Unlove Me

  UNLOVE ME

  STANDALONE SHORT STORY

  By 80 Time Best Selling Author, T. S. JOYCE

  Unlove Me

  Copyright © 2019 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2020, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: February 2020

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Newsletter Sign-Up

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  About the Author

  Chapter One

  It needs more hearts.

  Graphic designer, Ava Dennis, gave a dead-eyed stare to her computer screen and contemplated chucking it out the window of her second-floor apartment.

  Twenty-seven was the number of rounds of edits she’d done for a personalized Valentine’s Day card.

  Four was the number of times her client, Kathy, had typed the phrase we want this card to resemble our love in emails to Ava.

  Zero was the number of Valentine’s Day dates Ava had been on, which was probably the reason for her questionable attitude around this time of year.

  You see, Ava Dennis was a victim of the Valentine’s Day Curse.

  Three times, she’d had a serious boyfriend in January, and gotten excited about finally, finally getting flowers or chocolates, or geez, she’d settle for a hug and a compliment. Yet all three of those boyfriends had broken up with her just weeks before the holiday. There was nothing less romantic than sobbing over breakups during mid-February.

  Ava’s view of the commercialized day of romance was a little skewed, but she had never ever taken the fun from someone else. As was evident in her big push every year to take on as many freelance Valentine’s Day graphic design jobs as she could. And it wasn’t about the money. It was about keeping busy so she didn’t feel left out while all the other couples around her were preparing for the big, mushy day.

  But mostly, Ava Dennis wanted to believe in love.

  The problem was, love didn’t really happen for creatures like her. As a shifter, she was caught between two worlds. Dating humans was difficult at best, because the general view on shifters was they were abominations. She would love to date a shifter but, unfortunately, the animal she was born with wasn’t that badass. She wasn’t exactly up there with weretigers and werebears.

  Ava read through the rest of the email and gritted under her breath, “I don’t want to read an essay every time, Kathy. Just tell me where you want the hearts.”

  We want to inspire everyone we send this to with our love.

  Can you photoshop Brandon’s smile to be bigger so he looks more in love with me?

  Maybe put some stars in our eyes and warm up the color in the background.

  Can you change the color of my boots to a more vibrant red?

  Definitely a smaller font so it doesn’t take away from the purity of the picture.

  Okay, but who sent pictures of themselves to all their friends and family for Valentine’s Day? Wasn’t that a Christmas card type of thing?

  Ava opened the artwork on her computer and, feeling overwhelmed, she stared at the heart-riddled, mushy picture of the couple cheesy-smiling and hugging in the snow. Snow sounded nice about now. It was February 11 in Longview, Texas and warm enough for a T-shirt. She’d grown up in the snowy mountains and missed it often.

  Actually, anywhere but here sounded nice. She’d been working non-stop for the last two months with no days off.

  She glared at the stack of empty microwaveable soup containers. She had most of her meals at her desk to make her art deadlines, and she was really tired of soup.

  On a whim, she exited out of the artwork, and with flying fingers, typed UnValentine’s Day food into the search engine. Maybe she should make a feast for one on Valentine’s Day. Okay, that sounded awesome. Wine would be involved. Maybe she would even send herself flowers. And chocolates. And a new car. No, scratch that, she was being crazy. She didn’t need to treat herself to a car. But maybe a spa treatment? A facial and a massage or something. Just treat herself like she wanted to be treated! Okay, yes! This was a genius plan. She was taking Valentine’s Day back for the single ladies!

  A discounted hotel came up with the words UNVALENTINES DAY DINNER in all caps as the tagline. The picture was a rustic log cabin with a handsome model shot-gunning a beer on the porch, the beer spraying foam everywhere. Hot model, beer, log cabin, and was that snow out front?

  Click.

  Ava read in a rush, excitement trilling through her blood.

  Tired of the mush and gush of Valentine’s Day? Join us at Woodpecker Lodge outside of Crested Butte, Colorado for a night you won’t ever forget. No romance, no pressure, no couples making out at the table next to you. Just beer, good food, and fun. Come relax in your own personal lodge and get pampered.

  “Ermergerd, yes!” she said, poking the Book Now button. “This is the party I want to be at. My peoples.”

  Was it impulsive to plan a last-minute trip to snow country? Yes. Was she concerned with that right now? Heck no.

  For the first time ever, she could really and truly look forward to the holiday and not worry about a date or worry that a boyfriend would break up with her early. This year was her year!

  She began filling out the information fields as fast as she could, and all went smooth until the question at the bottom.

  It was a simple one with two check boxes. Are you a shifter? Yes. No.

  Instantly deflated, she sank back in her chair and let her hands fall from the keyboard. When sites did this, nine times out of ten, if she checked yes to being what she was, they denied her. A part of her understood. Most shifters were barely in control of their animals and were destructive and dangerous at times, especially if provoked or cornered. But she wasn’t like that. Her animal was harmless. Still…she paid for the destructive nature of her kind.

  She was registered, as all shifters were required by law. It wasn’t like she was hiding who she was, but she wanted the beer and the food and the relaxation.

  What was the worst that could happen if she checked No? She was an honest-to-her-core type of person and had never lied about what she was before, but what if? What if she said no? She could go on this snowy adventure and have fun, take a break from work and do a self-care week.

  An email notification from Kathy popped up. More edit requests for the love-fest picture.

  Clenching her teeth together, and really damn determined to take a well-earned break, Ava leaned forward and poked the button she never thought she would. It was her claiming to be human, but so what? That wasn’t
so bad. Not if it gave her a well-earned vacation. She’d been a good, honest, loyal person all her life, and where had it gotten her? Alone in a two-bedroom apartment with a life that revolved around freelance work and a pitiful social life.

  Well shit was a-changin’.

  Click.

  Congratulations on your approval for the newly renovated Pants Are Overrated Cabin.

  She snorted and then laughed a little as she read the names of some of the other suites.

  Purple Nurple Queen Cabin.

  Junk in the Trunk Cabin.

  I Can’t Dance and I Don’t Want To Double Twin Bed Cabin.

  What’s Responsibility Cabin.

  I Can’t Even King Suite Cabin.

  I’m Allergic To Morning People corner room Cabin. That one faced away from the sunrise. She was grinning like a fool reading these.

  And the cabins looked nice! With log walls, and each had a different layout. This was going to be awesome! Whoever was running this lodge had a sense of humor. She liked it.

  She checked for the confirmation email, which was sitting in her inbox, and then opened up her favorite airline page. She booked a discounted flight, thanks to her build-up of airline miles from her days of fun and not just sitting in her apartment with her pet plant, Cornelius.

  Cornelius wasn’t even a fancy plant, or she would’ve killed him a year ago. She was terrible at keeping things alive. It was a weed she dug out of the landscaping downstairs and put in a pot.

  With a mushy smile, she leaned over and snuggled her nose into the yellow dandelion flower then spritzed it with the spray bottle labeled Cornelius’s Love Juice.

  “I’ll miss you so much, my little baby-weed, but mommy’s gotta drink beer and play in the snow and get away from this Valentine’s Day-obsessed world for a little while. I know you’ll be fine without me. Do you know how I know? Because I dug you out of a crack in the concrete, and this pot is like the Ritz Carlton for you. I could give you no attention for a month, and you would still be here every morning, smiling up at me. My tough little booger-bear. You are my real valentine, Cornelius.” Ava leaned down and cupped her ear to the plant. “What’s that? You want to go, too? Okay, if you really want to. It wouldn’t be much of a vacation without you.”

  This. This was why she would be single forever.

  Her flight was leaving in the morning. Her entire body humming with giddiness, she skipped excitedly into her room to find the perfect UnValentine’s Day snow outfits for her trip.

  This year, February 14th was going to be one she would never forget.

  Chapter Two

  “Brock Nathanial Evans!” Gran groused from the dining room.

  Oh, Lord, here it went. He was leaned on the counter, pen poised over the reservations book. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that definitely had come from drinking too much last night. His party days were behind him, but last night, he’d been frustrated and stressed with everything that was happening at the inn, and he’d let his dumb friends peer-pressure him.

  Drinking gave him stupid ideas, like the one Gran was probably squawking about right now.

  “Nelda just called and said you changed everything on the website. How do I use a computer?” The ratta-tat-tat of her poking laptop buttons sounded loudly from the next room over. “Brock, how do you work this contraption? Nelda said it’s all outrageous, and you have made a mockery of the lodge.”

  “Gran, the problem is, I turn into a website genius when I’m drinking. I don’t remember how to change it back now.”

  She poked her head through the open doorway, looking like an angry ostrich with glasses. “That’s your own fault for letting that buffoon, Lance, hang out here with you. He always brings out the worst in you. Why don’t you just drink some more so you can remember how to fix the website?”

  “Because I don’t feel good, Gran. You’re supposed to tell me to stop drinking, not drink more.”

  “Oh, pooh. You never drink. A few more sips won’t hurt you. Your grandfather had a glass of good whiskey before bed every night, and he lived to be seventy-two.”

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure there is a picture of me shot-gunning a beer on the front porch of the inn as the main page of the website now, so are you sure drinking doesn’t hurt me?” Brock arched his eyebrows at her.

  Gran snorted and then composed her face to something more severe. She didn’t say anything, though, just stood there trying not to smile.

  “It’s not funny,” Brock assured her. “I renamed all the rooms on there, too, and I’ve been trying all morning to fix it, but I’m locked out of the page.”

  “I’ll fix it! Just show me how to use the computer.”

  “No. You haven’t even figured out how to enter the password to get past the main screen. You aren’t touching the website.”

  “Nelda sounded so scandalized. She’s probably in town telling all her friends what a disaster we are over here.”

  “Well, she would be right,” Brock muttered, frowning at the nearly empty page in the reservations book. Gran still insisted he write all the information in the book instead of in the computer because she liked a paper trail of reservation records. “We only have three people checking in today.”

  “And two who are already staying here. Which reminds me, I need to get to cooking. They’ll be hungry for lunch soon.”

  “I think they all went into town, so don’t waste your time.”

  Gran pushed her glasses farther up her nose. “It’s never a waste of time to cook,” she said softly. “Food is what brings people together.”

  “Well, apparently, last night, I advertised for an UnValentine’s Day here at the inn.”

  Gran’s bushy brows drew down. “A what?”

  “I put out a call for anyone who is single to come here and drink beer and eat food and escape the pressure of Valentine’s Day.”

  “You need a girlfriend.” Gran turned and walked back into the dining room. Ratta-tat-tat-tat. “A girlfriend would keep you busy, and you wouldn’t do stupid things. People don’t celebrate UnValentine’s Days. It’s a holiday of love. You should advertise for couples. Roses and champagne waiting for them when they get here. Romantic excursion pamphlets laid out on the counter. You should make a safe place for people to be romantic.”

  Brock rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed for patience. “And what about a safe place for people who don’t have romance?”

  “They can have the other days of the year.”

  Brock shook his head and wrote down the last reservation information into the book. Gran didn’t get it. She’d been married from age eighteen until just a few years ago to the same man. She’d been showered with affection. For people who couldn’t find that love story? Things could get lonely and overwhelming.

  Not that he was lonely. No. Nope, nope, nope. He didn’t care about relationships or romance or any of that. He was a man’s man. Tough. Unaffected by the fairer sex. No hearts and love letters for him. Nope.

  Next on the list: Ava Dennis, from Longview, Texas. Not a shifter. Good. Gran wouldn’t get her panties in a twist then. He still booked shifters and thought it was stupid the inn even asked, but Gran always threw a fit when they came here. He loved that old coot, but she was stubborn as a mule, and stuck in her ways.

  “It’s really coming down out there,” she called.

  “Yeah.” He scratched his jawline and stared out the picture windows out front. The snow was coming down hard, and visibility was rough. “It’s probably why we have so few reservations this week. The weather is supposed to be bad until Thursday.”

  A charcoal gray minivan with rental plates swerved into the small parking lot, skidding this way and that as the driver aimed for the row of parking spots right in front of the porch. The van was coming in way too fast, and he hadn’t made it out to de-ice the lot yet.

  “No!” he yelled, rushing for the door, like he could stop what happened next.

  She eeeerked the brake
s and skidded to a stop, but only after slamming into one of the Visitor Parking signs.

  He yanked the door open and called out, “Are you okay?”

  Gripping the wheel was a woman, maybe early thirties, short, dark, bobbed hair and brown eyes staring right at the sign that was now leaning back at a forty-five degree angle. Her pink lip gloss matched her mittens, her beanie, and her blushing cheeks. Yep, that was definitely a blush. He’d never seen anyone turn that shade of fuchsia.

  The woman shoved open the door and stood in a rush, nearly busted it on the ice but caught the open door.

  “I’m so sorry,” she uttered to him, her soft brown eyes round as full moons. She was holding a potted plant in one hand, and the little yellow flower peeked just over the corner where the door met the car by the windshield.

  “Is that a dandelion weed?” he asked, utterly baffled by this off-roading pink-clad hellion.

  “This is Cornelius. And I’m Ava.”

  “Ava Dennis?” he asked, leaning against the porch railing and trying to stifle his smile. “Well, Ava, I don’t think I’m ever going to forget the look of terror on your face as you went drifting toward my parking sign.

  “I’ll pay for it.” She hugged her weed closer. “Maybe I should just go back to the rock I climbed out from. It was goot to meet you. Good. I meant good, not goot. You’re the model who was drinking a beer in the picture.” She inhaled fast and deep. “You are good at shot-gunning. Okay. Back to my hole, I go. I’m so sorry. Just call me with the damage.”

  Her eyes looked different as she rambled on. They were changing. He watched the cute girl fluster herself right into revealing what she was. Shit. Her eyes turned from chocolate brown to gold, then settled into a light green that seemed to glow from the pupils out.

  Shifter.

  He gestured to her face. “It’s okay. Your eyes…”

  “Shit,” she whispered, ducking her gaze to the snow near her boots.

  “Doesn’t bother me. I was just letting you know.”