Gypsy
“Well, Woofy.” My hand went down to scratch between the giant wolfhound's ears as I gazed around the empty bar. “This is it, home sweet home.”
The dog at my side didn't answer me, but if he could have, I already knew what he would say.
The place was a dump.
The advert I had answered hadn’t mentioned that the place needed tearing down and starting over. If I had known, I wouldn't have bothered. I would have found another place. Another bar in another small town where I could spend my life in hiding.
A town where I was yet again alone. Hiding who I really was.
I frowned.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. I was who I was. And I had been Gypsy for a long time. The girl who I used to be ceased to exist. I didn’t even know why I was thinking about her.
Daniella Fleetwood was gone. Al
