Chapter 9 Murry #2
Aspen glanced between us and pursed his lips, drumming his nails on the top of the refreshment stand as he regarded us.
“I can appreciate that. Only now things have changed between you, so tonight, when you finish in the shop, I hope you will share with him what you shared with me. A Daddy cannot look out for his pets properly if his pets withhold information from him.”
“You’re right,” I murmured. “Even if it’s new, we should tell him, especially since Sean spotted us here.”
“Yeah. We’ll tell him tonight,” Raleigh said.
“Good, now let’s enjoy our tea before we get back to work; the shelves aren’t going to restock themselves.”
“If only,” Raleigh said.
“Until it turned into a repeat of Mickey as The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” Aspen declared.
Blinking, I shot a glance at Raleigh, but he looked as perplexed as I was.
“You two have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Aspen said, looking a tad bit exasperated.
Shrugging, I shook my head. “Not a one.”
He just threw up his hands and muttered something about kids today having no sense of history. “In that case, I know exactly what we’ll be doing on our next break.”
“What?” Raleigh asked.
“Watch the video clip so you’ll see exactly what happens when people try to use magic, or in some cases, fancy automated methods, to do tasks that people could easily do themselves,” Aspen declared.
“Okay,” I said, curious because I loved cartoons regardless of the content or message.
“Sounds good to me,” Raleigh said.
We finished our tea and got back to work, each taking a box and a different section, with the Grateful Dead jamming from the speakers, giving us something to get lost in while we worked.
In between a steadily renewed stream of customers and two trips to the back to retrieve special orders that customers were picking up, we restocked the shelves from the shipment boxes and made notes on the inventory sheets for the products that needed to be reordered.
Daddy Dorian didn’t carry mass-produced products.
He’d explained, when we were choosing the accessories for the show, that he contracted with other independent craftspeople.
That way, he was not only helping to support other small businesses but also ensuring that his clients had access to high-quality, handmade goods.
In the short time we’d been helping down here, we’d already learned that his customers didn’t mind paying for it either.
I’d yet to see anyone so much as blink when their purchases were rung up for them.
Must be nice not to have to worry about how much you spend. I couldn’t really begrudge them the privilege, though. Not when Raleigh and I were already squirreling aside cash for new gear of our own. We just hoped the ones we were eyeing were still on the racks when we were ready to purchase them.
Sipping tea and watching The Sorcerer’s Apprentice clip from Fantasia, which I’d never even heard of before, was super cool too and drove home Aspen’s point.
While self-restocking shelves would make the day flow faster, seeing the chaos that erupted when Mickey tried to use magic to accomplish simple chores was kind of eye-opening.
The mess after his attempt at a shortcut was way worse than it had been when he’d been tackling his tasks by hand.
And if my kinky brain picked up some D/s undertones between the Sorcerer and Mickey, well, I just kept those thoughts to myself.
Though I’d probably spill to Raleigh when we were alone together, just to see if he’d picked up on the same vibe.
“That’s it, boys,” Aspen announced an hour and a half later. “It’s quitting time, and I’ve got a date tonight. Here’s hoping it ends better than the last one, or I will be a surly old fussbudget in the morning.
“We wouldn’t want that,” Raleigh said. “Where are you going?”
“Dinner at La Bianca’s, then over to the Minx for a bit of dancing and a few drinks,” he replied.
“And if all goes well, we’ll end the night at the Twilight Bistro for tiramisu and a café latte.
I do hope the evening goes well. Their rum-soaked butterfingers are to die for, and they’ve always got a hint of nuttiness to them. ”
He winked when we snickered, then we finished locking up and took the lift up to the second floor, where Daddy Dorian sat with his hair sticking up in every direction, an army of crumpled-up papers surrounding his feet.
He didn’t even notice us; he was so busy muttering, scribbling, grumbling, and crossing things out before crumpling the page and hurling it to the floor to join the others.
Now was clearly not the time for a serious conversation with him. In fact, he seemed to be in need of a bit of distraction. One glance over at Raleigh, and it was clear that he knew it too.
What else were good pets to do but crawl across the floor and into Daddy’s lap, greeting him with kisses that soon led to him forgetting the list he was struggling with?
As he threaded his fingers through my hair, gave a rough tug, and deepened the kiss, the only thought running through my head was that Raleigh and I were very, very good pets.