Page 3 of Toy Shop

I clear my throat. “I’m preparing it as we speak. I just called to offer you better products. Yours are…”

How does one say you bought items made of embalming chemicals?

“They aren’t manufactured from the best materials. I wanted to offer you a change for the same price.”

“I appreciate it…” He pauses, waiting for me to introduce myself.

“Nola.” My inner strength elaborates, lending potency to my tone. Finally. “Nola Vickers.”

“Nola Vickers. That’s a beautiful name.” Another break in his sentence, in which I imagine he’s licking his lips, pondering what to say next.

All right, Miss Kirsty, you’re banned out of this establishment in aeternum.

“Anyway, it won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

At this point, with any other customer, my answer would be Cool, no problem, I’ll process your refund, have a good one. But here, a force pulls me, encouraging me to elongate the conversation.

The shop is empty. I’ll have plenty of time to pack and send out the other two orders in the next 5 minutes, or I can stay overtime.

“May I ask why?”

“Are you following the shop’s policy?” He’s not angry with me for poking around where I shouldn’t. On the contrary, he ups the flirting. “Do all customers get the special Nola treatment?”

“No, nothing like that. Just wanted to know why.” I shut up before I return to blabbering mode. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty for a lifetime.

“A curious little thing, aren’t you?”

Our heavenly Father, thank you for the a/c saving me from melting on the spot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t be.” The smile in his tone doesn’t waver. “Nothing serious. I had an arrangement, the arrangement’s ended.”

Ended.

“Hence me returning the order,” he states matter of fact. “But you know what, Nola Vickers?”

Is he going to ask me to take her place? We’ve had a ton of salacious offers in the shop, both me and Rhodes, the other salesperson here. It wouldn’t be a first.

Would I say yes this time, though?

I can’t blame Kirsty anymore. I’m thirsty, simping. Me. Only me.

“You go ahead and keep them for yourself.”

Oh, shit. Here come the stutters. “I…um. Well, the thing is I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Why not is a good, complicated question. Its reply is identical to why I avoid sex in general, and it revolves around my douche of an ex and how he left me feeling used and unloved after our first few times together.

The words almost topple out of me, but I bite my lip to stop them.

What is it about him that makes me so at ease? So vulnerable that I’m willing to let my guard down?

I already exposed too much of myself, and for some reason, I’m cautious of what’ll happen when Chad learns more. He might think I’m the fool like my ex made of me, and it might cause him to end the conversation.

And I don’t want him to.

I like his voice.

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