Page 55 of Prayers for the Prickly

Now I was the one who needed to pause, because we’d just moved those mantas into the window last night before locking up.

“There were like, ten of them,” I muttered, then paused to check the note on the inventory sheet Olly had not only comprised but updated for me on a weekly basis so I no longer needed to go out into the showroom and look around to see what I needed to work on next. “Yeah, it says here ten.”

“And all ten just walked out the door in two carefully packaged and padded boxes,” Olly explained. “I made sure to give Ms. Adel a 10% discount, too, since she came in with the card and coupon Mr. Alverez gave her after he finished the renovations on her beachfront studio. She just finished turning the old bait shop into her art studio and guess what, she teaches workshops there, too. Watercolors, oils, tempura and acrylics. I was thinking of maybe taking a couple to see if I could unlock my own artistic side.”

“Then you should go for it,” I encouraged. “And if you do, let me know if you need to leave early or come in late so I can cover for you.”

“You’re too busy to cover for me.”

“Bullshit. It’s my shop and I’m the boss, right?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got August and a ton of work to do on the commission for the wedding.”

“Which is next year and I’ve already shown Mr. Alverez the sketches for the chessboard and the table centerpieces and he’s signed off on everything.”

“Whoa, seriously?”

“Yup, so look into those workshops and let me know when they’ll be so we can make sure you’re out of here on time,” I insisted.

“Thanks, Gregor.”

“Anytime, you know that, right?” I said, cocking my head as I studied him. “Finding my mate doesn’t mean I don’t have time for my family, especially not my kid brother.”

“I haven’t been a kid in years,” he muttered, swatting at my hands and scooting left when I went to ruffle his hair.”

“True, but you’ll always be my kid brother.”

He squared his shoulders at that, grinned and nodded. “Love you, bro.”

Narrowing my eyes, I immediately started to remind him how much I hated being called bro, only he just giggled and rushed to cut me off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, don’t call you bro and get back to work,” he said, waving before he hurried back to the front, leaving me to mark the manta rays off the inventory.

I had several other, larger manta pieces in mind, once the perfect driftwood presented itself and revealed that a manta was what it wanted to be. I knew Olly would keep Ms. Adel in mind for them when I did have them ready. He really looked after our customers and kept a database of who was looking for something in particular, so he could contact them once I’d created something he thought they might like. He was rarely wrong about it, too, which I knew was why we had so much repeat business. He was a whiz at keeping the customers happy and coming back for more, but he was also amazing with social media, always posting the new creations when they went onto the storeroom floor as well as getting shots of happy people posing with their purchases before he wrapped them. We’d gone from a handful of likes and follows, to three hundred followers who commented frequently. Not bad for a beachside shop in a little fishing village.

Just the other night I’d finally given him the go ahead to start setting up the online marketplace for direct sales, but only after he’d promised to keep on top of everything to do with the shipping process, including all of the packaging materials and the scale we’d need so we’d know what to charge. Knowing Olly, we’d be swimming in foam and bubble wrap before he got a proper shipping room set up, but at least he’d brought the idea to me in time for me to add one to the renovation project.

Outside, basking in the sun, the seal remained, napping on its back with its little oyster clutched to its chest, reminding me of the way I held August when we floated in the pool, lazily spinning in circles together. It was a kind of joy I still couldn’t put into words, though I had drawn up a few sketches that would eventually become a plaque for our wall. The first of many memories I hoped to carve to commemorate our life together.

Chapter 22

August

The scent of surf ‘n turn hit my nose while I was still blindfolded, but between it and the feel of the sand beneath my feet, I had a good idea of where I was. Gregor’s big surprise had better not be to show me more new shelves and the carvings he had ready to go on them when the space was finished. While I loved the changes he was making to the shop, including the expanded showroom with its tall, wide windows and additional plugs that would allow the lamps and chandeliers to be plugged in for the last night of the evening, I was eager for a day that didn’t involve either of us working

He'd already had the same features installed in the working part of the showroom, and sold three to people who’d been walking along the boardwalk and been drawn in by the light and shadows they’d cast. As he always did, whenever one of the ideas I’d given him successfully went over, he’d come home with a little treat for me, as well as praise. I’d fallen in love with the chocolate-dipped bananas he’d found at a food truck a few blocks from his shop. They even dipped some in a layer of melted peanut butter and then a layer of melted chocolate before freezing them. Those were my all-time favorites, a fact that I was certain Gregor’s wallet could attest to, since he brought them for me constantly now that the weather had gone past warm straight to hot. Midsummer would be here at the end of the week, and there was still so much to do in the shop before our handfasting, that I was slightly miffed at him for bringing me down here, even with the scent of seafood filling the air. Ohhh goddess, was that a whiff of sizzling beef I’d just detected?

No longer miffed, I sniffed as he led me along the sand, no longer interested in why he’d brought me out here, since every step was carrying me closer to those delicious aromas. This better not be one of those times when I’d have to stand around waiting for it to be done, either. I’d already found myself having to nibble every few hours just to keep up with my body’s demands. Three days ago, at our first ultrasound, we’d discovered why.

After leaving the doctor’s office in a daze, a state that was becoming far too common after every visit, we’d wandered with no true direction, eventually pausing at the food truck I loved for a pair of my beloved bananas.

When Gregor spotted a street taco truck beside it, he’d insisted on getting a batch of carne asada ones for us to share, in addition to Camarones Tacos that were served with Spanish rice and a creamy cheese sauce. Those, holy shit, when I’d accidentally bit his finger while trying to eat the last bite of his, he’d bought me a double batch of my own to take back to the shop with me, and promised to learn how to make that sauce, because now that I’d had it, I wanted it on everything.

To be fair, I’d been the same way the week before, with the whiskey cream sauce he’d made with shallots and garlic to go over our steaks. Talk about decadent. I’d fight anyone who ever tried to say that sauces didn’t make a meal. It sure the hell did when he’d been pouring it over my meat and stovies. Yes, he’d introduced me to a new favorite way of having potatoes, and he’d even gotten me to eat my roasted cauliflower that way after I’d complained that him steaming them had made them taste like mush.

When he turned me, and pressed on my shoulder, I allowed him to guide me into what proved to be a rather comfortable chair, for being on the beach. Now that we were here, I expected him to take the blindfold off, shocked when he left it on me and seemed to move away.

“Leave it right where it is.”

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