The bell above the door rang, and for a few minutes, I was occupied with a delivery of some locally made saladitos, enticingly coated in chili and lime. Georgia helpfully pointed some customers toward the caramels in the back, chatting with them about the changing neighborhood and the recent loss of the Zing Pop. Once everyone was gone, I joined her by the front window and looked out over the little corner we had occupied for years.
“Business is good at your shop?” I asked. “You don’t seem shaken by all of this.”
“Same as usual,” Georgia replied. “You probably took a bigger hit from Zing Pop skipping town than I did. I’m still getting that nice bump in summer sales that I get every year.”
“Zing Pops weren’t our biggest draw, not by far. We took a slight loss from it, and I’ll miss directing kids to the candy-making demonstrations across the street, but we’ll survive just fine.”
“I just can’t believe Jack took off so suddenly,” she said, referring to the former owner of the business. “You’d think he didn’t even care about the legacy he spent his life building.”
“Plus, he left the Zing Machine behind,” I added. “It’s just sitting there, gathering dust.”
“What’s the plan, then?” she asked, turning back to face me with a furrow in her brow. For how cautious and nervous I could be, Georgia was much more likely to strike out and try to face her problems head-on. “You’re not willing to try to reach out to Dominick? See if he’ll switch things up?"
“He said he’ll look into it,” I grumbled. “But I’m not convinced a New York shark is going to actually care about quaint little shops like ours. He’s probably flying around the city in his SUV right now, tallying up all the money he’ll earn by forcing businesses like us to go under for his redevelopment project.”
She nodded quickly. “You’re probably right to be skeptical. If he actually cared about this city, he wouldn’t have moved across the country the second he graduated college. But that doesn’t mean we’re totally powerless.” She crunched down on her sucker, finishing it off and tossing the stick into the little trash can by the door. “I’ll reach out to the rest of the Small Business Association. We don’t have a lot of power, but we can at least see where things go.” I heard her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she pulled it out, giving the screen a quick glance. “Speaking of, I need to get going myself. Breaktime for the employees.”
I sent Georgia away with a little bag of hard candies for her employees and returned to my reorganizing project. All afternoon, Dominick was like a vision in my mind, startlingly vivid and potent no matter how much I tried to distract myself. Even the ribbon candy got wrapped up in the fantasies I tried to bury. By the time I was closing up shop for the day, I was obsessing over the way they might feel, slapped against my bare skin over and over—another sweet punishment I craved despite myself.
I rode my bicycle home, gliding past the garden, the small barbershop, and eventually the wide lawns that made that made our little corner of the Baker neighborhood feel like home. The late summer breeze cooled my skin while I made my way slowly down the blocks, passing a mixture of old Victorian homes and contemporary duplexes. I waved to some familiar families, hollering well wishes and compliments on their flowers, then pulled up to my little Queen Anne cottage.
It wasn’t as fancy as many of the gorgeous old homes in the neighborhood, but with a wraparound porch and delicate spindlework, I was proud of its beauty. I plucked a large purple and orange zinnia from the landscaping, then stepped inside.
Bea Arthur came running up to me immediately, and I dropped to my knees to let her lick all over my face. I’d found her at the pound a couple of years ago, and her tight curls of gray fur, perky ears, and playful attitude made me confident that she was the cat for me. I headed straight to the back of the house, tossing my bag onto the couch and grabbing a few treats for Bea before opening the backdoor.
“Did you enjoy the house today?” I asked while she tumbled and played between the straight rows of my garden and the carefully pruned bushes that lined the fence. Immediately, I thought of my father, stopping by to join me for a beer in the backyard on his way home from the shop. When Georgia had finally convinced me to pull myself up from the grief of losing him, Bea had been a big part of my recovery.
I wasn’t sure what my father would do with the mess I had been given, but my heart ached with how much I wanted to do the right thing and to make him proud. He had entrusted me with the business, just like we had always planned, but I worried I would disappoint his legacy. Even though he filled that shop with easy laughter and joy, he was a shrewd, smart businessman, with a practical eye and devoted work ethic that sustained the business for decades.
I did know one thing for certain, however. I knew that my father would never let some strange, kinky desire cloud his judgment or impair his business acumen. He would always place the success of the business and of his family above something like sex.
I just prayed his son would prove as smart as he was.
