Fo Fum Flarey by Kirsten Mortensen

Author:Kirsten Mortensen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: millennial romance, fairy tales, romcom, gen z, literary romance, romance set in the country, Upstate New York, rural setting, forest, country romance, sibling rivalry, family conflict, prince charming, true love, happily ever after, unique fun read, complex romance, layered story, literary romantic fiction
Publisher: Kirsten Mortensen
Published: 2021-02-12T00:00:00+00:00

18

Shari invited us to admire her newest fabulous piece of furniture.

“It was a pulpit, originally,” she explained.

We were standing on the tiled floor of the Grand Room, and at her prompting began admiring the thing-that-had-been-a-pulpit.

It was a massive, curved cabinet-looking thing with Gothic (of course) arches carved deeply into the face, set in a corner of the room, angled so that there was space to stand behind it.

And then Fletcher and I followed her directive to step around it, so we could see how Alden had turned the once-a-pulpit into a cocktail bar. He’d mounted a set of gleaming glass shelves that Shari had stacked with glassware and stirrers and pitchers and shakers, and on either side were cubbies that I suppose were once used to stash Bibles and prayer books and vestments, but were now bristling with bottles of top shelf spirits and liquors.

“Lovely,” I said, aware that Fletcher’s hand was resting on the small of my back. Isn’t it funny how noticeable that is? Even when it’s such a light touch. And just like that, I didn’t mind a bit that Shari was bragging about her “cost five figures” Gothic pulpit. I even added another compliment. “And Shari, I love how it matches your décor.”

Because it did. The Shalden had loaded their home with Gothic-inspired furniture. The enormous, dark, carved pulpit-turned-bar fit right in. But I was with Fletcher, and we had our own castle that we’d be living in together, one day, and it would be a jillion times more beautiful than this, just you wait.

“We should have martinis, don’t you think?” Shari said, and we agreed since you might as well have martinis if you’re in a house with a brand-new bar and all that martini-making equipment lying around.

Alden went to get ice—the pulpit-bar lacked a refrigerator, he said apologetically—and Fletcher and I found a seat on the Shalden’s Gothic reproduction sofa, which was quite comfortable since it was made in the 21st Century, not 150 years ago, because décor can be tasteful and livable both, don’t you agree?

“The fish is new too, isn’t it?” I asked after we’d settled into our seats. I pointed at the enormous, glossy trophy mounted on a wooden plaque over the fireplace. “It’s a Halibut, right?”

Shari rolled her eyes. “I guess. Alden caught it in Alaska. Last winter. Guy trip. Alden?” she called in the direction of their kitchen. “Is that trophy thing a Halibut?”

But it was. I knew because both of its eyes were facing us. Because that’s what Halibut do. They start out as babies looking like normal fish, but then as they grow, one eye migrates from one side of the head to the other, so that the fish ends up with two eyes on one side. That way, they can lie flat on the sea floor without one eye being against it. Which is where they live. Flat against the sea floor, looking up at sea life and seaweed and water swishing around above them.

And yes,

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