Page 13 of Afternoon Delight

Meg

The days leading up to Valentine’s Day were busy with a steady stream of walk-ins and several online orders. I stayed late to fill them, glad to see Georgia’s sales get a small bump.

After reviewing her sales from the few weeks she had been in business, I set some targets for myself.

My low-bar goal was to match her average weekly sales, even with the “five dollars or five percent off” coupons I was handing out.

If I could do that, I’d cover the rent, my modest wages, and the amount I’d budgeted for the relaunch.

I wouldn’t have been able to make the party nearly as splashy without the full force of Vickie Crutcher behind it.

Along with her keen eye for stylish arrangements, she brought a few vintage pieces from the Ladies Auxiliary that set a tone of elegance.

One was a cocktail dress with a green velvet bodice and black polka-dot netting over a green satin skirt.

She also brought colorful bow ties, a burgundy fedora, a gorgeous red cape, and a black mini dress that laced down the back like a corset.

These were all strategically hung around the shop to define spaces and add flair.

Between the social media posts and the newspaper ad, people were coming in steadily—a blessing and a curse. While Mom pinned a Phantom of the Opera poster to the wall, I did my best to help a customer.

“Is it waterproof?” the young man asked.

“Um, yes.” I pointed to the blue teardrop I’d added to the price tag on every item I’d identified as waterproof.

“Good. She said she wanted the waterproof one. And this one’s okay for, like, front and back? ’Cause it says ‘anal’ here.”

“That’s how it’s marketed but—” I cleared my throat and pointed. “See, it says it can also be used vaginally. Just be sure to clean it well between uses. Obviously.”

“Right. Is this the only one you have?”

“This one’s a different brand. It’s not purple.” I picked up the box. “It’s also more expensive.”

“That’s the one she wanted.” He practically snatched it out of my hand. “Yeah, with ten speed combos. This is the one.” He sounded really excited—not so much sexually, more like a prospector who’d struck gold. Eureka . He was grinning from ear to ear. It was cute.

I grabbed the tablet and ran his credit card, then wrapped the box in tissue paper and slipped it into one of the bags discreetly embossed with a graceful AD.

“Let me give you one of these coupons.” I showed him before adding it to the bag. “We’ll be handing out more at the relaunch in a few days. The details are on the back. I’ve got more stock coming in for that, so I hope you’ll drop by with your partner.”

He left, and Mom said, “You should ask if they need batteries and have some on hand.”

“Most of the toys use chargers, but you’re right.” I looked toward the back wall, wondering if I could hang batteries on one of the hooks there.

“I have a key rack at home with a mail holder your father never got around to mounting. It would look nice behind the desk and hold enough batteries for convenience. This basket needs something.” She frowned at the gift basket I was planning to raffle for the low price of joining the newsletter.

“I’ll see what I can find and come back after lunch. ”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She left, and I helped two more customers before Zak strode in.

“Hi.” A zip of electricity jolted through my limbs—but how could it not? He was all sexy in his faded jeans and open flannel over a shirt that read, Favorite Uncle, Only Uncle.

“Hi.” He stopped short and took in the masquerade theme. “This looks great.”

“Credit to Mom. She’s worried I’m not doing enough to get the word out, but also that it won’t be good enough if people do show up.”

“Tell her I’ve invited everyone from Dad’s church.”

“Great.” I scratched my upper lip. “Did you really?”

“Dad hasn’t been to church since Mom died. Me neither. Zara’s coming with her book club, though.”

“That’s nice. Hey, Mom thinks this gift basket needs something.” I gestured at the square basket filled with a bottle of white wine, two glasses, flavored lube, furry black handcuffs, and a bright pink dildo. “Would you give me your email address for this?”

“You already have it.”

“For the newsletter? Wait—you're not Tinfoil, are you?” A notification for a new subscriber had popped up the day after I posted that the store had reopened. The timing had struck me as odd, but I hadn’t thought much more about it.

“Yeah. Twice Is Nice…TIN. Get it? It was my first alias account. I still use it for subscriptions and stuff I don’t check very often. Let me give you my number so you have it if you need anything.”

My brain half-exploded, but this was only as significant as I let it be. We weren’t exchanging numbers. He was being professional. He was the shop’s landlord.

Even so, I was flustered as I tried to call up my contact book on my phone.

“You can just tell me your number, and I’ll call it,” he pointed out.

“Right.” Clearly, I had never given a man my number before.

I told him, and my phone rang once.

He ended the call and nodded at the basket. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, I fiddled with my phone, adding him to my contacts.

“I want you to treat this with the reverence it deserves,” Zak said when he returned. He set a Penthouse magazine from the mid-seventies on the desk. A young woman on the cover was removing her black bra, revealing uptilted nipples on small, pert breasts.

“The articles are worth reading,” I noted as I scanned the callouts. One was about Castro and another about Paul Newman. “Did you know this?” I pointed with mock alarm. “Streaking leads to making love in public?”

“It’s a gateway kink.” He nodded somberly.

“Who knew?”

“Penthouse.” He nodded again. “Take a photo and post it. You will get offers and they will be generous.”

“Really?” I wrinkled my nose in skepticism, thinking about how body hair trends had changed over the decades, not to mention breast augmentation. Then I narrowed my eyes. “Where did you get this? Do you have a secret room in the back?”

“Where I polish wood? Yes. And I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”

My pulse tripped, and I bit my lips together to hide my smile.

“Nor should you be.” I fought to keep a straight face. “I’m working with a different product, so it’s mostly about keeping the dust off, but, you know. Same diff.”

A twinkle entered his blue eyes. He crossed his arms and rocked on his heels.

“Here I thought you’d be so busy receiving packages, you wouldn’t have time to dust.”

“You’re about to ask me where I receive those packages, aren’t you?” I was fighting back a bubble of mirth. “Front of the store. That’s why I’m doing all that maintenance. Keeping things in good working order.”

“Quality assurance.”

“Exactly. No shame in that.” My bravado was thinning along with my voice. My face was on fire. It took everything in me to hold his laughing blue gaze.

“Why would you be ashamed? It’s more of an obligation to those who... Hmm.” He winced. “I was going to say ‘come through the door,’ but...” He winced in dissatisfaction.

“I appreciate how hard you wordsmith your comebacks.”

“Now you’re just talking dirty for the sake of it.”

We were both struggling not to break, but the air was crackling in a way I hadn’t felt since I don’t know when. It was like being tipsy and stoned and horny all at once.

He glanced away, biting the corner of his crooked grin.

“So where did you really get it?” I asked. “The magazine.”

“Hmm? Oh. An estate sale. There was a stack in one of the nightstands. I haven’t read the articles in that one yet.”

“Then how are you staying abreast of current events?” I dropped my jaw in mock discovery. “Do you think that’s where the expression comes from?”

“Abreast? Gotta be.”

We were both openly grinning now. Damn it, I really liked him.

“This does class up the basket, doesn’t it?” I busied myself tucking the magazine behind the wine glasses. “Do you want anything for it?”

“Just the right to come talk to you when I’m bored.”

“Is that why you’re here now?”

“Yeah. Dad fell asleep and I found myself researching what mermaids eat.”

“Are you thinking of getting one? Goldfish are quieter.”

“Sirens are the noisy ones. I always thought they were the same as mermaids, but they’re different—half bird. Did you know that?”

“Oh, dear. Boredom that acute could result in serious injury or death. Look, there’s no price of admission here. C—” Don’t say it. “Come anytime. I won’t make you buy anything.”

“No? Why not? I’m curious.” His gaze wandered to the shelf I’d labeled Penis Pleasure. “I’ve never really played with toys. My ex had a vibrator, but that was for her ‘me time.’ Where do you even start?”

Mom had tried to set up His and Hers sections, but I switched it to labels that were less binary. The clit stims and vaginal vibrators were under Joie de Vulva. There was an All Things Anal shelf and one called Knick Knacks for Nipples.

“In this store, you start by allowing a novice like me to ask you a bunch of intimate questions. When you’re really lucky, my mom is right there.

” I pointed to the floor next to my foot.

“I was helping a customer choose a strap-on harness and Mom was humming Innocence. Harlequin,” I added when his brows came together.

“I’ll have that song stuck in my head all day now. Thanks. Did the customer notice?”

“No. Mom’s off-key as hell. But I’m always trying to make a connection with them.

Kind of like what you suggested. I tell them about my own experience—of which I have none—so that’s a pretty short conversation.

I’m dying to ask if they’ll report back, but that’s gross, right?

‘Enjoy your butt plug. Call me with a postgame.’”

“I’ll do it. I’m serious,” he insisted when I sputtered a laugh. “Sell me something. I’ll let you know if it does anything for me.”

“I’m not going to make you buy a toy just so I can get better at selling them.”

“Why not? I’m not Mr. Gates, but I’ve worked for his competitors. I can afford a couple of toys, especially if it’ll benefit humanity.”

He picked up a cock ring with an anal bulb attached. He tested its stretchiness, then closed his fist over the bulb. “Be real. Is this to check your blood pressure after sex?”

“You really are bored, aren’t you?”

“So bored.” He winced, seeming to want to bite back his words.

He set the toy down. “That sounds like I don’t want to be here.

” He shifted so he could see the door to his own shop and folded his arms. “In the big scheme of things, I don’t.

I wish this wasn’t happening. But it feels good to get back to woodworking.

And now that it’s sinking in that Dad really is losing his memories, I want this time with him. ”

“How is he doing? Because the day I met him, he seemed... okay-ish?”

“That’s about where he’s at. Half the time I wonder why I’m even here. He gets dressed and helps me make breakfast, and we agree that it’s too soon to start mowing the lawn. Then he forgets something basic, like how to turn the key to unlock the door. Or that Mom is dead.”

“He said something yesterday that made me wonder. When did you lose her?”

“I was twenty, so... “He rubbed his beard. “Fourteen years ago?”

I nodded in empathy. “It’s been almost two since we lost Dad. It sucks.”

“It does.”

“Is he still hanging onto some of your mom’s things?

” That was a dumb question, considering the store had been hers.

“I ask because Mom is having trouble letting go. I don’t know how hard to push.

I’m only here because she agreed to sell the house and move closer to me in Toronto.

But things like this—” I pointed at the red and gold Mardi Gras beads spilling from champagne glasses “—are about all she’s willing to part with. ”

Even at that, I expected her to ask for them back next week.

“ I wondered about that ,” he admitted. “Why you moved in with your mom when Vickie seems healthy and fully on top of things.”

“Oh, her mind is a steel trap. It’s me who failed to remember that she drives me nuts.” I scrunched up my face. “That was in bad taste. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. If you can’t joke, how do you get through it?”

“Do you want a serious laugh? My son, who’s fourteen, is arriving tomorrow night. He doesn’t know I’m doing this.” I waved at the store. “What do I tell him?”

“I don’t know, but can I be there when you do?”

“I had a feeling you’d enjoy that.”

“I do. What time— Oh.” He quickly stepped over to open the door. “Hi, Vickie. I was just telling Meg how great it looks in here.”

“Hello, Zachary. It’s nice to see you again.”

Mom strode in with a pair of white tapered candles, a bag of white feathers, and a roll of white satin ribbon speckled with hearts.

“Zak brought something for the basket.” I pointed at the Penthouse. “He says these vintage magazines are worth a lot to collectors.” I still wasn’t convinced.

“Is that true?” Mom brightened. “I have hundreds that belonged to my husband. Could you sell them for me?”