Page 2 of Afternoon Delight

The crowded display reminded me of the books my kids used to love—the ones with busy photos and rhyming lists of things to search for: five buttons, a dime, three yellow tins, and a thing that tells time.

Twice is Nice had an additional selling feature handwritten on a piece of paper taped to the inside of their door:

We specialize in wood revival.

Same , I snickered to myself as I unlocked the door to Afternoon Delight.

“It was the whitest name I could think of,” Georgia had said of the store’s name. The inside of her door held a handwritten sign that read:

Closed for medical reasons.

I pushed in, and a sleigh bell tied to the door jangled.

At the same time, the steady chime of the alarm system sounded from across the room.

I hurried to the box on the wall and punched in the code Georgia had given me.

It silenced, and I felt ridiculously proud of myself for not causing a SWAT team to descend on the street.

I slid the thermostat from frigid to survivable and hit the switches to illuminate the track lighting in the rafters.

No harsh fluorescent office lights here.

Intimate pools of gold landed on a rotating stand of books.

A hammock-like contraption was suspended from the ceiling, and a number of whips and crops were mounted on the wall.

The shelf that formed the privacy wall held a selection of vibrators in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes.

Several were displayed out of their boxes.

One monster compelled me to pick it up to see how heavy it was. Honestly, even though my eight-pound children had come out of my vagina, I was intimidated by the breadth of this goliath.

I tried to close my fist around it, using my grip to brush away the dust from its silicone coating while thumbing the dial to check the different vibration speeds. I resisted the impulse to press it into the notch of my jeans, but I was intrigued enough to consider it.

The sleigh bell jangled.

I threw the elephantine penis back onto the shelf in the most obvious Nothing, Mother in history. It knocked over two other vibrators and lay there buzzing, the sound amplified by the boxy shelf.

I scrambled to pick it up but couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. I called out a high-pitched, “I’m not open!” while I turned the dial, accidentally increasing the vibration. Why hadn’t I locked the door? Oh, right—because of the alarm. Note to self: Grab a brain, not a dildo.

“I’m from next door,” a deep voice said as I finally silenced the vibrator. “I have a question.”

Shit. The landlord Georgia had warned me about?

I set the vibrator back on the shelf and brushed my hands on the seat of my jeans, then slapped a compassionate smile on my face before stepping out where I could see him.

Double-shit. Georgia had made it sound like the guy was a senior.

How did a man in his mid-thirties have dementia?

There were glints of gold in his beard, not silver.

Same with his hair. His thick dark crew cut needed a trim, but it was kind of sexy, all disheveled like that.

He was tall and fit and had a smile that skewed left in a very charming way.

“Hi, Dale,” I said gently, repeating what Georgia had told me to say. “Debra doesn’t work here anymore. I know this might feel confusing, but if we go back into your shop, your daughter can explain.” How old was this guy’s daughter anyway? Seven? And she was knee-capping Georgia for rent?

His face moved through a comical set of emotions, landing on bemusement.

“Dale is my dad. I’m Zak. Are you not Georgia?”

“What? No. Ha.” I wanted to die. “I’m Georgia’s friend, Meg. Hi.” I moved forward and offered my hand. “I’m helping Georgia for a couple of weeks.” I kept it vague, since I didn’t really know what I was doing.

“Nice to meet you.” Zak stepped forward. He had a firm grip. There was a hint of callus on his warm palm and, for some bizarre reason, that caused a zing of electricity to ground out between my legs.

For the first time in years, I remembered that I owned a clitoris and briefly considered looking for it.

I wanted to blame the vibrator, but it was him.

Or me—and my utter lack of experience with being single.

Whatever it was, I was regressing into prom-night Meg, smiling dopily because he wore his flannel sleeves rolled back, showing off his muscled forearms. His jeans hugged his thick thighs, and his sturdy work boots were oddly reassuring, like he knew how to take command of a situation.

I dragged my attention back to his crooked smile and straight dark brows. The combination made him seem both approachable and stern.

Too young, I cautioned myself. He didn’t look like he’d collected my level of disenchantment with life.

People in their thirties tended to fall into two categories—those like me, creeping up on forty and punch-drunk with family responsibilities, or those like him, who still had the bandwidth for clumsy soccer on a soggy day.

His eyes were really blue. They brimmed with amusement, and I wanted to fall right into them.

I was staring. Damn. I’d caught a case of insta-lust, and he knew it.

“So, um.” I’m due to step into traffic. “Georgia said her landlord had a daughter. Zara? Is that your wife?” Did I really just ask if he was married? Yes, I did. I wanted to bite my tongue off.

“My sister.”

Right. Duh. He had just told me his father was Dale. Could I be more uncool?

He scratched his beard, possibly trying to hide the fact that he was struggling not to laugh.

“We own the building with Dad,” he said. “Fun fact—when he signed this lease, he told us the new renter was a toy store. It wasn’t until Zara stopped by after it opened that we learned what kind of toys.”

“Oh.” I widened my eyes. “Is that a problem?” Was he here to break the lease? Nooo.

“The neighbors aren’t thrilled. But we’re only hanging onto the building for Dad, so...” He lifted one well-built shoulder.

“So don’t get comfortable?” My heart was sinking on Georgia’s behalf.

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets, palms out, and braced his weight between his widely set feet.

“At first, we thought it was funny that Dad had missed such an important detail. Then Georgia told Zara that Dad was coming in here and getting confused. Zara got him to the doctor, but she has kids and works full-time. She can’t run point on him, too.

I moved back after Christmas to live with Dad and.

..” He shrugged again. “I don’t know how long this will work. ”

Oh. I bit back saying how nice it was that he had come home to help.

No one—least of all my husband—had praised me when I helped my mother-in-law after she broke her hip.

I’d put school on hold and left our kids with my own mother so I could take care of Mrs. Boyd, because Joel hadn’t wanted to cancel any of his lucrative root canals and crowns.

It hadn’t occurred to any of us—least of all me—that he would.

Or that he would look after his own mother.

His parents had since moved to the Okanagan, or Joel would still expect me to check on them.

“You’re here to ask about rent?” I guessed. “Georgia said Zara let her skip January while she figured things out, but she texted the other day, asking what her plans are.”

“I actually forgot Zar was doing that. Yeah, people have been asking what’s going on over here.

” Zak glanced over his shoulder. Brim Stokers Coffeehouse was across the street next to the new microbrewery, Tap That.

“There’s been some revitalization lately.

By that, I mean gentrification. They don’t like staring at a dark window. ”

“Understandable.”

“One of them offered to buy the building, but we want to keep it for now. Dad’s used to getting up for work every morning. His doctor says it’s good for him to stick to a routine. He likes dinking around with his knick-knacks, so...” Another shrug.

Oh . I bit back a laugh, adoring how affectionate he sounded.

“Where do you usually live?” I asked.

“Vancouver. You?”

“Toronto. But I grew up here.”

“Me, too. I’m a programmer. I had a good job, but I was burning out again. This is a nice break. Mostly I dink around, too. Strip wood. Post photos.”

Don’t say it.

“That sounds like I post dick pics.” His grin flashed. God, he was gorgeous. “Actually, they’re chests.” He waited a beat. “Of drawers.” His mouth twitched with irony.

“I was trying not to ask.” I was trying not to ogle his chest, but I could feel a smile teasing my lips.

“How is Georgia?” he asked with concern.

“Zara said Dad was making things awkward with her staff and customers. There’s been a lot of turnover in this shop the last few years, actually.

We should have clued in to what was causing it.

Can you let her know I’m here, though? That shouldn’t happen as much now. ” He glanced right as he spoke.

I realized he had done that a few times. He had stationed himself so he could see his own door through this one.

“She’ll be off sick for a while longer. She’s staying with her sister in Sidney.” It was about thirty minutes from the shop, but close to the ferry, which was good since she was seeing a specialist in Vancouver. “She should be back on her feet soon.” I was staying positive.

“That’s good news.” His gaze flickered down, taking in my mint green rain jacket over peg-leg jeans stuffed into ankle boots with faux-fur cuffs.

When his eyes came back to my face, I was prickly and humid inside my damp clothes.

“That you’re planning to reopen, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “And yeah, rent would be great. My wages over there are circa most of the furniture.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Today I just dropped by to get the lay of the land.” My voice faltered at the double entendre. “I wanted to see what I’ll be working with.” I fought the urge to glance at the vibrators but couldn’t look at him either, certain he’d be laughing at me again.

“Sure,” he said easily. “I won’t bother you, but one thing has been driving me crazy since I spotted it through the window. That’s why I came roaring over here the second I heard you come in. What the hell is that?” He pointed at the cash desk. “I can’t find anything like it online.”

I blinked at what looked like a three-pronged candelabra made of clear plastic dildos, all of different heights and widths, arranged like a tripod, not a fork.

“Um...” I was equally mystified and walked over to gingerly pick it up.

“Are they flexible?”

I tested one branch. “No.” It was solid and weighted at the base so it wouldn’t tip over.

“Who uses something like that? I’m not being judgmental.

” His expression became boyish, one eyebrow quirking upward while his hand flailed in bafflement.

“It’s a real question. What goes where? How?

There’s not enough room for three people to use it at once.

I honestly don’t think it would be comfortable for one. Maybe that’s the point?”

I was just as perplexed. If someone wanted to rotate through poking me with three differently sized dildos so vigorously that they needed a common handle, I would have a lot of questions first.

“I can’t figure it out,” he continued. “And believe me, I’ve put in the hours.”

“I’m picturing you over there with a corkboard and red yarn.”

“Mostly doodling on the back of provenance certificates, but it keeps me from worrying about Dad.”

I tucked my smile into the zipper of my jacket. “Perhaps it would be kinder to keep you in the dark, then.”

“Please don’t. I’ve reached my limit for edging my curiosity.”

Oh heck. I was really starting to enjoy this.

I lifted my chin, trying to project some level of competence while I admitted, “Full disclosure, I’m new to all of this. Fortunately, I can phone a friend.” I snapped a photo and texted it to Georgia with a question mark.

“So you don’t... do this?” He drew a circle with his finger to indicate the store.

“Sell adult toys for a living? No, I’m an accountant.

Helping small businesses pay their taxes is my day job.

I’m friendly and punctual, and Georgia says it’s no more awkward than selling cans of soup, so I agreed to pinch-hit.

” I was starting to think she’d misled me on that front.

I was feeling extremely awkward as I set down the X-rated version of the Cat in the Hat’s moss-covered, three-handled family gradunza, trying not to imagine which one went up my bum or how much it would sting.

How hard could it be had been my na?ve assumption about working here. And there I went with the dirty puns again.

“Pro tip? You can sell anything with a story. This trunk was supposed to be on the Titanic.” He waved at an imaginary trunk at his feet.

“It was accidentally left behind and went to the passenger’s cousin, who found a pearl-handled knife inside—one that was later found to have been used in a murder. ”

“You make stuff up?”

“No.” He frowned, insulted. “I’m saying you need to know what you’re selling so you can pique curiosity.

I guarantee you could sell that thing if you told your next customer that your vanilla neighbor has been obsessing about it for weeks.

They won’t care what it’s actually for. They’ll buy it for the story. ”

“Maybe I’ll keep it as a conversation piece, then.”

“No,” he warned sternly. “Never get sentimental. If you can sell it, sell it. You can tell I haven’t had anyone new to talk to in a while, can’t you?

” His mouth twisted with self-deprecation.

“I should get back, make sure Dad’s okay.

” He canted his head. “But if you find anything else that stumps you, run it by me. I’m genuinely interested. ”

“I will, thanks. And I’ll let you know what I learn.” I nodded at the trident of dildos.

“Great. See you tomorrow.” He left with a jangle of the sleigh bell.

I opened my jacket to air out the trapped heat. Talk about trial by fire!

I had gotten through it, though. Maybe I could handle this job after all.

My phone buzzed. I tilted the screen to read Georgia’s reply:

Georgia:

It’s a condom tree. Change it up for the holidays, but don’t use flavored ones.

People will lick it.