Page 4 of Afternoon Delight
“So don’t get comfortable?” My heart was sinking on Georgia’s behalf.
“I honestly couldn’t tell you.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets, palms out, and braced his weight between his widely set feet. “At first, we thought it was funny that Dad had missed such an important detail. Then Georgia told Zara that Dad was coming in here and getting confused. Zara got him to the doctor, but she has kids and works full-time. She can’t run point on him, too. I moved back after Christmas to live with Dad and...” He shrugged again. “I don’t know how long this will work.”
Oh. I bit back saying how nice it was that he had come home to help. No one—least of all my husband—had praised me when I helped my mother-in-law after she broke her hip. I’d put school on hold and left our kids with my own mother so I could take care of Mrs. Boyd, because Joel hadn’t wanted to cancel any of his lucrative root canals and crowns. It hadn’t occurred to any of us—least of all me—that he would. Or that he would look after his own mother. His parents had since moved to the Okanagan, or Joel would still expect me to check on them.
“You’re here to ask about rent?” I guessed. “Georgia said Zara let her skip January while she figured things out, but she texted the other day, asking what her plans are.”
“I actually forgot Zar was doing that. Yeah, people have been asking what’s going on over here.” Zak glanced over his shoulder. Brim Stokers Coffeehouse was across the street next to the new microbrewery, Tap That. “There’s been some revitalization lately. By that, I mean gentrification. They don’t like staring at a dark window.”
“Understandable.”
“One of them offered to buy the building, but we want to keep it for now. Dad’s used to getting up for work every morning. His doctor says it’s good for him to stick to a routine. He likes dinking around with his knick-knacks, so...” Another shrug.
Oh. I bit back a laugh, adoring how affectionate he sounded.
“Where do you usually live?” I asked.
“Vancouver. You?”
“Toronto. But I grew up here.”
“Me, too. I’m a programmer. I had a good job, but I was burning out again. This is a nice break. Mostly I dink around, too. Strip wood. Post photos.”
Don’t say it.
“That sounds like I post dick pics.” His grin flashed. God, he was gorgeous. “Actually, they’re chests.” He waited a beat. “Of drawers.” His mouth twitched with irony.
“I was trying not to ask.” I was trying not to ogle his chest, but I could feel a smile teasing my lips.
“How is Georgia?” he asked with concern. “Zara said Dad was making things awkward with her staff and customers. There’s been a lot of turnover in this shop the last few years, actually. We should have clued in to what was causing it. Can you let her know I’m here, though? That shouldn’t happen as much now.” He glanced right as he spoke.
I realized he had done that a few times. He had stationed himself so he could see his own door through this one.
“She’ll be off sick for a while longer. She’s staying with her sister in Sidney.” It was about thirty minutes from the shop, but close to the ferry, which was good since she was seeing a specialist in Vancouver. “She should be back on her feet soon.” I was staying positive.
“That’s good news.” His gaze flickered down, taking in my mint green rain jacket over peg-leg jeans stuffed into ankle boots with faux-fur cuffs.
When his eyes came back to my face, I was prickly and humid inside my damp clothes.
“That you’re planning to reopen, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “And yeah, rent would be great. My wages over there are circa most of the furniture.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Today I just dropped by to get the lay of the land.” My voice faltered at the double entendre. “I wanted to see what I’ll be working with.” I fought the urge to glance at the vibrators but couldn’t look at him either, certain he’d be laughing at me again.
“Sure,” he said easily. “I won’t bother you, but one thing has been driving me crazy since I spotted it through the window. That’s why I came roaring over here the second I heard you come in. What the hell is that?” He pointed at the cash desk. “I can’t find anything like it online.”
I blinked at what looked like a three-pronged candelabra made of clear plastic dildos, all of different heights and widths, arranged like a tripod, not a fork.
“Um...” I was equally mystified and walked over to gingerly pick it up.
“Are they flexible?”
I tested one branch. “No.” It was solid and weighted at the base so it wouldn’t tip over.
“Who uses something like that? I’m not being judgmental.” His expression became boyish, one eyebrow quirking upward while his hand flailed in bafflement. “It’s a real question. What goes where? How? There’s not enough room for three people to use it at once. I honestly don’t think it would be comfortable for one. Maybe that’s the point?”
I was just as perplexed. If someone wanted to rotate through poking me with three differently sized dildos so vigorously that they needed a common handle, I would have a lot of questions first.
“I can’t figure it out,” he continued. “And believe me, I’ve put in the hours.”
