Read Den and Breakfast: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (Honeycomb Falls Book 1) for Free Online Page B

town. This is all too much. I feel overwhelmed. I leave Mama B's bedroom, run down the stairs, and out the front door. The late afternoon sunshine is golden, and I inhale deeply. I turn to look up at Mama B's window. For a second I think I see her standing there, watching me through the dusty panes, a wicked smile on her lips, but then I realize it's just my imagination and a trick of the light.
    I hop into my Mustang and drive around the driveway, gravel spitting in every direction, and back out onto the street. Sure, it's only a quarter mile, but I want to keep my car close.
    I drive quickly along the curving road, until the Conway River hoves back into view, the sound of the falls filling the air with its faint roar. I drive up the two blocks to Mindy's General Store and park out front. It's a large old building, classical New England style, with a peaked roof and a porch out front on which a cluster of backpackers are seated, eating a mess of power bars and cups of soup. I slip past them and into the store.
    It's lovely inside. One half is dedicated to wine and beer, the back is a gourmet deli, and the rest is filled with all manner of goods. I drift down one aisle, and pause when I reach the deli counter. I'm starving. I remember the monstrous sandwich Blake prepared for me, a tower of everything and anything he'd found in the fridge, and cup my hand over my mouth as I fail to choke back a laugh.
    "Can I help you?" A friendly-looking young man with dreads smiles at me.
    "Yes, please. A bowl of your chili soup, and a grilled cheese sandwich. And, um, where is your community board?"
    "Sure thing." He notes down my order. "Board's by the front door on the left. Can't miss it." He flashes me his smile again, and turns away.
    I walk back to the front of the store and find the board. It's covered in notices, posters, and business cards. Pottery classes, art gallery viewing times, offers for guitar lessons, apple picking hours at a local orchard, a play being performed in the next town over, yoga classes, and more. Honeycomb Falls is a busy little town.
    I frown until I see a notepad and pen sitting on the counter. Hoping no one will mind, I quickly write out my own notice:
    Hello! Looking for a cook and maid for a new bed and breakfast I'll be opening in Honeycomb Hall. Fair wages in exchange for honest work!
    I write down my cell number, and then hesitate. Should I say anything else? If this were New York I'd ask for background checks and references, but something about this town is lowering my guard. That, and Mama B's prediction. I don't want to admit it, but this feels like a sure thing.
    I pin up the note and return to the deli to pick up my cup of chili and tinfoil-wrapped sandwich. I want to be more friendly with the guy behind the counter, introduce myself maybe, but he looks busy and I suddenly feel shy, so I pay and walk back outside. There's plenty of time to get to know people.
    Instead, I cross the street and head over to the pedestrian bridge. There's a large sign planted by its entrance, and I read about how it used to be the old bridge, built over a century ago, but how when the new truss bridge was made it was abandoned until the Honeycomb Falls Women's Club converted it into a garden.
    Munching on the sandwich, enjoying the rich melted cheddar, I step onto the bridge and take my time crossing the Conway River, pausing to admire one outrageous bloom after another. The Women's Club is doing an amazing job. I find a little bench and sit. I feel at once hopeful and very lonely. People are bustling around me, heading this way and that, couples holding hands, children running and laughing. I smile and shrug. Soon. I'll get to know people around here, I will. I won't turn into a weird recluse in Honeycomb Hall.
    I dig out my phone and am about to call Maria when I'm interrupted.
    "Excuse me?"
    I look up. A curvy woman about my age is standing a few paces away, clutching her purse nervously, full lips pursed tight.