Aubrey
“Ireally appreciate you coming out again, Mr. Yates,” I said as the grumpy man with the low-riding pants and big nose knelt down to start cutting a hole in my backdoor.
“This going to be weekly thing?” he asked as he took some measurements with a bright yellow tape measure.
“If it is do I get a faithful customer discount? I do that at the bookshop. I have a little punch card that I punch every time someone makes a purchase. They’re really cute.
I ordered them from a lovely little printer in San Diego.
They have books on them! Anyway, when someone buys a book I punch their card then they get a nice discount on their tenth purchase.
Do you have punch cards? If not perhaps you should consider them. People seem quite pleased with them.”
He muttered something about a punch but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.
“I’ve been trying to lure Ruggerio inside for a couple of weeks now without any success.
So I thought perhaps he would use a cat door to come inside where I would have a box trap set up with food.
Then I could take him to the vet for shots and to be snipped.
Do you know if the mercantile carries live catch traps? ”
“Not a clue.” He glanced back at me hovering around behind him in my brightest purple suit in honor of it being May Day today. I was honoring the tiny wild violets that bloomed in May with my suit and yellow tie.
“I’ll stop in after work. Speaking of which do you like to read? I’d be happy to hook you up with whatever kind of genres you enjoy with a discount for all the hard work you’re putting in helping me make this house a home.”
“Don’t you have to get to work?”
Well that was direct. And true. I did. I had to fill in my sandwich board for my May Day Sale.
“Yes, I do. If you see Roberto and Ruggerio please explain to them that you’re a friend of mine. They’re very friendly. I feed them tidbits by hand. The cat likes those little dry treats with salmon filling. So does Roberto.”
“Right.” He started marking out the circle on my back door for the new cat entrance.
Clearly Mr. Yates was not a morning person.
“I’ll be on my way then. Please lock up when you leave and make sure you place your bill under the sugar bowl.
I’ll write out a check as soon as I get home tonight.
Please help yourself to the chili in the crock pot.
It might not be hot when you’re done but you can take some home to heat up. ”
“Yep.”
“Right, well, adios!” I grabbed up my lunch tote, my water bottle, and the new shoulder bag I’d found online at a small quilters shop.
It was really cute, covered with old timey cowboy things like stars, boots, and horses just like kids had on their bedding in the fifties.
Perhaps she’d even used some of those old quilts and curtains for the bag.
Whatever the case it fit perfectly for the bookstore, and Chance in general, so I’d bought it. “Have a good day!”
Mr. Yates mumbled something as I went out the front door, which I locked.
I trusted Mr. Yates as he was my realtor’s ex-husband.
If he did something underhanded I could call Camille to tell her so she could aid in the manhunt.
She and Mr. Yates did not get along well from what I’d gathered from bookshop gossip with the head of the knitting league.
People did love to chitchat while they sipped coffee and perused books.
I’d learned a lot about quite a few folks in these parts.
Most of it juicy. Some sad, some happy. I loved how the people of Chance had embraced the little weirdo with glasses.
My ex’s description was spot on but still cruel.
Was I weird? A little, sure, I owned that.
Did I wear glasses? Yes. It drove Hank mad that I refused to get contacts.
He had wanted me to look more like Adam Driver and less like Aubrey, which was mean.
Hank was a bastard. I wished I’d seen it sooner but I’d been in love with the banker-slash-rugby player on the weekend so I’d let him talk down to me.
Even when I explained about the thing I had about sticking something into my eye.
Even my finger. Nope, he wanted to fuck Adam Driver.
I jumped into my car and made the short drive to town, humming along to “Levitating” by Dua Lipa, the day shaping up to be a gorgeous way to start the fifth month.
There was a special something in the fresh air this morning.
I couldn’t put my finger on it but the first of May just held promise for some reason.
The poem by Sara Teasdale came to mind as I cruised onto Main Street.
Perhaps I would do some readings today! I could walk about the store reciting spring time poetry. Yes! That would be fabulous.
I passed by a small fly tying shop called Your Fly is Down and giggled madly, as I did every time I drove by the store.
I wasn’t an angler of any kind but someday I wanted to stop in just to compliment the owner on that name.
I’d not been as clever as he or she obviously in naming my store.
I’d wanted to reflect my love of Western poetry and literature as well as tie into the yeehaw vibe that Chance already had.
Parking was easy this early. I eased in to a slot, hustled down to my shop, and began setting up.
The sandwich board was wiped clean. I gathered up my colored chalk, tapped my lip as I thought, and then went to work adding big letters surrounded by lots of bright flowers and fat bumblebees.
Fingers coated with color I stood back to inspect the display for the day.
MAYDAY! MAYDAY!
ALL GARDENING BOOKS 25% OFF ONE DAY ONLY AND THAT DAY IS TODAY!
POETRY READS AND FRESH COFFEE FOR ONE AND ALL!
OPEN 9-5 MONDAY THRU SATURDAY CLOSED SUNDAY TO READ!
Hmmm. Were there too many exclamation points? Naaaaaah.
I added one more fat bee then toted the sign through the front door, taking a moment to nod at Colt as he came down the back stairs.
With his help we got the sign set up. Off he went with a smile as I hurried back to the store to dig out some of my favorite cowboy poets’ works to read throughout this glorious first day of May.
I couldn’t think of one thing that would make this day any better than how it felt right now.
I looked up from the book of Badger Clark’s poetry I was reading from when a whoosh of wind blew through the front door, shuffling the signup sheets on the counter.
Hoyt Knox walked in all long legs encased in denim, black hat on his head, and oozing so much testosterone it was a wonder any of us inside High Noon Reads could breathe.
Seeing him made me rescind my previous comment. This man coming into my shop with that shy smile on his handsome face had definitely made my day better. So much better!
Friar Aubrey, this is not at all how a pious man thinks! Repent now. Ask the sultry cowpoke to head on back to the ranch before you commit a grievous act of self-sabotage.
The abbot inside my head was right. I should boot him to the curb but when he slipped back into a corner, dark eyes on me, and gave me a small nod to continue, I found myself slipping from that moral high ground I’d been trying to remain seated on.
The problem was Hoyt Knox had taken up residence on that crest of morality and the things I daydreamed about him doing to me were not within any kind of pious doctrine.
Nor was jerking off every night while picturing me riding him as he rode those bulls only for far longer than eight seconds.
Surely I would be asked to turn in my robes and sandals.
Returning the smile, I cleared my throat then returned to the poem.
The dozen or so customers clapped politely when I finished, several coming over to me to ask about the poet and his work.
By the time I got them all settled and checked out it was time to close shop for the day.
Hoyt lingered by the romance section, simmering eyes following me as I made my way over to him.
I tugged on the half Windsor knot riding on my Adam’s apple, the shop feeling particularly warm.
“Hello, it’s so nice to see you again.” I beamed up at him, my customer service voice rougher than normal. “Sorry.” I coughed discreetly into my hand. “I’ve been talking and reading all day so my throat is a little scratchy.”
“Sounds good. Sexy.” His brown eyes flared. As did mine. Oh. Oh my. Did that mean he was a man who liked other men? Dare I hope?”
No, do not hope!
Stuff a sock in it, abbot.
“I meant…you sound tired.” His cleanly shaved cheeks grew pink.
My dick grew hard. Oh dear me, this was not at all how things were supposed to go.
Celibacy and hermitage were growing further and further away.
Hank. Yes, think of Hank. Tall, sexy, strong.
Played sport. What was the sport? Crap. Crap.
There was a ball involved. Right? “I was wondering…well, I mean if you thought you might like to…” He pulled his hat off and I melted like a certain wicked witch after being doused.
That hair. Flat to his head with tiny sprigs poking out where the hat hadn’t pushed it down.
“Be still my heart. Thou hast known sexier than this.” Great.
Not only was I stealing from Homer but I was lying as I did so.
I had not known sexier than Hoyt Knox. Not ever.
Dang it, I should have turned the ceiling fan on this morning.
“I wrote a little poem,” he confessed on a whisper as if he were relaying top government secrets to me.
“Oh that’s wonderful!” I gushed, my emotions totally out of control, as was my libido. “We love poems here! Please, do read it to me.”