Page 8 of Prayers for the Prickly

Finding a piece of driftwood was like being a kid on Christmas morning. Every piece was a present that I carefully wrapped and added to the cloth padding I kept on the sled. The tip of my boot uncovered a shell, and I made a mental note to bring my bucket, rake and shovel tomorrow, so I could gather up enough clams for a feast. For as much shit as I gave Olly about them, they were one of my favorite dishes, too. The succulent treats would be a good way to end the week, after I set up an old-fashioned clam broil behind the workshop. There were two heavy, driftwood chairs on the patio that I’d made with the intention of selling, until Olly and I had parked our asses in them, cracked open a couple cold, crisp ciders, and discovered what a slice of heaven our location truly was. Not only could customers reach it from the boardwalk, but they could also access the shop from the bike path as well while strolling along the sand. The shop was just eight short steps up from the very beach I walked on now, and surprisingly enough, we received a lot of foot traffic that way.

Olly had his hands full most afternoons, between the browsers and the buyers, and yet he never asked me to come out and help. In fact he’d shooed me away the few times I’d tried. My brother had thrived since coming to work with me at the shop, and more than proven to our old man that the business and marketing classes Olly had begged to take hadn’t been wasted.

Between the website and online marketplace he’d created, and the QR codes he put on every flyer, advertisement and social media image, online orders had started rolling in and I was finally giving serious consideration to accepting the occasional commission for specific pieces, despite how much it rankled me to be told what to create.

“They’re not telling you what to create, they are offering to pay you to create something specific, there is a difference you know.”

Despite Olly’s insistence that creating the right piece for the right person would not only garner a great deal of attention, but send people flocking into the shop, I’d steadfastly refused to bend when it came to accepting money to turn the driftwood into anything other than what it wanted to be. It just seemed wrong to force the pieces to become something that didn’t show off the true spirit and beauty of the wood. Cash was nice and all, but I hadn’t created the shop to get rich, I’d done it because I was passionate about the artistry that went into taking something that had drifted for who knew how long, or how far, and giving it a second life after its first one had been snapped short.

Olly seemed to appreciate that, mostly, though he struggled when it came to letting go of ideas that he felt strongly about. It was a good trait, though, even when Olly got my ire up. I never wanted him to lie down and roll over for anyone, not even me. A little clam broil and the new blueberry ciders from our cousin Phil’s place didn’t even come close to showing the level of appreciation I felt about all of the hard work Olly had put in.

It was good having him around the place, too, and not just for all the improvements he’d made. Olly always managed to make me chuckle, even when I wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

And now he’d gone and filled the candy jar in my workshop with treats much like the ones August had left in my jacket pocket after he’d hugged me. Little sneak had a light touch and gentle hands, he could have easily pickpocketed me and I would have been too enthralled about his scent to notice. I still couldn’t get his aroma out of my mind. I’d started seeing candy in my dreams, only the moment I unwrapped a piece it transformed into a squirming version of August that I couldn’t wait to wrap my lips around.

Groaning, I adjusted myself in my jeans and took a moment to tip my head back and stare up at the dark clouds gathering in the distance.

Those little citrus drop candies had been as refreshing as rain, and the flavors, holy shit, I’d never had tangerine or grapefruit flavored anything. The lemon, lime, and orange flavors had been on point. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that August used fresh squeezed juice in his creations to get them to taste like that. Not too sweet, not too sour, every piece had been like biting into the fruit. I’d gone through them so fast I’d wound up turning the baggie over and then checking my workbench just in case one or two had rolled away, disappointed to see none had.

I'd mourned their extinction and even considered writing a simple eulogy to pin beside the baggy on the bulletin board, but words had never been my strong suit. The most I’d managed was a slightly bawdy limerick, but I’d posted it anyway, and just as I’d expected, Olly laughed and tried his hand at writing one of his own. They were both posted on the bulletin board now, Olly’s posing a silent challenge to me to write a response to it, just to keep the fun rolling.

Fun.

When the hell had I started looking for ways to fill my days with it?

Oh yeah, from the moment I’d gotten a look and a whiff of August, who my gut and my wolverine urged to seek out as soon as possible. Maybe I needed to spend some time lingering around the candy shop to see if August went back in. Surely a man who gave away candy on a whim had to replenish sometime.

A piece of driftwood a little over a foot long caught my eye and I danced in the sand, even as the gulls laughed at me and circled overhead to see if I had anything to toss them. I didn’t, but only because I’d given the last bite of my hastily thrown together breakfast sandwich to the trio who’d squawked a greeting to me from their perch on the break wall.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, grinning up at them before retrieving a cloth from the sled.

Where others saw flying pests and even winged rodents, I saw cackling critters who brought amusement and a bit of majesty to the beach. Little hecklers who brazenly divebombed the humans they knew would flail and fling away whatever treat they were attempting to guard, if one of the birds just swooped low enough.

I quickly wrapped up my prize and added it to the others I’d collected this morning, seven pieces so far, a good haul by any standards, but I still had plenty of time left before I needed to head to the shop.

“Do you come down to the beach to entertain the gulls often or was that a rare performance I just had the privilege to witness?”

Well, shit.

Startled, I whirled around so fast I tripped over my boots and landed with an oof on my backside in the sand, blinking up at August as he sat on the edge of the break wall with a camera around his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumbled as I brushed sand off my jeans as I stood. “I was just trying to avoid squishing a crab.”

“Uh huh, likely story.”

“Please tell me that you weren’t just taking pictures.”

“Oh, I’ve been taking pictures all morning.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, do I?” August asked as he dropped off the wall into the sand with a little flourish that made me step back and pretend to be looking for something while hoping August hadn’t noticed me lunge his way out of concern that he was about to hurt himself.

Chuckling, August stepped around me and took several pictures of the sun as it rose majestically, like it was being birthed right out of the sea.

“I didn’t take any pictures of your little dance,” August informed me. “Though I may have accidentally caught a bit of it on video while I was filming the gulls.”

“Really?”

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