5. No. 21 Own a vibrator
five
Bea
It’s a teary goodbye at the curb as Cas’s taxi waits to take them to the closest town, more than half an hour away, so they can catch the three-hour train back to London.
It all seems so far now they’ve actually gone.
Wiping my eyes as I head into the cottage, I stop short when I see a huge gift basket sat on my kitchen counter.
I bark out a surprised little laugh, remembering Cas running back inside to ‘grab their jumper’ as I waited by the cab.
They must have pulled this from wherever they were hiding it and left it for me.
The giant basket is brimming with goods and wrapped in cellophane, tied up with a pink and yellow bow.
When I get closer, I choke on my own saliva when I see what’s in my surprise.
At first glance there’s at least two dildos, a selection of butt plugs in varying sizes, and a small bullet vibrator.
The silicone fruit confuses me slightly until I Google the brand on the packaging and I learn Cas has also blessed me with a clit sucker.
Oh, mother mercy. My cheeks heat even though there’s no one here to witness my embarrassment.
I’m not a prude. I can talk about sex, I enjoy sex…
when it’s good, but standing face to face with so much sex wrapped in pretty packaging is a little much for ten o’clock in the morning.
I untie the bow and pull the cellophane away to inspect my goodies and rifle through the basket that seems to have the same magical properties as Mary Poppins’s handbag. There’s so much here and everything has a little post-it on with a note from Cas.
Start with the smallest size.
Use lube.
Setting three is my favourite.
To cross off number 23.
There are other things as well: a box of the hair dye I used to turn my natural blonde to powder pink, my favourite chocolate truffles, a new mug in bright pink and yellow checks, and a plushie.
The plushie is of the most adorable penis I’ve ever seen, short and stout in a pinkish skin-tone colour and a smiling face with closed eyes and little love heart shaped cheek blushes.
It’s my favourite thing ever and I pluck him from the basket to hug him close.
This is your emotional support peen for when you start having stupid thoughts like ‘I need a man’ and I can’t be there to slap it out of you. You got this, Honey Bea.
Love you.
C x
The peen, who I have immediately named Pedro—the peen every woman deserves—is soft and snuggly and I squeeze him tight as I sniff away the last of my sadness.
Cas is right, they’re only a phone call away and if I call them, I know they’ll be here in a few hours if it’s what I need.
We had a minor setback yesterday, an inconvenience more than anything, but it’s not the end of the world.
We’re going to rock this shit. Me and Pedro.
I decided I’d walk around the village a little today, scoping out the other businesses and popping in to say hi to the owners I haven’t met yet.
I managed to secure a deal with Bradley, the butcher, to supply the café with the same sausages he’d given Cas and I because they were absolutely delicious.
And Nick, the baker, is going to supply sourdough and croissants—because I absolutely won’t be making them myself.
It was good to get out and clear my head with a little fresh air and friendly faces.
Now I’m back in the café, arranging the new kitchen equipment and stocking the fridge with the first few ingredients bought even though I’m not due to open for another week or so.
To clear the last of the creeping doubt from my mind, I decide to bake because I can’t possibly be sad when I bake. But first, coffee.
A little bubble of excitement puts a skip in my step as I head to my shiny new coffee machine, the coffee machine that’s going to caffeinate this sleepy little village.
The coffee machine that’s the foundation of my dream.
The coffee machine that’s smoking! What the…
? It’s not steam billowing from the back of the chrome, it’s grey smoke.
I stare at it for long moments unsure what to do when a small spark has a terrified yelp pushing out of me and I scramble to flick the switch at the wall.
The café door swings open and my frayed nerves make me jump and yelp again.
August strides in with what I’m recognising as his default stern glare, dragging with him a tall and reluctant teenage boy.
With a little shove from the older man, the boy stumbles to a halt in front of me and we both stare at each other.
He’s young, a little shellshocked and clearly not happy to be here.
“Uh, hi,” I say cautiously, eyes darting between the two men.
“This is my nephew, Connor,” August grumbles like he’s very unhappy about the fact. “He has something to say to you.”
The boy’s eyes go wide, only partially covered by a mass of unruly chestnut hair several shades lighter than his uncle’s. Slowly, he turns his head to look back at August, and some silent conversation happens I can only see half of, but it seems to involve August getting angrier by the second.
“What the fuck, man?” Connor hisses.
“I’m giving you the opportunity to do the right thing here, Con.
Don’t let me down,” August growls and I nearly shrink in on myself, but this teenager seems to have no fear, throwing his hands out wide in an exasperated question.
Clearly disappointed by the response August shakes his head and delves into the pocket of his stone wash jeans, his fist retreats and he holds it under Connor’s nose before slowly uncurling his fingers.
In his palm is a small enamel pin, black with a skull and flame design. “This is yours, right?”
Connor eyes the badge warily. “Uh, yeah? Where did you find it?”
“In here,” August says, and if I squint, I swear I can see steam coming from his ears.
“What?” Connor’s face screws up in confusion.
“Right after it was discovered to have been vandalised,” August practically shouts.
I’m stood awkwardly the other side of the counter watching them like a tennis match, back and forth, back and forth, with the occasional glance at the espresso machine to check if the smoking has stopped.
It seems to have, thank God, I feel a full-blown fire would ignite the short fuse August appears to be working with right now.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Connor says, his own frustration rising, and I flinch at his use of language out of instinct because if I’d sworn at an adult at that age, my grandmother would have blown a gasket, much like my poor espresso machine.
“You did this, Connor. You broke in here, probably with one of your little shithead friends and caused hundreds of pounds worth of damage,” August shouts.
Neither of them has acknowledged me for a full minute, and I feel like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t. But also, I’m too shocked to do anything because August’s nephew ruined my books.
“Oh, did I?” he asks with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Do not start with that bullshit.” August points an accusing finger.
“You’ve done stupid things before, Connor, and I’ve always been able to at least understand why, but this?
This is pointless and criminal. I should call the police myself.
” August is vibrating with anger, and I watch the boy’s face as it momentarily flashes hurt and devastation before he seems to build up his defences.
“Fine, do that then.” Connor shoves his hands into his sweatpants pockets and shrugs, looking to the floor and sweeping his foot over the wood.
“Connor,” August’s warning has me stepping forward as I feel someone is about to do something they regret.
“Um.” My voice comes out a little squeaky, and I actually raise my hand like I’m in school.
They both turn to look at me and August frowns at my arm still above my head, so I quickly pull it back down to my body.
I look to Connor, he really is quite young, tall and gangly for sure, but I can’t help but look at him and feel…
protective, maybe? “Did you really get in here and ruin all my books?”
He stares as me for a second, likely trying to read me in the same way I’m trying to read him before he answers, “Obviously.”
“Why?” I ask desperately curious and trying to fight the tears threatening.
He shrugs again. “I’m a good-for-nothing, it’s what we do.”
“Connor,” August grits out between clenched teeth, his eyes promising hell if his nephew doesn’t adjust his attitude.
“I’m sorry,” Connor mumbles and I can only frown at him. I don’t know this kid and he doesn’t know me. Why on earth would he do this?
“You’re going to work for Bea in any capacity she needs you to make up for this,” August tells him, and both Connor and I snap shocked gazes in his direction.
“What?” Connor barks.
Yeah, what?
“For free,” August commands.
“What the hell? You want me to work for no money?” Connor’s voice is getting higher and more desperate.
“Um, maybe—”
“Yes,” August cuts me off, seeming to not even notice I’m here. “Until she thinks you’ve paid off the damage you’ve caused.”
“Unc,” Connor says, and the kid looks close to tears, it’s almost enough for me to feel sorry for him. Almost.
“I mean it Connor, you’ve gone too far this time, you need consequences. Actual consequences. And don’t for one minute think your mum is going to try and get you out of it, she’s had it up to her eyeballs with your mess too.”
Connor’s eyes are red and damp as he glares back at August with seething anger, and I watch a moment of guilt cross August’s features. Connor turns to me and huffs.
“Right, guess I’ll see you.” He shoves past August and leaves, stomping up the road.
I’m still stood with nothing to say, because I don’t feel I should have even been a part of the conversation and the need to make everyone around me happy is making me squirmy in my tummy.
“Um,” I say dumbly.
“He’s a good kid,” August blurts. “Does idiotic things sometimes, but he’s a good kid. And he’ll work hard for you, even if he has a bit of an attitude about it to start with.”
Oh joy. “Okay,” I say slowly, but really, I don’t think it is okay. I was thinking I would probably need to hire some help over the summer, but I was hoping to have some say in who that may be. “Um, I’m not sure what I have for him to do right now.”
“He’ll do whatever you need.” Hands on his hips, he looks over my shoulder and jerks his chin toward the poorly fixed shelving units. “Those probably won’t hold a lot of weight for very long.”
I turn back to see what he means. We had to remove a couple of shelves completely and other bits were fixed with wood glue and look about ready to splinter again.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “They were only meant to be temporary anyway. I was going to get a built-in bookcase put up. Maybe something custom. My own little library, you know?”
The look he gives me is thoroughly unimpressed and I don’t really understand what I’ve done to piss him off, so a smile awkwardly.
“You need a carpenter,” he grumbles.
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
He huffs a sigh, pretty brown eyes going to the ceiling like he’s summoning strength. “I’m a carpenter.”
“Oh,” I say, pleasantly surprised and grinning. “That’s awesome.”
His jaw flexes and I tilt my head to observe him. Clearly August is naturally a grumpy guy. I haven’t done anything to him but he’s looking at me like I’m the bane of his life. This must be his default. and I’m happy to accept him like this. I’ll keep on smiling anyway.
The next day, I’m surprised when Connor shows up in the afternoon, still in his school uniform, heavy backpack slung over one shoulder.
He has far less bravado than he did when August hauled him in here yesterday, quiet and avoiding my eyes where possible.
When he mumbled a “what should I do?” I pointed him in the direction of the bookshelves and told him to unbox my books and put them in alphabetical order by author.
I’m not even sure it’s how I want them organised, but I had to give him something to do while I baked cookies.
Eli had very kindly said I could bring some over to the pub tonight and he’d give them out to the locals and let them know they’ll be available from the café when it opens.
I’m not entirely sure how well these will go with beer, but they’re easy to make and absolutely delicious.
I’ve weighed out all the ingredients when Connor comes to stand the other side of the counter, popping up in my periphery and making me jump.
He smirks in amusement when I clutch my chest. “Sorry.”
“Are you finished?” I glance behind him and see the shelves are in fact full of books.
“Yep.” He nods. “I know the alphabet, so turns out it wasn’t all that hard.”
“Right. Okay, um—”
“What are you making?” He peers over the counter to where the bowls of flour, sugar, butter, and chocolate are.
“Chocolate chip cookies,” I chirp with a smile, because who isn’t happy when they think of chocolate chip cookies?
“Cool.” He nods slowly. “Can I help?” The question is so small and so hesitant, I almost think I hadn’t heard him right.
“Sure.” I give him another smile. “Grab an apron from over there and come round.
He does as he’s told, and I spend the next forty minutes showing him how to make the cookie dough.
It’s very clear very quickly Connor hasn’t done any baking before, but he concentrates really hard and follows instruction well.
The tip of his tongue pokes out from between his lips when he works, which I actually find totally adorable and, on several occasions, I have to remind myself this kid is here because he vandalised my dream.
Regardless, I find myself enjoying his company and teaching him my recipe.
Connor smiles often, unlike his uncle, and seems a lot more relaxed as the afternoon goes on.
When the cookies are baking, I show Connor around the little café and show him where everything is.
He seems to actually take it all in and even asks some questions.
The oven timer dings, and he grins like a kid on Christmas morning.
I allow him one cookie, which he declares to be the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth, and ask him to drop them over to the pub on his way home as it’s only a little way up the road and in the right direction.
Just as I’m smiling to myself over the success of the afternoon and silently thanking August for bringing Connor onboard, the bookshelves collapse, and hundreds of paperbacks once again litter my café floor.