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Chapter One
Malinda
I’d never ridden in a limo this long—or seen one. But then my friend Cindy’s bachelorette party had a lot to live up to. Nearly all of our group of friends had already faced the altar, with the last few engaged, engaged to be engaged, or at the very least, in serious relationships. All but one.
That would be me. Somehow, since college, I’d sat through what felt like a thousand get-togethers where one or another of my crew would announce all the milestones in their relationships. I’m sure we talked about other things. Careers, families, entertainment. But overall, the theme to every lunch and cocktail gathering seemed to be who was engaged or what was happening with wedding plans or, more and more often, how soon they’d be bringing an adorable baby into the world.
As each one marched toward their futures, I felt more and more left behind, and it became harder to celebrate their legitimately romantic times. We’d all been excited about our career plans once, and some still were. Others had chosen to leave the work force to do the wife and mom thing. Which was fine and great and a choice I was grateful they had.
But sitting in the leather interior of the long, shiny black car, I wondered where all this left me. I hadn’t planned on settling down for a while, but when had I fallen so far out of step? Was I supposed to be getting married now?
Not likely when I didn’t even have a steady boyfriend. Or a nonsteady one at the moment.
“Malinda, here, we’re toasting.” Virginia shoved a champagne glass in my hand. “To Cindy and her Ken.”
Everyone drank, and I took a sip.
“No, no, no, no no.” Jane, another friend, shook her finger in my face. “You’ve got to down the whole thing or it’s bad luck. You don’t want Cindy to get di—”
“Sshhh!” Virginia hissed. “Do not use that word here and now.” She tapped the base of my plastic glass. Why was it that no matter how classy the event, the champagne glasses came from the party store? “Drink!”
Usually when we went out, I could keep myself sober by offering to be the designated driver. That was not the case tonight. As had already been pointed out to me, there was no reason to turn down drinks when Cindy’s fiancé had gone to the trouble and expense to rent this fabulous car for us. “I’m drinking.” I sipped some more, finally finishing the glass only to have someone refill it. “Come on. You know I can’t drink a lot without getting sloppy.” And hungover.
Before anyone said anything else, we pulled up at our first stop, and I was able to tip my glass into the ice bucket as we exited the car. Someone pulled some strings, and we didn’t have to wait in line, just gliding in past those lesser beings. The unworthy unwashed.
All my friends had nice hen parties, but the others did not have the wealth behind not only Cindy’s parents but her new family. And that meant we went right to the VIP section to enjoy bottle service and some surprises for the bridal party.
Gold bracelets at the first club, rose quartz pendants at the second. At each stop, we were gifted something from our friend until by the end of the evening, we were jingling with bangles and carrying the various purses featured on Vogue’s Spring Wish List. It was a whole crazy kind of experience.
And at some point in the evening, as we danced and drank and nibbled at apps, I gave up on trying to remain sober, as if I were the mother of the group. At some point, a girl has to let her hair down and have fun. I’d pay, for sure, but I didn’t need to drive, and we were safe in a group. It all became a blur of lights and music and laughter and multilayered, multicolored shots at one club, more champagne at another, and custom cocktails at a third. And after a while, my worries floated away on a sea of tequila and rum and I didn’t know what all. I was having fun.
The culmination of the evening came at the sixth or maybe seventh stop. I’d lost count. But the stag party appeared at our table as a big surprise. All the boyfriends and fiancés and husbands there to join the party and once again, I was reminded of the fact that when it all ended, I’d be going home to my own apartment where I’d be alone.
I slipped out then. It was just too much. Ordinarily, I was happy with my life, but on nights like these, I felt like I shouldn’t be. Uber dropped me off in front of my apartment building, and I trudged up the steps, clinging to the railing a little as the alcohol continued to traverse my bloodstream.
Inside, I plopped down on the sofa and tried to summon the energy to get ready for bed. Party or no party, I had to work in the morning. Unlike my friends, I wasn’t going to be spending the night in the arms of a lover.
But I had my work. As a graphic artist, I had several projects for clients in progress, and my fine arts as well. It was a good life. It should be enough.
A man was not the be all and end all. Many women lived fulfilling lives on their own. I could be one of them. I pulled my phone out of my fancy new purse. Not being into designer stuff, I had no idea what the logo on the front of it was, but knowing Cindy, it was probably more expensive than all of my other purses combined. Possibly my wardrobe.
I scrolled through notifications and found an ad from something called Mail-Order Matings. A little research showed it was a shifter app, and certainly not something that should have been directed at me. Still more than a little loopy from all the drinks, I giggled and attempted a download. It was not going to happen. They’d never let me do it.
But they did…
Chapter Two
Koruk
We lifted the last stone into place and stepped back. “You know, this technique is really satisfying.” I patted the rock and turned to my business partner and oldest friend. “But it isn’t really masonry.”
“No. Dry-stacked-stone-wall guys are called dykers, at least in the United Kingdom I believe. But I don’t anticipate that being our main line anytime soon.” Ozkuth glanced at the sky. “And just in time. Sun will be gone in a few minutes. Want to go stop and eat on our way home? I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Sounds good.” We started for the truck with its shadowy gargoyle image behind our company name: Two Brothers Masonry. “The Pub? We have to pick up our payment anyway.”
Sometimes we joked that we were the stereotype. After all, when we shifted, we were essentially made of stone ourselves. Oh, we could move, but slowly and not like many other shifters. No frolicking in the forest or running in packs for us. Ozkuth climbed behind the wheel. “Sure.”
Our client, a restauranteur slash hobby farm owner, was only a few generations removed from his ancestry in the UK and embraced his heritage with passion. Thus, his choice to open the Pub and name it that. Also the reason we had just built a dry-stacked-stone wall for the first time.
