Chapter 19 Bella
Bella
Six Weeks to Opening Day
The bell above the door at Smutty Buddies jingled for the fourth time that hour, but it was only Mrs. Delgado coming back for the sequel she’d sworn she wouldn’t buy.
Classic romance reader denial.
Xan and I exchanged a look and dove back into our “game” behind the counter.
“Okay,” Xan said, waggling their eyebrows. “Go.”
I tilted my head and studied the cover of the paperback in their hands. The title was embossed in metallic red: Blood Oath of the Shadow Prince.
“Alrighty.” I sat back and cracked my knuckles.
“Ancient castle, leather pants, a sword that’s definitely compensating for something.
I’m going to go with a cursed prince who's also half-demon, and the only way to break the curse is to . . . bone the twenty-first century librarian who accidentally time-travels back to his world.”
Xan cackled so loudly, Mrs. Delgado glanced over from the Rom-Cozy Corner. “Close, she’s a historian. And he’s a dragon shifter, not a demon.”
“I should’ve known.”
They set a stack of the Romantasy books on the counter, lining the spines up so the barcodes all faced the same direction. I logged them into the store’s computer system.
In true Mary Poppins’ fashion, we had taken one of the more mundane aspects of the job and turned it into a game.
One involving shirtless men wielding swords and our imaginations.
Then again, I actually enjoyed doing inventory.
The spreadsheets, the order, the small satisfaction of numbers lining up the way they were supposed to.
I loved turning chaos into something tidy and trackable.
Just like my bees.
“You know,” I said, leaning over the keyboard, already thinking three steps ahead. “If we tag these under both fantasy romance and historical crossover, they’ll show up in more searches.”
Xan snorted. “God, you’re hot when you talk metadata. Okay, your turn.”
I reached behind the counter and pulled out a mass-market paperback with an illustrated couple on the front.
One woman wore a flowing white dress, bouquet clutched in her palms. The other stood beside her in muddy boots and rolled-up sleeves, holding a pitchfork like she had stepped straight out of American Gothic.
Xan’s grin turned feral. “Well, this one’s gay as hell.”
“Keep going.”
They studied it for half a second, then snapped their fingers. “Runaway bride flees her hetero nightmare wedding and trips—literally—into a small-town farm. She meets a grumpy, soft-hearted farmer who pretends she hates people, but underneath it all, she’s a gooey cinnamon roll.”
I flipped the book over and scanned the back cover.
“Well, damn.” They had absolutely nailed it. “Let’s put this one on the shortlist for next month’s book club pick.”
Xan’s eyes lit up immediately. “I can see it now. March into Sapphic Spring with—” They glanced down at the book’s title. “Til Dirt Do Us Part.”
We both burst into laughter.
When the bell chimed again, it was a group of college girls beelining for the new releases, desperate to find the rugby romance book that had recently gone viral on Booktok. Xan hopped up to help them, while I went back to my spreadsheet, still grinning like an idiot.
Working the evening shift at Smutty Buddies was one of my favorite things. The store smelled like new books, vanilla candles, and a faint whiff of coffee from the little nook in the back where we always had a pot going.
The fairy lights strung across the ceiling gave everything a soft, golden glow, and the shelves were organized by popular romance tropes. Enemies to lovers had its own section, as did my personal favorite, grumpy/sunshine, and there almost an entire wall dedicated to “Morally Gray Men.”
Nessa had built something special here, and on quiet nights like this, when the music was low and the customers were happy, it felt like the best secret in Rose City.
Well, maybe the second best.
Because the secret hot tub hidden behind the old bait shop on the east side of First Street took the cake. Nobody knew who it actually belonged to or who kept it maintained, but it was a Rose City staple. The stories about that hot tub could fill a book so thick it would double as a weapon.
Xan came back a few minutes later and grabbed another book from behind the counter. A special edition hardcover this time. “Okay, one more before the end of the day rush hits.”
This cover featured a woman in a red velvet cloak, standing on the edge of a snowy garden. Frost clung to the hedges, the moonlight catching on something sharp just beyond the gate. Claws, maybe. Or teeth.
“Hmm, I feel like I’m getting a paranormal, erotic retelling of Little Red Riding Hood.”
Xan grinned. “Do go on.”
I snatched the book out of their hands and flipped through the pages. This one was heavy enough to give the hot tub lore a run for its money. “In this version, Red isn’t on her way to see her grandmother. Instead, she’s trying to escape her repressive village and pursue her dreams.”
“Naturally.”
“And then, she meets a wolf,” I continued. “But not a scary one. A broody, morally gray alpha hero whose sole purpose is to find his mate. Oh, and of course, there will be knotting.”
Xan clapped slowly. “You’re getting too good at this.”
I looked up when the bell rang out yet again, and this time, much to my surprise, it was Parker. She had a canvas bag slung over one shoulder, printed with retro cherries, and a massive grin that lit up the whole store.
“Damn,” she called, weaving through the shelves. “You weren’t kidding; this place is adorable.”
Xan turned at the sound and froze mid-motion, eyes going wide. Parker froze too, like they’d both spotted a rare bird.
Parker was all bright vintage explosion. Today it was a mustard-yellow cardigan with embroidered daisies over a cherry-print blouse, high-waisted trousers, and those same pink-and-purple rain boots from the market.
Xan, on the other hand, was pure goth cottagecore. A black velvet overall dress over a lace-trimmed blouse, chunky boots, and silver moon earrings that matched the different phases of the moon painted on their nails.
They were opposites in every possible way, and yet the second their eyes met, something clicked.
“Um, hi?” Xan said, a little breathless. “I’m obsessed with your cardigan. The embroidery is perfect.”
Parker’s grin went supernova. “You’re too sweet. I thrifted it last summer. Can we talk about your dress, though? It’s giving Morticia Addams meets meadow fairy, and I’m so here for it.”
Xan clutched their chest. “The highest honor.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbow on the counter. “Parker, this is Xan. Xan, Parker.”
Xan snapped their fingers. “Of course, the skincare girly. I’m so excited for this collaboration.”
Parker laughed, bright and easy. “Likewise. Your energy is immaculate.”
“What are you doing here so late on a Wednesday night?” I asked her. Not that I wasn’t excited to see her. She was just . . . an awfully long way from Awful.
“Funny you should ask. I decided to get away from the farm for a few days and camp out at the most charming, vintage trailer resort on the edge of town.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re staying at Bed of Roses?”
She nodded. “Just for a couple nights. I needed a little space from the house. Cat’s been on a decluttering kick, and I swear if I have to hear one more lecture about how my crystal collection takes up too much space, I’m going to scream.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, I figured I would drop in and grab some smutty reading while I was in town. Got anything with vampires?”
Xan scoffed and crossed their arms. “Do we have anything with vampires?” they repeated, a mocking edge to their tone. “Right this way.”
They led Parker toward the back corner of the store, where the shelves were painted a deep crimson and the sign above read “Love Sucks” in dripping gothic font.
“Welcome to the bloodiest section in Rose City,” they said, gesturing grandly.
After about fifteen minutes of talking Parker’s ear off while she flipped through books, the three of us wandered back to the register.
I rang up Parker’s finds—It Happened One Bite, Eternal Hunger, and a story collection called Fangs for the Memories that Xan had insisted was “essential vampire smut”—and was about halfway through bagging them up when she slapped a hand down on the counter.
“I’ve decided what we should do for the first run of your honey products. Honey dust and massage bars.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Massage bars, I understand. But honey dust? Like . . . for baking?”
Xan choked on their soy latte. Parker burst out laughing.
“Oh, Belles,” Xan said, patting my knee. “Honey dust is an edible body powder. You sprinkle it on, lick it off.” She wagged her eyebrows.
My face went hot so fast, I was sure my cheeks were glowing. “Like a sex thing?”
Parker nodded like this was the most normal conversation in the world. “Foreplay, mainly. It’s sensual without being messy like straight honey—”
“That’s a UTI waiting to happen,” Xan added.
“—and the massage bars could be scented with essential oils. Great for sensual massage, maybe with CBD for extra relaxation. I already have a line on a sex shop in Portland that might be interested.”
Xan perked up. “Genius. People will eat those up. Pun intended.”
I blinked, processing. “You two are dangerous together.”
Parker grinned. “We’re just business minded. And horny.”
“Very horny,” Xan agreed.
I stared at the counter, mind racing through all the possibilities. From what Parker had described, the ingredients were simple enough—powdered honey, cornstarch for texture, some edible flavorings. The production could be small batch at first, something I would be able to produce in my kitchen.
Xan was right. Assuming we found the right formula, people would eat this up. Literally.
And honestly, the idea excited me.
Not just the business potential, but the playful, sensual side of it. I had spent so long feeling like sex was this mysterious, intimidating thing that happened to other people.
Until Bennett, I had never felt safe or interested enough to dive in. He was the first person who’d ever made me feel like sex wasn’t something to be afraid or ashamed of, but something beautiful and fun. Worth exploring. And maybe that was the part that mattered most.
The idea that I could explore this side of myself slowly, safely, with curiosity instead of fear, and that I could turn that same care into something tangible excited me.
It was something other couples could use to experiment and connect.
These weren’t just products. They were invitations to intimacy without pressure. To pleasure without shame.
I liked the idea of that: making things that helped people feel closer. Not just to each other, but to themselves, too.
“I’m in,” I said, voice steadier than I expected. “We can make a whole line of bedroom-themed products, and we should brand them with some cute pun like . . . ‘Bee Intimate.’”
Parker nodded enthusiastically. “Bee Intimate. Holy shit, I love it.”
“They would sell like crazy here, too,” Xan offered. “We could do a little display called ‘Spice Up Your Next Read’ or bundle it with the popular erotic romances. People buy gifts for their partners all the time.”
I sat back, head already brimming with possibilities.
Something told me that if Nessa was willing to stock the massage bars and honey dust at Smutty Buddies, June might, too, at Bed of Roses.
She was all about curating experiences for her guests.
She had already put together honeymoon-themed welcome packages, and nothing said honeymoon like edible honey powder, right?
“This is going to work,” I said slowly.
Xan clapped. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Parker turned to me, eyes bright. “So, which one do you want to tackle first?”
I didn’t need to think about it. Honey dust. It felt bold and fun and, frankly, a little filthy. In the best way, of course. Like the kind of thing that would make people smile when they saw it on a shelf, and then whisper about it to their friends.
“I’ll take the honey dust.”
Parker whooped. Xan high-fived me.
“Then I’m on massage bars,” Parker said.
I nodded, excitement buzzing under my skin like bees waking up in spring. “I’ll talk to June to see if she’s interested in stocking them at Bed of Roses, too. You know, for romantic getaways.”
“Perfect.” Parker pulled out her phone to make notes. “Maybe even a rose one for the Bed of Roses tie-in?”
Xan leaned back, smirking. “You two are about to take over the sexy self-care market. I’m calling it now.”
I laughed, but the possibility settled warm in my chest. This wasn’t just a side project anymore. It was real, tangible. Mine.
And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t wait to get home and start experimenting. All that was left to do was find a very willing, very sexy test subject.