Chapter 6
[Lumi]
Despite the busyness of the post office, at the end of the day a walk is in order to clear my mind.
From the post office, I live near the opposite end of Locke Street in an older section of houses east of town proper.
The location is close enough to Rusty’s I can walk there.
Anywhere in Hideaway Harbor is walkable, within thirty minutes, even the old Locke Reserve.
Striding north on Main Street, the garland-wrapped lamp posts and lights strung above the street from business roof to business roof create a festive air.
The buzz of the upcoming holiday hums along the street between window shoppers dallying and after-work locals rushing by.
I wave at Noelle Clarke on the opposite side of the street, who runs Christmas Wonderland, a pop-up shop over on Hideaway Lane, and then turn back to thinking about my day.
Inside the post office, we have a red, imitation postal box for children to mail letters to Santa. Each year, we collect a handful of notes, and I pass them out to local businesses in hopes of support in helping a little one’s dream come true for the holidays.
When I was a little girl, I loved to visit the local library and look through books about foreign places.
The colorful maps. The vivid cultural photographs.
The lists of sites to see. One year, I asked for a Barbie airplane so I could pretend my doll traveled to wherever my imagination took me.
Unfortunately, I never got the plane or the sleek-looking Barbie flight attendant who whisked away on grand adventures.
With that thought, I recall the strangest thing that happened today.
While children rarely enter the post office, as typically picking up mail is an errand done by adults, today we had three separate little kids enter, walk directly to the Santa-approved red box, and slip their request through the slim slot.
One young mother explained, “He couldn’t wait to get here today.”
I offered her a compassionate smile. Christmas is a magical time for children and a frazzling one for mothers.
Still, I couldn’t get the excitement on that little boy’s face out of my mind, and memories of my own son at that age flipped forward.
Danny loved the idea that Christmas was Christ’s birthday, and he demanded that I purchase a present for the newborn babe.
We settled on a teddy bear, as a little baby needed something soft to cuddle.
With his three-year-old hand in mine, he led me to the manger scene inside the church on Christmas Eve and placed his gift bag right on top of the plastic baby Jesus in the manger.
After the service, I mentioned to the minister what Danny had done, a little embarrassed that the red and green gift bag sat on top of baby Jesus during the service.
“Happens all the time,” he assured me, although I’d never noticed gifts on the swaddled infant before that year or after.
Smiling at the memory, something up ahead catches my attention.
A distinct red, puffy jacket and matching red cap on a solid male frame.
For some reason, I suddenly walk faster, especially as he disappears into a shop near Buoy Street.
Rushing faster than I intended, as if suddenly on a mission.
I crane my neck to peer into businesses as I near the corner of Main and Buoy, until I pause before one particular shop.
With a black curtain behind the large window, the gold embossed lettering is highlighted: The Perfect Package. An Intimacy Shop.
I glance at the hot pink door marking the store’s entrance.
He couldn’t have, could he?
Taking the final steps to the entrance, I tug open the door and enter the warm shop.
Lola Monroe owns the place. To complement her name, Lola is in her early thirties and a bombshell.
Voluptuous with powder blue hair that reaches her waist, she is a cross between a mermaid and a 1950s sex siren.
She’s gorgeous, and we get our hair done at the same place, although mine is a deep, red wine color.
The store has a luxurious aura about it, like stepping back in time yet with a modern flair.
Alcoves and deep wooden cabinets line the walls around an open center area that provides intimate seating arrangements with velvet settees and classic loungers.
With the blackout curtain on the front window and low interior lighting, the space feels like a cross between a boudoir and a high-end jewelry store, complete with glass display cases for some items.
One wall features portraits of female icons, boasting feminine trailblazers and pleasure revolutionaries, because, as the name suggests, this place is all about adult sensual satisfaction.
Which is probably why I shouldn’t be standing in here, breathing heavily like I raced a mile, chasing after someone I shouldn’t care about who entered Lola’s store.
But my eyes catch on the gold-scripted sayings painted on the wall, empowering sexual awareness.
Own Your Yes. Touch Yourself With Kindness. Pleasure is Power.
These are among my favorites and a reminder that I’ve been the sole instrument of my personal pleasure for years.
On that note, I catch sight of the only other person in The Perfect Package at the moment.
With his shoulders hunched, head hung in deep concentration, Saint stands with a dark box in his hands.
My face flames just thinking about him and what he might purchase.
What he might use it for, and with whom, how, and when.
As my entire body warms, I summons courage and slowly step closer to him.
“Looking for a gift for that special woman in your life?” I tease, slipping my hands into the pockets of my long, green puffer jacket.
Not flustered in the slightest, Saint looks up from the package in his hand and scowls at me. His thick, gray brows squeeze together.
“Actually, I’m looking at the packaging of this product.” He holds up the black box with gold script.
“What is it?” I chuckle, realizing too late what I am asking in relation to where I’m asking it. I’m also noticing that no man should look so confident in a sex store.
“It’s a sensory box.” He flips the package to read the back. “Contains products for taste, touch, and smell, plus a toy as a tool.”
“Sounds . . . nice?” I hesitate, uncertain what any of that could mean.
“Would you buy this for the special man in your life?” He positions the box so I can see it better.
With its dark color, the packaging is rather dull and not overly appealing, not that I’m an expert on sex toy products or their marketing.
However, I’d probably pass it up for something a little more . . . enticing.
There is also the obvious, and I scoff before stating it, “I don’t have a man in my life.”
Saint arches a brow. “Would you buy it for yourself?”
As my face heats fifty shades of red, I avoid eye contact a second before admitting what I shouldn’t admit. “I don’t think I understand the product.”
“How to use it?” The corner of his mouth hooks.
Bolstering confidence I don’t actually feel, I nod toward the box.
“That description is a little vague.” I mean, what am I tasting, touching, and smelling?
Also, I want to know the specifics about the toy inside.
I’m not a prude, but it’s been a while, and while I’m open to experimentation, I’m still cautious enough that I want to know what I’m getting myself into.
Plus, how would I use any of that on myself?
And suddenly, I realize I’m in over my head, standing a little too close to sexy Santa, looking at sex products.
“Exactly,” he states a little too loudly for the intimate atmosphere, before slamming the box back on the wooden shelf inside a large wardrobe. “I’ll need to talk to Kaye.”
“Who’s Kaye? The special woman in your life?” I playfully prod, circling back to my initial question, when I really don’t need to know, or care, if he has a special woman in his life. I definitely do not want to picture him tasting, touching, or smelling whomever Kaye is.
“No.” He chokes, almost like he’s gagging at the thought. “She’s my sister.”
His sister? Why the hell would he need to talk to his sister about a sex toy?
He picks the box off the shelf again and points to the logo in the lower corner while he reads the name.
“Kringle Toys. This is her company.”
Oh. “Sounds holiday-ish.” I chuckle.
“It should. And this is supposed to be a holiday product.” Then he runs his finger along the item’s name. “Wonderlust. An experiment in wonder and lust.” He scoffs, like he doesn’t approve of the name or the tagline.
“I’m only familiar with wanderlust,” I comment. “But it sounds like you know a lot about this product.” Has he used it? Tested it? With whom? And why am I asking . . . at least in my head?
“I should. I sit on the board of her company.” He sighs heavily, sets the box back on the shelf much gentler this time.
So, he’s a board member for a sex toy company. What exactly does that mean? Unlimited access to pleasure items? Free range of samples? What other perks might there be? And why does my mind race to wonder if he’d share all those advantages with me?
When he turns his entire body toward mine, he slips his hands into his jacket pockets, mirroring my stance.
“Do you have any siblings other than Neve?”
The question feels like it fell out of the sky. “Three sisters. I’m the oldest.”
He chuckles, jolly and light, before glancing back at the package he’d replaced on the shelf. “Yeah. I’m the oldest as well. I have a younger brother, Nick. Kaye is the youngest.” He shakes his head, pursing his lush lips, before glancing up at me.
Our eyes lock for a second, like he wants to tell me something. The space around us seems to hum. With the dim lighting and the velvet lounger in my periphery, my imagination races.
Would he lay me out and use that sensory kit on me?
Suddenly, he blinks, like he read my thoughts, and he shifts his body, letting the potential for him to speak, and my dirty thoughts, to pass.
From behind him, Lola approaches us. I hadn’t heard her because of the carpeted floor, but the way Saint’s body twists suggested he sensed her approach.
“Hey, Lumi,” she addresses me.
Saint offers Lola a soft smile as a greeting, and she takes him in for a second. When her eyes leap to mine, they widen the slightest bit. Yeah, she sees it. Sexy Santa.
“Anything I can help you and . . . your man . . . with today?” She quirks a brow, insinuating something that does not need to be insinuated.
“Oh, he’s not my—”
“I’m her roommate.” He looks over at me and winks.
“He’s not—”
“Saint.” He holds out his hand for Lola, and if she expects more of a name from him, he doesn’t offer it.
While they shake hands, I turn back to the package on the shelf. “Saint has questions about this—”
“No, I don’t,” he interjects, low and warning, as I pull the box off the shelf and hold it toward Lola.
Was my voice too loud? I feel like I’ve been shouting. Suddenly, I’m too warm and flustered, but I battle on.
Lola glances between Saint and me, giving us both a curious look. She is all about sexual freedom and expressing sexuality with confidence, so our bumbling act is certain to be confusing.
“He wants to try this with the special woman in his life.” I power on, leaning in like I’m whispering a secret to her, sharing what he’ll be purchasing for that certain someone for Christmas.
“I—” When I glance up at him, he clamps his mouth shut. His expression shifts from objection to mischief.
“Actually, Lola.” He pauses after addressing her. “I’d like to gift Lumi something.” He leans toward Lola like he has a secret for her, as well. “To take the edge off. She’s a bit tense this holiday. I’d also like to gift her something, as a thank you, for hosting me at her house for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks,” I screech, because I thought he was continuing to look for other options. He can’t stay at my house for a few weeks, let alone another night. He’s already stayed one too many.
Lola looks at me, puzzled for a second, almost uncertain how to navigate this shitshow in front of her.
“What do you recommend? Maybe something holiday-themed?” Saint continues, like he has the attention of a personal shopper. “It’s going to be a long, hard couple of weeks.”