Rosalina
DRIZZLING RAIN SPRINKLES OFF my jacket as I walk down the street and away from the store. I
just want to get home, throw a microwave dinner in, and cuddle up on the couch with my ghost hunter.
Shit. There’s a huge mess waiting for me. That’s the way it always is. Papa’s gone for months,
comes home for a few days, makes an absolute wreck of the place with maps and old books and
weird artifacts, and then he’s gone again.
Petra was a disappointment, he said. Nothing there but dead ends. This time, he’s going back into
the woods. It always comes back to the woods.
Orca Cove is bordered by the Pacific Ocean on the west and Lake Villeneuve to the south. The
sprawling Briarwood Forest covers the northeast. That’s where the hunting guides take the tourists in
peak season. But Papa says there’s something else out there.
I pull my hood over my head and stare at my soggy shoes. He’s got a good tent and top-of-the-line
gear, but he must be cold. I packed him a bunch of dehydrated food and made sure he’s got water
purification tablets, but what if he forgets to use them? What if he trips and is out of service?
What if this is the time he doesn’t come back?
These thoughts are useless. I’ve said them to Papa a hundred times. But to him, it doesn’t matter.
‘She’s out there, Rose. I know it. I won’t stop until I bring her home.’
Every small town has their village weirdo. And Orca Cove has Crazy George, my father. The
former archeologist who told the whole village his wife got stolen by faeries.
Rosalina
my jacket as I walk down the street and away from the store. I
just want to get home, throw a microwave dinner in, and cuddle up on the couch with my ghost hunter.
Shit. There’s a huge mess waiting for me. That’s the way it always is. Papa’s gone for months,
comes home for a few days, makes an absolute wreck of the place with maps and old books and
Petra was a disappointment, he said. Nothing there but dead ends. This time, he’s going back into
Orca Cove is bordered by the Pacific Ocean on the west and Lake Villeneuve to the south. The
sprawling Briarwood Forest covers the northeast. That’s where the hunting guides take the tourists in
I pull my hood over my head and stare at my soggy shoes. He’s got a good tent and top-of-the-line
gear, but he must be cold. I packed him a bunch of dehydrated food and made sure he’s got water
These thoughts are useless. I’ve said them to Papa a hundred times. But to him, it doesn’t matter.
Every small town has their village weirdo. And Orca Cove has Crazy George, my father. The
I live close to the bookstore—everything is close in Orca Cove—but I take the long way ‘round.
Towering pine trees line the streets, and the buildings are all designed to look like log cabins. The
hub of our city, Poussin Hunting Lodge, is lit up with golden lights as people head to the pub inside
for an after-work pick-me-up. I haven’t stepped foot in there in ages. Too many memories.
There’s only one thing that’ll make me feel better after a day like today.
My feet carry me unconsciously to the street on the very edge of town, away from the houses and
the downtown shops. The sky has grown darker, and there are fewer streetlamps, but I know this town
like the back of my hand. Puddles splash up around my ankles as I quicken my step.
And as soon as I see it, a sense of calm fills me. It’s a building with a tin roof and a cracked
window and a broken door hinge and ugly olive-green paint peeling off of every wall. It’s been up for
sale for years and never had any takers.
But one day, it’s going to be mine. I walk over to it and place my hand on the wall. I can imagine it
now: unlocking the doors first thing in the morning when the mist still dances around the pines.
Walking over to a beautiful long desk in the middle. I’d have a top-of-the-line computer that never
crashed. On one side, there would be rows and rows and rows of books. A huge children’s section
with a toy box. A section for displays. And an entire shelf just for romances.
It would be exactly what our community needs.
A library.
The vision flashes in perfect clarity before me. I’d probably be closer to my goal if I hadn’t offered
Papa my college fund. But our tiny house was getting foreclosed, and he was in a pit of depression not
being able to follow up on a lead in the highlands of Scotland because he couldn’t afford the plane
ticket.
Of course, I had to give it to him.
Would I have studied English Literature like I thought? Gotten my master’s degree like Lucas?
Would I have stayed in a big city like one of my friends?
My reflection peers back at me from the window of my dream building: tall, messy chestnut hair,
mascara smudged around my brown eyes. If I tilt my head, my image gets shattered in the cracked
glass, turning my tired expression into something monstrous.
I may not have that library, but I do have something else. Down the road, a full weeping willow
waves her branches in the breeze. She’s lost most of her leaves now, but there’s still something so
elegant about her, like her branches are the skirts of a beautiful ballgown.
I live close to the bookstore—everything is close in Orca Cove—but I take the long way ‘round.
Towering pine trees line the streets, and the buildings are all designed to look like log cabins. The
hub of our city, Poussin Hunting Lodge, is lit up with golden lights as people head to the pub inside
My feet carry me unconsciously to the street on the very edge of town, away from the houses and
the downtown shops. The sky has grown darker, and there are fewer streetlamps, but I know this town
And as soon as I see it, a sense of calm fills me. It’s a building with a tin roof and a cracked
window and a broken door hinge and ugly olive-green paint peeling off of every wall. It’s been up for
But one day, it’s going to be mine. I walk over to it and place my hand on the wall. I can imagine it
now: unlocking the doors first thing in the morning when the mist still dances around the pines.
Walking over to a beautiful long desk in the middle. I’d have a top-of-the-line computer that never
crashed. On one side, there would be rows and rows and rows of books. A huge children’s section
The vision flashes in perfect clarity before me. I’d probably be closer to my goal if I hadn’t offered
Papa my college fund. But our tiny house was getting foreclosed, and he was in a pit of depression not
being able to follow up on a lead in the highlands of Scotland because he couldn’t afford the plane
Would I have studied English Literature like I thought? Gotten my master’s degree like Lucas?
My reflection peers back at me from the window of my dream building: tall, messy chestnut hair,
mascara smudged around my brown eyes. If I tilt my head, my image gets shattered in the cracked
I may not have that library, but I do have something else. Down the road, a full weeping willow
waves her branches in the breeze. She’s lost most of her leaves now, but there’s still something so
Classic village crazy woman. Personifying a tree. Like father, like daughter, I guess. But I like this
tree better than most of the residents of Orca Cove. And besides, Papa says this was Mom’s favorite
tree.
That’s why it was the perfect spot to build my own little library. It’s one of the few things Papa’s
ever done for me: he made a tiny house with a glass door and propped it up on a tall wooden stake.
I decorated the outside with dried flowers. Roses, specifically. Papa would always ask me what I
wanted from his travels. You home safely. To stay and not leave me alone again, I would think. But I
never said it out loud. Instead, I would always ask him for a rose, something cheap and easy he could
get. And at least that was a promise he always kept, even if sometimes it was little trinkets or jewelry
rather than the real flower.
I stocked the little library with all my favorite books. I’d yet to see anyone take or leave a book yet,
but—
“Wait, what?” My heart hammers against my chest. The little library... It’s destroyed. Books
scatter the damp ground, the pole slants, and the house is smashed onto the road. I sprint over, trying
to save the books from the puddles. Then I see one wall has graffiti on it: THE FAERIES DID IT
“No, no, no.” I fall to my knees, books slipping from my hands into the mud. I worked so hard on
this...
Bright headlights cut through the dark street. I shield my eyes. A noisy, rumbling truck lumbers
closer. I can barely see anything with those headlights on full blast. What kind of jackass turns his
brights on while going down a residential street?
But the truck... It’s coming toward me. Quickly, I leap off of the street and back onto the sidewalk,
the salvaged books falling from my hands into the puddles. The truck pulls up along the side of the
road, then reverses to be right in front of me.
A protest dies on my lips as the tires crunch over the broken remains of my little library. What does
it matter? I couldn’t save it, anyway. Dried flowers shed their petals in the mud.
I blink as the truck cuts its engine. Who would stop to talk to me? Now that my eyes clear from the
blinding headlights, I can make out the logo on the door of the truck. Poussin Hunting Co. Is it one of
the Poussin guides? But why?
A flush of anticipation tingles through my body. Wait...
Heavy boots thud on the other side. My heart hammers in my chest as I step around the truck. The
drizzle finally breaks into rain and heavy drops pellet the ground, the streetlights gleaming harsh
shadows off every tree.
Classic village crazy woman. Personifying a tree. Like father, like daughter, I guess. But I like this
tree better than most of the residents of Orca Cove. And besides, Papa says this was Mom’s favorite
That’s why it was the perfect spot to build my own little library. It’s one of the few things Papa’s
I decorated the outside with dried flowers. Roses, specifically. Papa would always ask me what I
I would think. But I
never said it out loud. Instead, I would always ask him for a rose, something cheap and easy he could
get. And at least that was a promise he always kept, even if sometimes it was little trinkets or jewelry
I stocked the little library with all my favorite books. I’d yet to see anyone take or leave a book yet,
“Wait, what?” My heart hammers against my chest. The little library... It’s destroyed. Books
scatter the damp ground, the pole slants, and the house is smashed onto the road. I sprint over, trying
“No, no, no.” I fall to my knees, books slipping from my hands into the mud. I worked so hard on
Bright headlights cut through the dark street. I shield my eyes. A noisy, rumbling truck lumbers
closer. I can barely see anything with those headlights on full blast. What kind of jackass turns his
But the truck... It’s coming toward me. Quickly, I leap off of the street and back onto the sidewalk,
the salvaged books falling from my hands into the puddles. The truck pulls up along the side of the
A protest dies on my lips as the tires crunch over the broken remains of my little library. What does
I blink as the truck cuts its engine. Who would stop to talk to me? Now that my eyes clear from the
blinding headlights, I can make out the logo on the door of the truck. Poussin Hunting Co. Is it one of
Heavy boots thud on the other side. My heart hammers in my chest as I step around the truck. The
drizzle finally breaks into rain and heavy drops pellet the ground, the streetlights gleaming harsh
“Rosalina O’Connell. It can’t be.”
It can’t be is right. Because standing in front of me is Lucas Poussin. My ex-boyfriend.
My throat seizes. Oh god. He looks... good. I mean, he always looks good. It’s been nearly a year
since I last saw him. He always graces Orca Cove with his presence at Christmas time, but this is
way too early.
Lucas runs a hand through his dark red hair. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a black shirt
underneath and snug jeans. He looks more ‘city’ than the usual guys around here, but he still has that
edge to him. The edge of the hunter’s son.
“Here I was, driving to your house, when I see someone splashing around in the mud. I figured it
was some sort of vagabond or other undesirable, so I pulled up to send them packing. And what do I
know? It’s Rosalina O’Connell herself.”
I’m completely drenched in mud, from my jacket to my black leggings. I know there are bags under
my eyes, and I’m sure this rain is not doing my mascara any favors. Of course, he looks like he
walked off the cover of Men’s Health.
Lucas narrows his hazel eyes at me, and I realize I haven’t said anything. Oh god. It’s my turn to say
something, isn’t it? But as always, I’m completely stuck.
Cause that’s what Lucas does to me. Shows up once a year and completely immobilizes me. It’s
like I regress to being back in high school, hanging onto his every word. The worst part is, I know it’s
pathetic. You’d think I was sixteen, not twenty-six.
Everyone in Orca Cove thinks Lucas is God’s gift to humanity. The only time the residents thought
of me as anything other than Crazy George’s daughter was after the incident at the frozen lake. Back
then, I was Lucas’s girl.
My throat clenches as if it’s all those years ago, the ice water pouring down at me. I see his hand
like a beacon.
Despite myself, I know being Lucas’s girl felt better than being the outcast like I am now. Being
asked about Lucas was so much easier than people asking why my dad is growing fairy circles in the
backyard.
But being Lucas’s girl didn’t feel good when he dumped me right before he left for university. Or
the time he came home for Christmas, took me out to dinner, and ordered a salad for me because,
‘You’ve packed on the freshman fifteen and aren’t even in college’. Or last winter when we went for
drinks at the Lodge, and I took him home so he could fuck me. I woke up, and he was sexting some
girl from his university. I pretended not to see.
My throat seizes. Oh god. He looks... good. I mean, he always looks good. It’s been nearly a year
since I last saw him. He always graces Orca Cove with his presence at Christmas time, but this is
Lucas runs a hand through his dark red hair. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a black shirt
underneath and snug jeans. He looks more ‘city’ than the usual guys around here, but he still has that
“Here I was, driving to your house, when I see someone splashing around in the mud. I figured it
was some sort of vagabond or other undesirable, so I pulled up to send them packing. And what do I
I’m completely drenched in mud, from my jacket to my black leggings. I know there are bags under
my eyes, and I’m sure this rain is not doing my mascara any favors. Of course, he looks like he
Lucas narrows his hazel eyes at me, and I realize I haven’t said anything. Oh god. It’s my turn to say
Cause that’s what Lucas does to me. Shows up once a year and completely immobilizes me. It’s
like I regress to being back in high school, hanging onto his every word. The worst part is, I know it’s
Everyone in Orca Cove thinks Lucas is God’s gift to humanity. The only time the residents thought
of me as anything other than Crazy George’s daughter was after the incident at the frozen lake. Back
My throat clenches as if it’s all those years ago, the ice water pouring down at me. I see his hand
Despite myself, I know being Lucas’s girl felt better than being the outcast like I am now. Being
asked about Lucas was so much easier than people asking why my dad is growing fairy circles in the
But being Lucas’s girl didn’t feel good when he dumped me right before he left for university. Or
the time he came home for Christmas, took me out to dinner, and ordered a salad for me because,
. Or last winter when we went for
drinks at the Lodge, and I took him home so he could fuck me. I woke up, and he was sexting some
He stares down at me, his eyes narrowed. And he smiles. “Babe, you must be so excited to see
me.”
And despite it all... I am.
He pulls me into him, and it feels so good to be wrapped up in his warmth. I inhale. He smells like
cologne and leather and it’s so fucking familiar, I can’t help myself. “I missed you.”
“I know, pumpkin.” He pulls away and gives a shining grin. My chest bursts. He’s smiling for me.
“I-I’m surprised to see you,” I somehow manage. I’m tall at 5’11, and he has one inch on me, but
when he stares at me like this, I feel like I’m five years old.
“That’s what I wanted.” He grins. “I graduated in spring. Did you hear? With honors, of course.”
Yeah, I heard. The Poussins are basically royalty to Orca Cove. Everyone was talking about it.
“So you got a job for some accounting firm in the city?” I ask.
He snorts. “Yeah, I’m done with that. They had a problem with my visionary attitude. I don’t need
to put myself in a cage, you know?”
“Sure,” I say. “How long are you in town for?”
He ignores my question and grips my chin. I suck in a breath, staring up at him like one of his does.
“You really are startingly beautiful,” he whispers, but it’s not like he’s saying it to me. It’s like he’s
saying it to himself. “Such a unique sort of beauty.”
My skin itches. I pull down on my left sleeve.
He whips away and heads to the truck. “Dinner at the Lodge tomorrow night. 7 p.m. Bring your dad
if he’s not too busy, you know, catching gnomes or whatever.”
That’s... That’s it? He’s going to tell me to meet him for dinner and leave? I should tell him to fuck
off. I should tell him if he wants to go to dinner with me, he’ll have to pick me up. I should tell him—
But before I get up the nerve to do anything, he’s driven away, leaving me alone in the rain with my
broken library and wilted roses.
He stares down at me, his eyes narrowed. And he smiles. “Babe, you must be so excited to see
me.”
And despite it all... I am.
He pulls me into him, and it feels so good to be wrapped up in his warmth. I inhale. He smells like
cologne and leather and it’s so fucking familiar, I can’t help myself. “I missed you.”
“I know, pumpkin.” He pulls away and gives a shining grin. My chest bursts. He’s smiling for me.
“I-I’m surprised to see you,” I somehow manage. I’m tall at 5’11, and he has one inch on me, but
when he stares at me like this, I feel like I’m five years old.
“That’s what I wanted.” He grins. “I graduated in spring. Did you hear? With honors, of course.”
Yeah, I heard. The Poussins are basically royalty to Orca Cove. Everyone was talking about it.
“So you got a job for some accounting firm in the city?” I ask.
He snorts. “Yeah, I’m done with that. They had a problem with my visionary attitude. I don’t need
to put myself in a cage, you know?”
“Sure,” I say. “How long are you in town for?”
He ignores my question and grips my chin. I suck in a breath, staring up at him like one of his does.
“You really are startingly beautiful,” he whispers, but it’s not like he’s saying it to me. It’s like he’s
saying it to himself. “Such a unique sort of beauty.”
My skin itches. I pull down on my left sleeve.
He whips away and heads to the truck. “Dinner at the Lodge tomorrow night. 7 p.m. Bring your dad
if he’s not too busy, you know, catching gnomes or whatever.”
That’s... That’s it? He’s going to tell me to meet him for dinner and leave? I should tell him to fuck
off. I should tell him if he wants to go to dinner with me, he’ll have to pick me up. I should tell him—
But before I get up the nerve to do anything, he’s driven away, leaving me alone in the rain with my
broken library and wilted roses.