Chapter 3Adrian strolled between the shelves in the second-hand store, eyeing a porcelain bowl with blue coloring that would look great with Lorcan’s cups and plates.
“Adrian.” Doris smiled at him. She was like the mother he wished he’d had instead of the ogre he’d been dealt. The voice in his head made him stop. His mom wasn’t an ogre. She looked like a pixie, small and fine-limbed—much like him—but her tongue was razor-sharp.
“Hi, Doris.” He smiled to hide what he’d been thinking. “Slow today?”
“No, busy. The back is filled with boxes I have to unpack.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t ask where they came from. Most often people donated things to Doris when someone had died and they emptied the home.
“Mm.” Her brown eyes sparkled as she studied him. “Are you looking for anything special?”
He roll
