Page 5 of Afternoon Delight
“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 naïve 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.
Chapter 2
Zak
The phone was ringing as I walked back into the shop.
I looked for Dad, but the place had always been a rabbit warren of tallboys, standing mirrors, and folding screens. As a kid, playing hide-and-seek in here with Zara had been a riot. Playing hide-and-seek with Dad? Not so much.
“Dad?” The phone was still ringing, which didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t in the office. I’d caught him in there two days ago, watching it ring, but yesterday he’d answered it like he always used to.
From the back of the shop, I heard a cry of pain and the thump of something hitting the floor. I veered toward the workroom, where I’d been stripping a table.
Dad was standing next to it, clutching his own hand, looking at it with a mix of confusion and agony. The heat gun was on the floor.
Fuck me.
