Chapter 1: Foxes and Farewells

I spent years tangled up with a fox shapeshifter. Yeah, you heard me right. It’s the kind of story you’d only believe if you heard it from a drunk in a Nashville dive bar. Sometimes, I barely believe it myself—like some wild chapter I could only whisper about after midnight, the sort of tale that would get me laughed out of therapy.

In the end, I cut all emotional ties, left him without looking back, and rose to the highest ranks of the heavens! Cold as an Indiana winter, I didn’t let myself feel a thing. My hands shook the whole time, but I kept my face stone-still. If I let myself crack, even for a second, I’d never have left. Looking back, I wonder if it was courage or cowardice—probably both, knowing me. I left him in the dust, didn’t even give him a chance to plead his case. After that, I climbed up higher than I ever thought possible, straight to the top of the celestial food chain.

He turned cold right then, declaring that from now on, he’d never again have anything to do with heartless, ruthless women! The last time I saw him, his voice had the brittle snap of dry leaves. He swore, with a bitterness I’d never heard before, that he’d be done with women like me for the rest of his eternal days. It stung, but I told myself I didn’t care.

Later, the rules of the heavens changed, and I was kicked back down to earth. Only by growing new bonds of affection could I return to my post! Turns out, no matter how high you climb, the rules can always change. Suddenly, I found myself on the outs, banished from my cushy spot, told that only by forging real, messy human bonds could I claw my way back. Gotta love bureaucracy—even in the afterlife, the policies shift when you least expect it.

A certain fox spirit caught wind of this and came running! Some things never change. News travels fast, and apparently heartbreak travels faster. Before I could even unpack my existential luggage, a certain someone was sniffing around, his signature mischief in tow.

In a remote mountain church, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into my bed! You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a fox shapeshifter, all attitude and tail, lounging stark naked in a rickety bed at a backwoods Appalachian chapel. Only in America, right? He looked as smug as a cat who’d raided the canary cage.

“Don’t flatter yourself, darlin’. I’m just here to prove I can crack that ice-cold heart of yours.” He flashed me that trademark, too-handsome-for-his-own-good grin—the kind that should be illegal in three states. The way he said it, you’d think he was declaring a national holiday.

I politely pushed away his tail, which was brushing against me:

“This really isn’t a good time… My fiancé probably wouldn’t be thrilled about it!” I kept my tone easy, light as sweet tea on a summer porch, but it didn’t stop the awkwardness from prickling my skin. Gently, I moved his tail off my hip, forcing a little laugh. "Lucas, buddy, let’s not do this—my fiancé would probably not take kindly to finding a naked fox king in my bed."