Chapter Four
How?
The intrusive mantra of the morning. The bothersome question that haunted him.
How had all his former lovers evolved from the messes he knew them to be, to become solid people in happy, functional relationships?
He was happy for them, of course, but how?
Six bad dates in two weeks. How? He rarely ever had a bad date.
Rarely had trouble finding someone to spend the night with.
How had life turned out so oddly for him?
Even though he was still unsure of the direction he wished to go next, where he would land, or what he would do.
Having someone to spend those days with was a nagging need requiring attention.
Someone to watch TV next to him in bed, as annoying as they could be sometimes.
Ahem, most times, but still, it’s nice to cuddle.
Sky wanted someone there with him to experience life.
He didn’t want to grow older living with Beau and Marshall, as wonderful as they were.
And he didn’t want to be alone, as attractive as solitude was.
He also didn’t want to date, connect, or expend any more energy in that direction because two weeks of it had already worn him out.
Magic could put a hottie in his bed for a single night, but it couldn’t recreate true connection or companionship; those elements in life remained naturally occurring.
The “hows” were driving him crazy, and the extended lull in the shop’s foot traffic did little to assist in distracting Schuyler’s mind from them. Answers were what he wanted, but there were none to be found.
He questioned Beau again if he was cursed.
His uncle went on yet another tirade about Swamp Magic, and pointed out two facts: one, no one Schuyler formally associated with was powerful enough to curse him; and two, Estelle had been cast with Protections which covered both home and occupants, if a curse lingered upon anyone, they would have known.
Sky would have preferred a curse. Curses were great excuses. And were not at all an uncommon cause of calling out of work or missing an important event in Bairwick. You couldn’t lie about being cursed though; that, in itself, would curse you.
Maybe it was him. Had he changed so much?
Had marriage, a failed career, and life outside the mystical Bairwick altered his very being so drastically?
Where’d his mojo go? How had it gone away in the first place?
He questioned if he’d relinquished it in exchange for making his ex comfortable, whom he’d been madly in love with at one time, but who lacked the natural charm and presence Schuyler possessed.
It pissed him off to think he may have handed away the very essence of what made him him, just to fit some ideal version his ex wanted.
Sky wondered if life would have been like this if he were still with Devion, though he quickly returned to shelving products. The Devion road was one he could easily get lost traveling down, thinking of all the what-ifs he would ultimately feel robbed of, inevitably leaving him both sad and angry.
The gentle ring of the doorbell captured his attention, and he ceased stocking the shelves to greet the customers.
Two young women in their 20s whom he knew would snicker and whisper over the selection of products.
Schuyler directed the cart behind the floating counter in the center of the space and remained there.
They stayed near the clitoral stimulator salves, giggling in hushed tones. Schuyler smirked. As predicted.
The bell chimed again.
He went to greet the young man as he would any customer, but was abruptly stopped in his tracks.
Piercing blue eyes looked back at him from a face carved by a dedicated artisan who studied only Abercrombie and Fitch summer ads from the 2000s.
The stunning young man needed only a puka shell necklace to complete his surfer aesthetic: tan, flawless skin, tousled, curly dual-colored brown and blonde hair, which fell playfully into his face.
Pink, pouty lips, landing in the delicate middle of the thin to plump spectrum, smiled at him.
Directly between the upper left curve of his lip and the nostril of a strong nose was a dark beauty mark which begged to be kissed.
Schuyler, stupefied by the beautiful young man, studied him from grey sneakers and tight calves to the loose tan shorts and the blue T-shirt that clung to his toned body.
And when his gaze rested on that face once more, it conspired again to take his breath away.
Such skin, which looked so soft and scrumptious, held not a blemish or visible pore.
Bemusement was written across the man’s face.
There was a shift, the welcoming expression faded; his perfect smile went flat, and his brow furrowed. He appeared frustrated, not entering the store any further before spinning in a bratty huff and exiting.
The episode confused Schuyler. The beautiful creature had arrived so suddenly and then rushed out onto the street, where the handsome young man seemed lost and confused.
He remained in front of the store, looking at his phone, looking up and down Main, seemingly trying to figure out the issue perplexing him.
Schuyler enjoyed the show, the more flustered the young man became with everything around him, the more he withheld the tantrum you could see he wanted to throw: to slam a foot down or throw hands in the air and whine until someone rescued him.
The restraint was what attracted Sky.
A horrendous sound of the clicking of the teeth, followed by a curt “excuse me,” snatched Schuyler away from the show and toward his customer.
The young woman set the beautifully packaged salve down on the counter and looked away, clearly embarrassed.
Schuyler loved slightly uptight customers, and he responded by amping up his friendliness.
“Great choice. We make this here in the shop, all natural ingredients,” he mentioned, sliding the container into the embossed bag and enhancing her discomfort for funsies. “Do you have any questions about the use?”
She did, but he knew she wouldn’t fess up.
Schuyler kept his customer service face on but rolled his eyes in his head.
“Well,” he added anyway, “a little goes a long way, but a lot will go the wrong way, so use sparingly or they’ll be scraping you off the ceiling.
” She was taken aback but nodded, acknowledging she understood as she slid her card through the e-reader.
“Does this stuff really work?” the customer’s friend asked with a tone suggesting she believed this was all bullshit.
“One hundred Yelp reviews on this alone, and not one of them a complaint.” He smiled in the way only those with true experience in customer service knew how, which said both “Have a great day, and fuck right off.” And he’d looked, the salve he sold them had the little gold star on it, which indicated that it was one of the ones that was imbued with magic.
Everything sold on Main Street worked, to a degree, but in order to keep commerce flowing with customers spreading the word and, most importantly, returning, fifteen percent of every item sold in Bairwick was fully enchanted.
The friend seemed unimpressed, turning up her nose at everything, and Schuyler grew annoyed.
Why come into a shop focused on sexual health and wellness if you’re going to be dismissive of everything around you?
He slid the salve, the receipt, and the free lube/condom pack they always included into the stylish brown bag embossed with the store’s name: Holistic Harmonies.
He slid them over to the customer. She smiled, and he reminded her again that less is more as the girls walked out in a chorus of hushed giggles.
He knew they weren’t going to listen to his instructions; they were gonna slather the salve on themselves.
And it would be fun, every sensation heightened, but then they’d become so overstimulated they wouldn’t be able to do anything except lay still in bed, praying for the experience to end and fearing even a breeze gliding across their pulsating clitorises.
Schuyler looked for the handsome young man, but he’d moved on. Too young for me, but by the Goddesses, he was beautiful.
He returned to his stocking; they carried everything for everyone across the beautiful rainbow.
Ointments, lubes, salves, tinctures, and teas, all handcrafted by Beau and Marshall to enhance, heal, and elevate everyone’s sexual experience.
They held talks on the subject, demonstrations, product release parties, and offered healings to tourists and residents alike for common ailments.
Beau preached from the beginning that what they did was a service to not just their community but to the health of their friends and neighbors, and in that, the whole town.
And they were the only ones specializing in it. A lot of the shops on Main dealt in the same touristy trinkets and baubles; it was their individual atmospheres that spoke to the tourists, each of them picking the shops that resonated with them.
But still, Sky thought about the young man. Yes, the delicious young man had a body worth worshipping—as long as he wasn’t too vain about himself. Yes, the ass in his shorts looked like two perfect scoops of chocolate chip ice cream crying out for a spoon.
The image of the young man haunted him: so frustrated, his cheeks flushed rouge, the tremble in his lips as he pushed back the anger, his tense body, calves flexing, arms tightening.
Schuyler didn’t want to use the term perfection.
But that was what it was. Those little moments when a person is vulnerable and does something so natural, so casual, that it immediately entices.
Despite his eagle eye attempts between customers and tasks throughout, Schuyler never spotted the cutie again.
He was unsure what he would do if the young man returned, but Sky was determined to say something.
Every scenario he created, he also rejected, fearing any situation which would teeter him closer to the leering old man era he desperately dreaded.
At what age does that occur?
Schuyler needed to know when what he thought was a sweet, welcoming smile would come off as the horrendous glassy-eyed sexual sneer of an older queen. He’d encountered them so often in his youth, especially when he partied.
They would corner him in the bathroom, in the bar, outside when he went for a smoke in his Clove cigarette days. Did they realize how creepy and overly assertive they were? He didn’t want to ever come off as one of them, but the thirst over this young man was inexplicable.
Schuyler never felt he was one to be drawn by the superficiality of a gorgeous face and a body untouched by the cruelest witch of all: time.
He was envisioning a cute cabin in the woods for the two of them to spend their days in, and yet he didn’t know the first thing about him.
Stunning faces hid ugly hearts far better than any other disguise.
The young man had injected himself into Sky’s brain; the image was driving him crazy, leading into every sexual scenario he could create. The young man as the bottom, the top, or being a side on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Sky daydreamed the remainder of the shift away, finding himself surprised when five o’clock rolled around and it was time to close.
The vision of the young man stayed with him through dinner, through TV time with Beau and Marshall, even through his late-night porch-side rendezvous with the nameless gentleman he referred to as Velvet Mouth—who did exemplary work; and probably deserved to have his real name known.
Once again, Schuyler used him as a proxy for someone else.
Thankfully, Velvet did not seem to mind and got what he had come for before vanishing into the night air.
Sky remained seated on the porch, pants around ankles, cock to the breeze, and looked at the stars, rocking back and forth.
Where was his new future husband? A spell could help, a Locator would pinpoint the young man to within at least a hundred feet and answer the question of whether he was still in the area.
A Vision Perception spell would reveal his would-be suitor in a mirror’s reflection in real time.
Schuyler’s fingers twitched, faint magenta pre-energy forming around them, sparking off.
He could perform a Dreamception and place himself inside the young man’s head, where he could then whip any dream the young man had into a frenzy of sexual excitement.
Schuyler pushed all those thoughts away. Despite being gross violations of privacy and leading directly into stalker territory, he would never want those actions lingering on his conscience when it came time for their dream wedding.
I’d have to announce my indiscretions during the vows, the most inappropriate of times, thus the most dramatic, and our wedding would be ruined. So long, dream lover. So long, dream life in a cabin.
As he settled into bed, he laughed at his own ridiculousness.
He loved the feral fun a new crush always wrought within him.
The desire. His vivid imagination working overtime.
The frenzy would fade by morning. He was surprised the feeling hadn’t dissipated when he came earlier.
The young man so emblazoned upon his memory now would be added to the other handsome faces who’d come into the shop and then were never seen again.