3. The Dildo Thief
3
THE DILDO THIEF
Elodie
Talk about a parenting trial by fire.
That’s what the last two years have been. With no safety net or help from a partner, I’ve had to scramble to have the period talk, the we need to change schools convo, and the birds and the bees discussion with Amanda.
Parenting is so hard, especially when it comes to parenting your thirteen-year-old sister.
But this is uncharted terrain, and I don’t even want to google what to do when your kid sister steals your battery-operated-boyfriend .
Since last night’s disappearing dildo act, I’ve been practicing for just the right moment to ask Amanda if she nicked it, but I’m still flabbergasted the next day when I’m behind the counter in my chocolate shop, checking the time. Three-thirty. She should be here any minute.
My assistant manager, Kenji, catches me staring at the clock. “Please don’t tell me you’re already counting the minutes till quitting time. If so, there’s no hope for the rest of us,” he says, while tying bows on gift boxes.
As I delicately place salted caramels into paper cups on the counter, I peer out the glass door, past the pretty Elodie’s script in robin’s egg blue. No sign of Amanda yet.
There’s a brief lull in customers. “Listen,” I say quietly to Kenji, since I can’t take the worry anymore. “I’m seriously worried that Amanda took my—” Dammit. It’s hard to say, even to an adult who’s a friend. Where is the handbook for all this hard stuff?
Kenji makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “Your flat iron? Your credit card? Your Webflix password? Or the Louis Roederer 2013 Cristal Rosé Brut that you got me as a surprise for my twenty-eighth birthday next month?”
Laughing, I whisper out of the side of my mouth, “My…Command Performance.”
“Your Command Performance?” he repeats, at top volume.
“Shush,” I say.
His brown eyes pop. “Oh! That must be one of your battery-operated friends.”
A flush starts in my chest, spreads up my neck, and splashes across my cheeks. “How did you know that’s what it was?”
He laugh-scoffs. “We don’t call you the Queen of Toys for nothing. You’ve gifted sex toys to Rachel, Hazel, Juliet, and Fable.” He frowns. “But not me. So sad.”
Shit. Is that crossing a line with an employee, to give him one? But he’s a friend too. “Do you want one?”
“Nope. I want the champagne. But don’t even try to turn this around. Tell me all about this missing Command Performance,” he says, like he’s eating this story up with a spoon.
At least this conversation has taken my mind off The Chocolate Connoisseur offer still sitting on my desk at home. It’s too hard to think about the future of my shop and the right way to run it, when I have to deal with a missing dildo.
As I pluck the final caramel with a pair of tweezers, setting it delicately in the paper, I take a deep breath and explain more. “So last night while I was at Sticks and Stones, I ordered a new toy for one-hour delivery. An hour later I was home, putting on jammies when the package delivered notification from Risqué Business popped up on my phone. But when I left my room, Amanda had already disappeared into her bedroom, and there was no pink envelope from the shop waiting for me. Ergo…”
Kenji’s eyes spark with pass-the-popcorn delight as he clears his throat and tips his head toward the door. “I think that’s what happened to your order.”
A bell chimes. Like I’m watching a traffic accident in slow-mo, I turn to the store’s entrance.
Mister Droolworthy walks into my shop with easy confidence. He’s wearing well-worn jeans, a dark blue Henley, and the most satisfied grin. Maybe because he’s carrying a pink envelope as he holds open the door for a pack of other customers to go ahead of him because when it rains, it pours.
On the one hand, I’m relieved because I couldn’t quite believe my sister would take it. But on the other hand, I’m looking for a portal to another dimension.
That casual smile never leaves his too-handsome face as he hangs back, letting the other customers head to the counter first.
I straighten my shoulders and smile for the customers, hoping they’re fast and I can get this whole thing over with quickly. The first pair asks questions about my new line of bonbons in autumn colors, then the dark chocolate-covered blackberries in a rich purple shade from the Melt In Your Mouth line. Maybe I can talk to them the whole time and Mister D will get the message and drop off the dong, then be on his merry way without mocking me.
I spend the next few minutes bantering with them, as Kenji handles another customer.
Then they’re gone.
And Kenji flashes the biggest smile in the world at Mister D. “It sure looks like you have something Elodie wants badly,” he coos, grinning at the envelope.
I vow to kill him later.
Well, after he rearranges the schedule for the employees next week. And removes the peanut butter cups from their molds. And places our next Valrhona order since, as a chocolatier, our business is chocolate-to-confection, and Valrhona makes the best chocolate to use in all the recipes I’ve created.
Ugh. He’s too valuable to eighty-six.
As another group of customers comes in, Kenji slides past me with a wink, moving to help them at the other end of the counter.
Which means I can’t avoid Mister D anymore. He’s standing across from me. “Elodie Starling.” It’s like he’s having fun saying the name on the package. “I believe this is for you.” He dangles the pink envelope as if it’s a prize when really it’s a billboard advertising good girls with dirty desires .
My face isn’t just a flame. My whole body is red with embarrassment as I get a better look at the envelope at last. It’s ripped all along the end. “You actually opened it?” It’s not an accusation. It’s a quiet question, spoken like a mouse.
Where has all my confidence gone? Oh, right. It whooshed out the door five minutes ago, right along with my dignity.
“Not me,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Then who?”
“My grandma.”
I didn’t think this moment could get worse, but I was wrong. I close my eyes, deflated, then open them to say, “I’m…so sorry.”
But then, wait. I replay those words in my head. Did I just apologize for ordering a vibrator? Who am I? Am I a mouse or a flamingo?
A flamingo, dammit.
An unabashed sex toy aficionado too. I have a platinum account at the finest shop in the city. I have great orgasms I give myself, and I love them.
They’re the only sure thing in my life right now—a life that’s teetering with bills and questions and decisions I don’t want to face.
I lift my chin. “What I meant to say is thank you for returning this.” Then with my head held high, I reach for the envelope with pride. “In fact, I was definitely missing it last night.”
There. Not ashamed at all. Just to prove how not ashamed I am as I tuck the package under my arm, I add, “And I’m so glad to have it back. No idea why it wound up at your bar though.”
“Me neither, but I definitely didn’t mind,” he says, but I barely register the words as I look closely at the address on the envelope. That’s weird. That’s not my address.
It’s his.
Which means…
“Oh my god. I know what happened. I must have copied the Sticks and Stones address into my GPS on my way over to pick up my order. Then when I pasted in the address for this , I copied in yours, not mine.”
“Too bad. I was hoping it was subliminal.”
He was?
And wait. Did he just say he didn’t mind that I’d sent this by mistake?
All that red-hot embarrassment slinks away, replaced only by curiosity. “You were hoping I’d sent you a toy?”
He leans closer, like he did last night at the bar. Immediately, I’m caught in his flirt bubble once again. “I did a little research on Risqué Business. They have one-hour delivery. This package arrived an hour after you left,” he says, his green eyes glimmering, asking what his mouth won’t— did you order it while thinking of me ?
I don’t answer. Instead, I ask a question of my own, whispering, “Are you a sex-toy detective?”
“Just got my license last night. And I’m enjoying this new line of work immensely,” he says, sending a zing of desire down my chest. “But I’m a little concerned about something, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“Sure,” I say, going with it.
Brow creased with concern, he points to the package I’m now holding. “It arrived with lube. But no batteries. Are the batteries coming separately?”
“Yes, that’s often how it works. Simultaneous deliveries aren’t that common.”
“They’re overrated anyway,” he says.
“You think so?”
“It’s more important that ladies go first. And often.”
It’s official. I’ve met my soul mate. “Preach.”
“Do you know what else I learned last night in my recon?”
“Dying to know.”
He glances down at the counter where Kenji’s tapping away on the tablet, ringing up an order. The man of my fantasies looks back to me. “That the dual density simulates the…real thing.” He takes his time saying those last two words, and an electric charge pulses down my spine.
Partly because he did research the purchase. He didn’t just laugh at the silicone schlong. He looked it up. Wanted to understand it. A man who tries to understand the properties of sex toys is my kind of man.
“Yes, that’s why I ordered it,” I say.
“Good to know. Plus, it has seven vibration modes. Seven .” He lets out a low whistle of admiration.
“Seven’s my favorite number.”
“And it has a remote control. For hands-free action.”
“Well, they don’t call it The Command Performance for nothing,” I say.
“Why not just name it The Maestro?”
“You can give it that nickname if you’d like.”
“Does this mean you’re taking the great solo sex challenge?”
“Don’t mock solo sex.”
He lifts his hands, his smile disappearing, his eyes turning starkly serious. “I would never ever mock solo sex. It’s some of the best.”
The image of this man enjoying his shower time lodges in my brain and makes no plans to leave. I try to come up with some clever reply when he checks his watch, then the door before he shrugs, fuck it style. “I’m Gage Archer. Can I challenge you to go on a date with me tomorrow night?”
The bell tinkles above the door, and a whoosh of still-warm October air rushes through. Amanda walks in, baggy jeans on, AirPods in, and blonde hair already swept back in a paisley bandana.
There’s not a second to weigh whether it’s the right time in my life to go on a date with a man I’ve been crushing on this hard or not. Or to even consider when I’ll fit this date into my busy schedule. I don’t think at all. I just do. “Yes, you can, Gage Archer,” I say.
“Let me give you my number. But I’ll need something to write it on.” He taps his chin briefly as if in deep thought. I’m about to suggest—well, duh—that a simple exchange of digits via phone would do when he lifts his finger, his expression saying aha . “Yes, a receipt would be good to write on. I’ll take ten Melt In Your Mouth boxes, five It Had to Be You chocolate bars, four of the You Make Me Feel salted caramels, three of those Lovin’ Feeling boxes, a bag of chocolate-covered almonds, and the twenty-four-pack of Always Yours Decadent for my grandma.”
My. Mouth.
I can’t close it.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my jaw agape.
“When I want something…” He steps closer, and I raise my chin to look at him. “I do what I have to to get it.”
Swoon.
Chocolate is the way to my heart—especially my chocolate.
That’s our biggest order in ages. As Amanda heads to the back to drop off her bag and fasten on her apron, I quickly gather Gage’s order, ring him up, and give him my number with a flourish on the receipt. When he leaves carrying two huge bags, I’m sure I’ve never seen anything sexier than that man carrying my chocolate.
As the shop clears, Amanda strolls behind the counter, AirPod-free, waving a hello to Kenji, then saying hi to me.
“Hey, bug,” I say to my favorite person in the world. “How was school?”
But before she can answer, Kenji holds up a hand. “Wait a hot sec, cutie-pie. We need to get all the deets from your sister on what just went down.”
Amanda tilts her head, blue eyes sparking with questions. “That dude with the big order?”
Kenji turns to me. “Yes. Tell us all about the dude with the big order. Who was that ?”
“Who do you mean?” I ask innocently.
Kenji tilts his head, his sleek black hair flopping over his shrewd eyes. “He bought the shop. Wait. He better not be working for The Chocolate Connoisseur.”
Amanda’s nose crinkles. “Ew. I can’t stand their chocolate. Ours is so much better.”
“Gage owns a bar, not our rival chocolate shop,” I say to them reassuringly.
Kenji snorts. “Rival chocolate shop? Euphemism. More like soulless chain with zero taste. Anyway, I suppose I don’t have to hate your new suitor then.” Kenji taps his Converse-clad foot. “So, I ask again, who is he?”
“I want to know too,” Amanda says with a curious smile. That’s nice to see. I didn’t see a lot of her smiles, understandably, the first year we lived together. When our parents died in an accident two years ago, both our lives changed overnight. I became her guardian instead of just her sister. I’m thirty to her thirteen, so we only ever lived together as kids for one summer before I left home for college—which means everything I know about being a mom I’ve learned in a crash course in the last twenty-four months. One I’m pretty sure I’m failing.
Am I supposed to tell her I’m going on a date? Ask her if it’s okay? I haven’t dated much in the last two years.
“He’s a guy I’d like to go on a date with. Would that bother you?” I ask my sister, deciding honesty is the best approach.
She rolls her light blue eyes. “You’re such a weirdo.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking my permission. Kenji, can you tell her how cringe she is?”
“So cringe,” he seconds.
“How is that cringe?” I ask genuinely.
“If you have to ask,” Amanda says, then bends, grabs some chocolate bars from the cabinet, and adds them to the display case.
I look at Kenji with question marks in my eyes.
He whispers no idea .
“Hey Els. I have to finish my application for art school next week. Can you look at it later?” Amanda asks, having already moved on.
“Of course,” I say, relieved I know the answer to that question.
Then her smile is downright devilish. “Since I want to be done with most of it before tomorrow night and your much-needed date.”
Kenji hoots. “Little sister knows best.”
She does since I do need a date. Badly.