Page 3 of Reeling for His Omega

Finally making it to the corner, I finagled my way around it, moving the cart back and forth until it was headed in the right direction. It would be nice to have wheels that actually turned. One day, I hoped to be able to buy a newer version, but for now, I was pretty happy with what I had managed to achieve.

The car was still parked in the loading zone and a glance at my watch showed it been a half hour, which was the time limit for actual loading according to the sign. Passenger vehicles were allowed only five. In addition to being a theme—popcorn and movie theater—the loading zone allowed people to see me. Nobody parked there. Nobody even unloaded there with the theater closed. It was one spot along the main street where my little business was not hidden behind parked cars or trash cans or light posts.

There was an area where food trucks congregated, and I was allowed to set up shop there, but the two times I tried, my sales weren’t great. It seemed that most people were there for meals or just couldn’t spot me among the much larger trucks and carts.

At least the car was low, but it was still blocking me somewhat. Surely they would leave soon.

I’d stood in front of this theater for months now, and the posters in the shadow boxes on either side of the lobby entrance were for movies so old, I had never even heard of them. No light had ever shone from inside, but I often wondered what it had been like when the theater was in its heyday. Some of the older people who stopped to buy a bag of my caramel turtle corn or brown-butter special liked to talk about growing up in a time when they could take a date to a movie or go with friends. One old wolf shifter said when he was a preteen, he theater-hopped every Saturday, paying for one and seeing at least three. He told the story with great pride, and I didn’t blame him. Young and mischievous, he must have been a real firecracker.

But today, as I set up my cart, something felt different. The popper was spilling fresh corn into the basket, sending its enticing scent into the air, and I was setting up the menu board with today’s flavors. I usually did three to five kinds, depending on how busy things seemed. Today, I planned to prepare the caramel corn with peanuts, so I would need to prepare the fresh caramel on the single-burner stove. It was one of my biggest sellers, likely because it was a higher-end version of a childhood treat.

I went around the street side and bent to get my thick-bottomed candy pot out of the storage area. Straightening, I blinked hard. What the… Instead of posters for movies from before I was born, the shadow boxes held Coming Soon! Classic Movies in the Fully Restored Oliver Creek Cinema. And there was something about a film festival.

Also, signs adorned with the traditional dancing candy boxes, soft drink cups, and popcorn tubs.

Was the theater really opening again? For just a second, I got excited because I loved going to the movies, but if it was, my little niche cart was not going to be able to sell popcorn out here in front of a brick-and-mortar snack bar selling almost the same thing. Probably not fancy flavors, but still. The new owner would have me chased away and back to the food-truck lot in five minutes. Where I sold nothing.

Crap.

Chapter Three

Eryx

My dad, if he were here, would be laughing and saying he told me so.

He did tell me so. A great reason to make this work.

The seller was motivated, or at least so the Realtor claimed, going on to extol the virtues of the local area. “Oliver Creek has expanded so much over the years. There’s a new website and we have food truck nights and great parks and schools. I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you had a partner, a mate? Children?”

Why would he? I was buying a movie theater, not a home.

We stood in front of the building. On the sign were the titles of movies from decades ago. The lettering was cracked and some were missing, but anyone who had a TV would recognize them.

“I don’t have any of that.”

“Well.” He slid his phone into his pocket. He wore khakis and a polo. Dressed down for a Realtor but then again, Oliver Creek was a small city or maybe a large town. Things were different here compared to the bustling city I’d come from. More relaxed. Quieter. Ten times friendlier. Just this morning, I’d been welcomed over ten times on my way to the coffee shop. “This town is also known for romance. I’ve seen countless shifter and humans alike come here and find their mates and partners.”

“I think I’ll have enough on my hands. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

I looked up at the building. It was in rough shape, but the seller asserted it was usable.

Work I could do. I’d secured an apartment nearby, and my savings should be enough to last me years, even with the renovation.

The Realtor’s phone buzzed. He picked it up and walked away, speaking to someone. He stayed in sight, but far enough that I couldn’t hear what was being said.

I put my hands on my hips, blew out a long breath, and turned full circle, letting my gut instinct do its thing. Oliver Creek was a mecca for restaurants and food trucks. It was modern but retained the small-town feel. Couples and families walked around, chatting. All kinds of food scents mingled in the air. They even had a yoga studio.

By the time Scott, the Realtor, came back from his phone call, I’d made my decision.

“Are you sure? We can wait for the owner and he can give you a tour first.”

“I’m sure. I’ll take it.”

We shook hands and over the next week, everything was settled. Real estate was handled like a one-stop-shop here and the paperwork, insurance, and keys were handed over under one roof.

Now it was time to see what I was working with.

When I opened the back door, a cloud of dust billowed out as though it had been waiting for me. I coughed and sputtered. Dust could be cleaned. Swept.