Page 95 of Afternoon Delight
I loved her so damned much it was tearing me up, but saying it would be selfish. She’d think I was laying a guilt trip on her.
So I said, “I guess once Georgia is next door, I can flirt with h— Ouch.”
Her fist in my hair pulled my head back. Her mouth was tight with outrage, her eyes spitting green venom.
“Thanks, babe.” I grinned and fondled her ass. “I needed that.”
Chapter 52
Meg
Between Georgia and her new hire, I only worked on and off the following week. Mostly off, which gave me time to finish up at Mom’s and hang around the antique shop with Zak.
I’d never really paid attention to his woodworking projects before. Sometimes I’d heard him banging around in the back, or caught a whiff of paint stripper, but now I perched on the rickety stool and watched him sand, fiddle with a drawer pull, or repair decorative molding on a shelf.
Zak relaxed back here because Dale was comfortable in the store and loved to busy himself with rearranging things to “give them more appeal.” In here, Dale rolled with the inconsistencies because it felt like everything stayed the same.
“Did you sell the model train set?” Dale popped his head in to ask.
“Last week,” Zak said.
“Candace,” Dale said, assigning me yet another random name—usually one of Zara’s friends from high school. “You’ve changed your hair.”
“This is Meg, Dad. You’ve met her a few times. She’s been working at the shop next door, the one that took over from Debra.”
“The toy store. Right.” He tapped his nose. “Got that one mixed up, didn’t I?” He seemed to be having a good day. “What’d you get for the train set?”
“Not much. They were cheapskates.”
“Typical. I’m going to move the clocks onto that table.”
“Sounds good.” Zak leaned to watch him as he retreated.
The bells on the front door were loud, and Kyle had installed a second chime that rang in the back room. Whenever Zak heard it, he’d hurry out to make sure his father wasn’t leaving the store. If customers had come in, he checked on them, letting his dad run some of his patter if they seemed patient enough for it.
“How much do you actually sell?” I asked.
“What do you mean? The train set? That was bullshit. It’s been gone for years.” Zak returned to his sanding block. “Zara hates that I lie and say Mom’s at an estate sale or whatever, but I don’t see the point in upsetting him.”
“I meant the actual business. Is it profitable?”
“Hell, no. But we own the building. The rentals upstairs and the shop next door give us enough to keep the lights on. Why? You want to work your magic here, now that Georgia’s fired you? We don’t actually care whether it turns a profit. It’s a day camp for Dad that we don’t have to pay for.”
Zak was paying in time, though. And in ways no one else saw. These were his top earning years. That didn’t even touch the emotional toll this was taking on him.
“I was just being nosy, wondering how many people actually buy antiques.”
“Fewer and fewer as the baby boomers die off. Millennials don’t have the same nostalgia for old crap like this. Ironically, we’ve been selling a lot online. Roddie’s been adding photos to our website, so we’re moving stuff that way, but shipping is a pain in the ass. I prefer when people wander in and throw whatever they buy into the back of their car.”
“You like this, though?” I nodded toward the short bookshelf he was sanding, prepping it for re-staining. “Woodworking?”
“It’s something to do while I keep an eye on Dad.” He paused and straightened. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just worry that you’ve got a lot to deal with?—”
“I do,” he agreed curtly. “So what? It’s my problem to work through, not yours.”
I blinked. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”
