"some moments are nice,
some are nicer,
and some are even worth
writing about."
- Charles Bukowski,
War All the Time -
_____
The sky was a canvas with delicate red strokes covering the blankness of it; each stroke syncing together in rhythmic harmony. It looked out of place compared to the gray skies she was becoming familiar with.
When Lydia was growing up, her grandmother used to say, "red skies at night, sailor's delight, but red skies at morning, sailor's take warning."
Ironically, storms were being pronounced for Port Angeles, but then again, when wasn't it raining?
Just as Lydia had closed her eyes in hopes of getting another few hours of rest before she was due to come into work, a shrill ringing came from her bedside.
"Hello," she said into the phone.
"Mornin', suga! Hope I didn't wake ya," that familiar southern accent had Lydia smiling.
"You're fine, Etta. Did you need something?"
"I just realized I had an appointment this mornin' 'n' I was wonderin' if you'd open the shop for me. I stopped by and slipped the key under the green flower pot you like so much."
"What time?" Lydia asked her.
"'Bout an hour an a half."
"Alrighty, dear. I'll be there."
"Thank ya, darlin'. I'll be there 'round 10."
Lydia smiled as Etta quickly clicked off in a very enthusiastic Etta-type way.
_____
On the contrary, Lydia unenthusiastically rolled into the shop parking lot, but not without noticing a large truck inhabiting the parking space that Etta's little red bug normally sat in.
She quirked an eyebrow as she reached down to grasp the golden key from beneath the green pot only to find it missing.
Nervously, she tugged the open door handle and cautiously walked inside.
"Hello?" Her voice came out a bit shaky. Lydia wondered though, why the truck would park visibly in front of the building if he was determined to break in.
"Hello?" She called out again, "Anyone here?"
"I am," came a gruff voice behind her.
He stood at nearly six feet, seven inches, a combination of smooth skin and woven sinews of muscles. His features were blunt, a dominating nose that made his face unique and his large shoulders crafted expertly. Not to mention, his silky black curls tussled to messy perfection.
"Um.... ah, I'm Lydia," she said, slightly shaking as she held her hand out in a friendly gesture, "and you are?"
The word to describe him was entranced.
He could imagine his eyes were awed and his jaw almost slack.
He stared into her hazel eyes that were dominated by green streaks; he slowly lost all thought in the eyes that ironically looked like his name: a forest.
"Forrest. I'm Forrest...Thatcher," his voice a little smaller than it had been when an unknown had been in his mother's café.
His tone was even unknown to him, as he wasn't familiar with the gentleness brought to him by a mate.
His mate.
Lydia held her hand out for a bit longer, patiently waiting for him to slip out of his trance.
What she didn't expect was for the hyper-awareness of every nerve in her body.
She didn't expect him to bring her small hand up to his lips and kiss it with such tenderness that it made the boys in her hometown look like just that—young boys.
"It's nice to meet you..Lydia," her name slipped off his tongue unlike it had on anyone else's.
"So you're Etta's infamous son," she said, looking into his deep, warm brown eyes. The kind of eyes that felt like sunshine seeping into your skin after you are frozen into immobility.
"That I am."
"Well, my goodness. I didn't expect y'all to meet so soon!" Etta's cheerful voice seemed as if it had new life. Her eyes twinkled and her smile was upturned at the edges.
Lydia didn't realize that she was still in Forrest's strong grasp until she tried to break from it to save herself from the embarrassment that followed Etta's prying eye.
Forrest, though, seemed reluctant to let her go away from him as he slightly squeezed on her hand and then slowly let her go.
"Etta, hi! I'll be getting to work. I'm sure you two have things to discuss."
She quickly ducked her head and scampered away from the scene as she pressed her cold hands to her heated cheeks.
_____
"Did you know?"
Etta smiled, not owning up, nor declining the accusation.
"Did you know?" He repeated, much less patient.
"I did, son. I knew."
"But how?" Forrest's voice didn't match his demeanor.
It was broken while his body was sturdy.
His heart lurched and perched in his throat, like a thought he couldn't swallow.
A mate, he thought once again which brought out a small smile upon his face.
He thought it to be unbelievable.
Him.
A mate of his own.
A chair perfectly made for a princess designed for him.
"You waited for her for so long, sweetheart. The second I saw her, I just knew."
"She's human," it wasn't unknown, but it was rare.
Etta was already nodding at her questioning son.
"Honey, she is. She won't be foreva though," she said with spunk accompanied by a knowing smile.
A megawatt grin lit up Forrest's face, giving him the look of a happy boy instead of a feared man, "that's true."
YOU ARE READING
Deviant
Werewolf"I could trace the curve of his face with the glance of my eyes. An elongated nose, with a wide base making a staple on his unique face, and his coarse curls gathered together in a flock, falling over his forehead with the tilt of his head. Eyelids...
