Page 7 of Afternoon Delight

Meg

It’s not like it never snowed in Toronto. Winters there were biting.

But it was the story of my entire childhood that I would lose a good hair day to a drippy, mashed-potato day like today. There were always enough mild, sunny days in February to have you believing spring was around the corner, then a day like today would kick you in the face.

Not that my looks mattered. My dishy neighbor wasn’t at work yet. There was a sign in the Twice Is Nice window that hadn’t been there yesterday: If we’re here, we’re open. If we’re not, we’re closed.

I refused to be disappointed. I was on a journey to love myself. I had no interest in starting up with any man, especially a younger one. Even a cute, funny one.

Unfortunately, I came from a bloodline of co-dependents. We found our value in serving others. That’s why I had brought our snow shovel to work and quickly pushed the layer of slush off the portion of the sidewalk that the awnings hadn’t covered.

I was both sweating and shivering by the time I got into Afternoon Delight. I turned on the heat and lights and set my phone to stream music through the Bluetooth speakers behind the cash desk.

Then I rolled some pastel condoms onto the tree and stuck it in the window display with a rabbit-style vibrator and a couple of insertable egg-shaped toys. Sacrilegious? Probably. Definitely not a stellar first effort.

I snapped a photo and sent it to Georgia, asking her to call me with some tips.

An hour later, all the shelves and inventory were dust-free, and I had just put away the vacuum when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Georgia.

“Hi!” I greeted her. “How—um.” The lights came on next door. Focus . “How are you?”

“I’m in the twilight period where my pill is starting to work, but I’m still lucid. Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“Fine. Did you see my photo? I feel like the window display needs zhuzhing.”

“It does. Also, it’s Valentine’s Day next week. Do that before Easter.”

“Right. Damn.” And didn’t my obliviousness to that special day say everything about how I came to be divorced?

“Maybe get a couple of stuffies from the dollar store. Or some flowers. No chocolate. They melt in the sun and send the wrong message.”

“Voice of experience?”

“Yup. Any customers?”

I double-checked that I had turned the sign to Open.

“Not yet, but there are three online orders I’ll fill today.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about how to get the word out that the shop is open again.

What do you think of a re-launch event? I could advertise with a little discount to get some traffic in the door.

Do you think you’d be up for doing an interview? ”

“With who?”

“I don’t know. I was listening to the local radio station on my way in, and they had a spot with the owner of a shoe store. That made me think of it.”

She made a noise of reluctance. “Maybe if it aired during the drive home? Commuters won’t pick up a vibrator on their way to work. But I don’t know how persuasive I am these days. I sound like a crypt-keeper.” Her voice reflected her medication-dulled mood and weeks of angst.

“Someone will find that sexy,” I teased. “You know that.”

“Mmm, my brand is all about personal empowerment and independence and self-care. I don’t want to explain why I’m relying on you to run my store.”

“Hey, self-care is recognizing when you need help. Plus, you’re giving me a chance to explore my own independence and learn something new—so thank you. How about I start with a post to social media? I’ll write it up and you can tweak it so it sounds like you. Do you have a newsletter?”

“Yes, but it only has nine subscribers.”

“Better than none. Give me your credentials. I’ll send out a notice that you’re open again. Maybe I’ll survey them? Ask them what they liked about your store? Oh, I could get some testimonials for some ads.”

“Good God, you sound like Vickie. I mean that as a compliment,” she hurried to add.

“Remember that time she took measurements for the entire volleyball team and made us new uniforms? After her fundraiser was so successful that we could have just bought fresh tank tops? Granted, we looked fly as hell, but why does she have to go the extra mile?”

“Type-A needs an A,” I said with a grimace of guilt. “Do you know what she said when I told her I was doing this? She offered to work here with me so I don’t ruin your future along with my own.”

“Did you tell her that ship has sailed?”

“I—” My heart soared as the sleigh bell jangled and Zak held the door open.

He stepped one foot inside and stared at the condom tree in the window. His dark brow angled up in a bent wing as he shot a questioning look my way.

“That’s it,” I told him. “It’s a display thingy to show how pretty the condoms are.”

“That’s it ?” He looked both outraged and crestfallen.

“I was bummed, too.”

He sighed and gave a little chin chuck in acknowledgment that I was on the phone. “Talk to you later.” He disappeared as abruptly as he’d arrived.

“Customer?” Georgia asked hopefully.

“No. Try not to hate me, but your landlord has a son. He’s very hot.” I was still grinning at his reaction.

“Zak?”

“You’ve met him?” I asked. “He thought I was you.”

“Zara mentioned him. They’re twins.” Georgia yawned and swore. “That’s it. I’m fogging out.”

“Okay. I’ll text if I have questions.”

I hung up and began composing posts, considering whether to add photos. I snapped out of my concentration when a young woman with blue hair hesitantly entered.

“Hi. Are you, um, open?”

“I am. Hi,” I said with my friendliest smile. “Come in.”

“I work at Brim Stokers.” She pointed across the street. “I’m on my break. I was just curious. This place has been closed since I started.”

“I’m Meg. Have a look around. Let me know if you have questions.” I was proud of how confident I sounded.

I realized Georgia had a blog page on her website and started writing something for it, giving my customer some privacy.

She was like a cat in a new house—moving cautiously and glancing into all the corners, relaxing marginally as she realized we were the only two in here.

“I’ve never used anything like these before,” she said, giving a little wave of her hand toward the vibrators and dildos.

I thought about Georgia’s innate honesty and Zak telling me to tell a story. Selling was about establishing a connection—and this store was all about intimacy, right?

I set aside the tablet and gave her the truth.

“I haven’t really, either. My ex-husband bought a few toys over the years, trying to spice things up. I never really got off on them—haha. Maybe that’s why he’s my ex.” My wry joke earned a glimmer of a smile.

“I guess the first question is whether you’re interested in finding something for yourself or if it’s something you and a partner would use together?”

“Probably just me. For now,” she tacked on faintly.

“Sure, um...” I scanned the array of vibrators. Shit, there were a lot of choices. “Maybe ask yourself if you want something, um, internal?”

It hit me that I was assuming she had a vagina—but I didn’t know that. Damn, this was complicated.

“Do you have any allergies? To latex, for instance? I think most of these are silicone.” I picked up the box to read the back. Cans of soup these were not.

“How loud is that one? I have a roommate. And does it come in blue?”

“I would have to check.” I was still trying to figure out what it was made of.

“Is it really two hundred dollars?” Her voice squeezed into a whisper.

“Because of the Bluetooth, yeah. But we have others that aren’t so expensive.” I knew I had seen something like it. I scanned for it.

“I don’t think I can choose right now.” Her face was a mirror of the confused overwhelm accosting me.

“No problem. I’m glad you came in to look around.” Letting her leave without buying anything tasted of failure, but: “I’d much rather miss making a sale than sell you something you don’t like and can’t return. I hope you’ll come back when you have more time.”

She nodded and took a few steps toward the door.

“I’m Ali, by the way.”

“Hi, Ali. I’ll come by for coffee one day soon.”

“Sounds good.” She smiled and reached for the door. “Bye, Meg.”

It didn’t feel so much like a failure now that we were friends.

“Oh,” Ali said as she almost bumped into someone coming in. She held the door open.

Zak? My heart gave a little skip.

Nope. Mom .