Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

CHAPTER 9
“YOU TREAT ALL your house guests like prostitutes, or just the ones you need
something from?”
As my hand drops away from the doorknob, I turn around and see Jonas
leaning against the wall at the opposite end of the hall.
His dark brown hair has grown since I last saw him in person, the ends
curling around his ear lobes and brushing his bearded jaw. Bright, violet eyes
stare back at mine, disapproval lining the extraordinary irises.
Wearing a black leather jacket with his bar’s logo—a fire-breathing
Minotaur driving a chariot—and dark jeans ripped at the knee, he looks
completely out of place against the backdrop of modern, unused decor
littering my home.
When my mother and I visited Aplana, we stayed at the Asphodel Inn on
the southern, more isolated border; the stretch of beach behind the hotel was
rockier and lacked a proper marina, so tourists tended to avoid it altogether.