “I know I keep saying that, but it's the truth. This sucks, and there's no ignoring that.”
At least she wasn't trying to sugarcoat it anymore. And all the information had been shared. Dew knew what she was dealing with, now. Glancing around, Dew saw a large red duffel bag on the hood of the closest rusty car. She pointed to it. “Are those my clothes?"
“Oh—yes!" Blythe handed over Dew's house key—not that Dew needed the key.
“So at least I have clean underwear," Dew said.
"Oops,” Blythe said.
Dew’s shoulders fell. “Seriously?”
“Just kidding,” she said with a smile. “Your undie drawer was the first place I hit.”
Dew laughed. “You're kind of mean, you know that?"
Blythe winced.
“I think,” Dew said, “that it means we'll get along."
Looking relieved, Blythe said, “I think we will, too. Anyway, yeah, undies first. I remember too well what it was like to be trapped here without clean bras and underwear."
“What was it like when you came here?"
The friendly expression on Blythe's face fell. "It was pretty bad. There was this other guy in the Junkyard then, and he grabbed me, and everyone was going to fight for the right to claim me, or something."
"Is that a...shapeshifter thing?" Dew asked.
"No." Blythe said darkly. “It's a bad guy thing."
Dew waited. She didn't want to pressure Blythe to share such an obviously unpleasant memory, although she was very curious how Blythe had come from such a terrible beginning here and then ended up practically a queen.
“My friend Jessica was stuck, too,” Blythe said. "We ended up fighting and winning against the bad guys. The worst one is gone—someone sneaked into the Junkyard and killed him a few months ago. The other guy is my friend now."
"Wow," Dew said. Someone died in here.
“Yeah,” Blythe said, misunderstanding Dew’s reaction. “He's a budding feminist."
Dew squinted to see if Blythe was joking, but Blythe nodded.
"Really," Blythe said. “He's actually a good friend. Maybe...okay, so here's the thing."
Raising her eyebrows, Dew said, "What now?"
"I’m wondering how your conversation with Stetson went. You didn’t seem to want to talk when I brought you your phone earlier. It was bad, huh?"
There was that cold feeling again, spreading through Dew's chest. "Yeah. It was bad."
"I don’t get it, though," Blythe said. “From what you told me...from that poem I found…"
"I don’t get it, either." Dew blinked quickly, refusing to cry or tear up over this. "He made it pretty obvious that he wants nothing to do with me. Maybe he had a different picture in his mind of what I looked like, I don't know, and seeing me in person was a disappointment.”
Blythe frowned, her auburn eyebrows pinching together. "I cannot believe he would be disappointed in your looks. You're gorgeous."
Dew didn't want to list all the ways she might not match up to Stetson's expectations, so she just shrugged.
"Well, maybe he isn't your fated mate and your ticket out of this place, then," Blythe said. "His loss. There are plenty of other guys around. Are you up for meeting a few?"
Dew thought about it. No, she wasn’t up for meeting guys. She had only wanted to meet the mysterious “S,” whose poems made her heart flutter and her body tighten with need.
But she also wanted to escape the Junkyard. Would it really be so bad to fall in love?
"What's it like having a mate?" she asked Blythe.
“Ah." Blythe sighed. “I didn't date a ton before I met Jase, but I'd had a few boyfriends. Nothing that I felt with any of them, sexually or emotionally, came near to what I have with Jase. I don't know how to explain it, other than it's an all-consuming kind of love, but not in a way where I lose myself. I used to think I was unlucky and unloved. Now I see it's the complete opposite of that. I know I must sound crazy."
Dew nodded, then laughed. “You do sound crazy, but in a good, happy way."
“So are you in?" Blythe asked. “Do you want to get to know the guys here?”
A niggling feeling writhed in Dew's stomach, so she said, “Not quite yet. I need to think about it."
Her mom had always told her it was easier to walk back a no than a yes.
And she wanted to get to the bottom of Stetson’s weird reaction to her before she committed to meeting the other guys.
“What are you thinking?” Blythe asked. “You just got this hella determined look in your eyes.”
“I want answers. I want to know why Stetson gave me the brush-off. After sending letters back and forth for months, I think I deserve that much.”
“Damn, yeah you do. I saw him over that way when I drove in.” Blythe pointed past the remains of an old school bus.
“Thanks.”
Dew didn’t pause to think about what she was doing. She grabbed Stetson’s requested book, The Ten Thousand Doors of January, with her letter tucked inside it, and took off in the direction Blythe had pointed. She went past the bus and saw a large area of dirt and rock, some kind of small quarry, it looked like. Beyond that was a group of aspen trees and a pond. Sitting next to the pond was Stetson.
He stood up as she passed the aspens and reached the pond. He didn’t approach her, though; instead, he leaned against the white trunk of an aspen.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she stepped closer. She didn’t believe for a second he wasn’t interested, not if the growing bulge in his jeans was any indication. She didn’t know much about sex, but she was pretty sure a boner was a sign of interest. It didn’t necessarily signify consent, of course, but she believed it indicated interest.