She snorts. “I know. And we’re banging like monkeys right now. Total honeymoon phase. I kinda don’t ever want it to end, but then again, my vag could use a day or two of R and R.”
“You can take a break from beaver bumping, you know. Just because you rest the cooch, doesn’t mean you’re not in the honeymoon phase anymore,” I reassure her.
Harper flips the closed sign to open and makes sure all the lights are on. “That’s true. I mean, I could practice my stellar blowie skills for a night or two,” she says, her face tight in concentration, as if she were in deep thought.
“That’s true. No man every passes up a blowie.”
I spend my morning working the floor, helping the customers who come in, and restocking product. Harper is in her office most of the time, working on paperwork and orders, so I take the opportunity to browse the merchandise. I find this gorgeous light green bra and panty set with little white eyelets on it. What’s best is I find my size almost right away. Since my girls are a little on the smaller side, I always have trouble finding bras that fit right. Harper knows this, and always makes sure she stocks plenty of product in all shapes and sizes.
When the clock hits noon, Harper comes out of her office and stretches. “God, I hate being cooped up in there. But I got all of my new spring products ordered, and most of the bills paid, so I’ll call it a success.”
“Definitely,” I tell her setting the bra and panty set on the counter.
“Are those for you? That color would be gorgeous against your fair skin,” she says, toying with the lace on the bra cup.
“I thought so too.”
“I’m going to meet Latham next door in his office for lunch. Will you be okay for a bit?” she asks, glancing around at the now-empty store.
“Fine, fine. Go have lunch—and lunchtime nookie—with your hot husband,” I tell her, shooing her with my hand.
“I thought you were all for helping me give the vag a dick-break. Now you’re encouraging me to go attack it like a Christmas ham.”
I pull a face. “Who attacks a Christmas ham?”
“Have you ever had Kitty’s ham? She puts a brown sugar rub and pineapple rings on it to sweeten it up. It’s amazing,” she sings.
“If I ate pig, I’d totally eat that.”
“Right? Anyway, I think he brought leftovers. If there’s any left, I’ll bring some to you.”
I have her off. “Don’t worry about it. I know how much your husband eats. I can run across the street and grab a salad from the deli.”
“If you’re sure,” she says, giving me a look.
“Definitely. Go eat. I’ll be fine. See you in a bit,” I tell her, turning back to the counter and ringing up my new purchase.
“See you soon.”
And then I’m left alone with a room full of lingerie.
I spend the next ten minutes refolding the panties in the bins, displaying them just the way Harper likes. Just when I’m about to move on to another task, the bell over the door chimes. I’m actually super stoked to have a customer, hopefully to help pass the time. However, when I turn around, it isn’t the face of a happy customer. Oh, no. This one looks awkward as fuck, and he’s trying his damnedest not to look at any of the sexy displays.
Samuel.
I’m so shocked to see him at the front door of the one place everyone knows makes him horribly uncomfortable; all I can do is stand there and stare back.
“Hey,” he says, reaching up with one hand and adjusting his necktie. “I, uh, thought you might need lunch.”
“Oh,” I stammer, still completely shocked he’s here.
He glances down at the bag in his hand. “If you’ve already eaten, I can just head back to work,” he starts, but I quickly cut him off.
“No, I haven’t eaten anything. I’d love to have lunch.”
Samuel takes a tentative step forward, his eyes darting to a nice satin negligée on a mannequin. “If you’re sure,” he says, very slowly, clearing his throat.
“Definitely,” I say, finally recovering. “Come on back here. Your sister is next door with Latham, so I should stay up here and man the counter.”
“Okay,” he replies, quickly glancing around at the pretties hanging and displayed near him. I can’t help but smile at the blush he’s trying to conceal by dropping his head.
I move everything off the back counter as he sets down a bag and pulls a few containers from within. Chinese. He opens steaming tubs of vegetables and rice, teriyaki noodles, and sautéed mushrooms. My stomach growls instantly. “This looks yummy,” I tell him, grabbing the two stools and moving them to the table.
“I wasn’t sure what to get, but I remembered you talking about the vegetables and rice.”
“It’s my favorite,” I reassure him.
I could run back to the small kitchen area in back but decide against it. Instead, we use the chopsticks provided, and eat together out of the containers. I thought Samuel would say something about germs and sharing, but surprisingly, he hasn’t. When I dive into the veggies and rice, he helps himself to the teriyaki noodles, and after a few bites, we switch it up.
Who knew sharing Chinese food could be so easy and satisfying.
When my stomach is full of goodness, I pat myself on the belly and push away the food. “Thank you so much. I didn’t realize I was starved until I started eating and couldn’t stop.”
“You’re very welcome,” he says, patting his mouth with a napkin and picking up the empty containers. “You’ve brought food plenty of times to work at the funeral home. It’s the least I could do,” he tells me.
“And doing it without asking first? Look at you and your sudden bout of spontaneity.”
“It’s new to me,” he confesses with a sheepish grin. When he does it, laugh lines appear around his eyes and he suddenly looks younger. Carefree.
