Making Midlife Mistakes: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 3)

by Heloise Hull

  Zipper? What on this green earth were they seeing?

  Spyro inched closer and gave them a sniff, which sent the boys recoiling. “You should let your willies go free, too. It’s a movement. I’m thinking about making hats.”

  “Okay,” I interrupted loudly as I practically carried him out the door myself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Spyro.”

  “You come over after your shift, Ava. We’ll find something to help with that stick up your—”

  I slammed the door shut behind him and sighed in relief. Dodging satyr parts while still maintaining some semblance of customer service should be entered into consideration for an Olympic sporting event.

  I re-took my place behind the counter, giving the boys an apologetic smile. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  Things had slowed down considerably, and I still hadn’t seen the one person I needed to see. “Hey, Rosemary. I’m guessing you haven’t seen Mak today?”

  “No. I assume he’ll be in soon.”

  “Grand.”

  She stopped wiping down the counter and gave me a sympathetic look. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “I was going to stick with ‘hi’ and possibly ‘thank you’. Why? Do you have something better?”

  “No, but I can tell you’re on the right track.”

  “Really?”

  “Once again, no, but it seemed like a bad time to harp. Well, only a few more customers left and then—shoot.”

  A beautiful woman with wavy red hair and curves to match sauntered into the cafe. She looked like a real-life Jessica Rabbit, if Jessica Rabbit had a matching red fox tail. I recognized her from a few other mornings. Call me crazy, but I got the distinct feeling she didn’t like me. Perhaps it was the way she sniffed and wrinkled her nose every time I handed her her order. Thanks to the trip back to St. Louis, I had plenty of underwear now, so it wasn’t that.

  “Who is she?” I asked under my breath.

  “Jo! Buongiorno,” Rosemary called cheerfully, although I could tell it was forced. “The Cadmean Vixen,” she whispered back.

  The end of the woman’s tail curled around the neck of a man, making him blush and step aside. She continued, and with a wink here and an eye flutter there, she quickly made her way toward the front of the line.

  “Perhaps you should grab the boys and take off for the day after all. Go through the back,” Rosemary warned.

  A loud crash made us jump. Too late. Josh and Jacob stood with their mouths agape and, I wasn’t sure how, drool already hanging from their lips.

  Chapter Four

  I had no ever-loving idea what the boys experienced when Jo swished her hips, but whatever it was, its allure made them shove each other out of the way like they were in a 90s mosh pit. They stumbled over each other to offer her delicacies from the case and make her coffee. And their eyes crossed whenever her tail made an appearance.

  Magic indeed.

  I resisted the urge to drag them by their collars out the door and down the cobblestones, straight to the nearest airport.

  “So by vixen, you meant both senses of the word, I assume.”

  Rosemary nodded. “Yes. Definitely both.”

  I pushed the boys out of the way. “I don’t think I’ve actually caught your name. I’m Ava and these are my sons.” I held out my hand, but the woman didn’t seem keen on taking it. She kept her own perfectly manicured hand tapping on the marble counter. Her nails were painted cherry red and filed to sharp points.

  “No offense, Ava,” the vixen purred, “but I don’t keep the company of wolves. Old bygones, you see.”

  “Not really,” I forced out in an equally cheerful voice, practically matching Rosemary’s. “Manners, you see. Fruit tart?”

  Jo glanced at the case. “I don’t do sweets. An espresso is fine.”

  Her hourglass figure could attest to that, I thought as I made her order.

  My boys practically slobbered over themselves as she gave a final tail twitch that must have been dunked in foxy pheromones. Then she left the bakery and took her allure with her.

  Rosemary and I finally relaxed, as the boys shook the dazed looks from their faces. “What’s the story there?” I asked.

  “Cadmean Vixen. She was destined to never be caught, so some wise guy decided to find a dog that was destined to catch everything it chases.”

  “So she doesn’t like dogs and, by canine offshoots, wolves.”

  “Precisely.”

  “She does realize I don’t actually turn into a wolf or catch things with my teeth?”

  Rosemary laughed. “Don’t worry about it, darling. She prefers male friendships.”

  “I knew there was something suspicious about her.”

  Rosemary gave me her usual warm, yeast-enveloping hug. “And that’s why we love you. Tell your boys thank you for their help this morning. Now go show off your new town. Apertivo hour tonight, sì? Ciao!”

  She bustled us out into the sun, the boys still blinking at what must have been massive amounts of glamor to hide all that magic. “Are you okay?” I asked tentatively. “Want to check out the rest of the town or go back and take a nap?”

  Josh pulled himself together first. “We can check it out. It’s cool to see a new side of you.”

  For a second, I thought I might well up in front of them. “Thank you, boys. It’s nice to know a new side was there all along.”

  “Hey, don’t cry, Mom,” Josh said, alarmed. “You supported us our whole lives. We’re just returning the favor.”

  I held out against the flood and nodded.

  “So, where do we begin?” Jacob asked.

  “Actually, boys, I wanted to get something for…”

  They waited. “For who?”

  “Marla.”

  “Dad’s girlfriend?” They exchanged a look that annoyed me, but I couldn’t blame them.

  “My ex-assistant,” I clarified.

  “Who cheated on you with Dad.”

  “Is she your friend?” Josh asked.

  Marla was no friend, but I still wanted to send something back for her. “Not exactly. Just something small. Let her know there’s no… uh… hard feelings…”

  “No take-backs on Dad,” Jacob said drily.

  “Exactly. She can keep him.”

  Josh raised an eyebrow. “Still, getting her a present is weird.”

  “I know, son. I know.” How could I explain to my kids that I’d spent a few random days imprisoned at the house, and Marla hadn’t been horrible? In fact, she’d been sort of sweet and, to my shock and Jim’s chagrin, a good listener. I’d even started feeling sorry for her.

  I was thinking a nice bottle of wine to help her drink away her frustrations with Jim would do the trick, but Spyro saw us coming. Or—and this was more his speed—he was probably watching through the window, waiting for his opportunity to pounce.

  “Ava and pups!” he called from his stoop. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Pups or grown zygotes.

  At the boys’ frown, I gave them a shrug. “Italians,” I whispered, feeling a little bad about lumping a whole people together and then blaming them for Spyro’s bad manners, but it was easier than the alternative. That this was a satyr and they were twins born to the She-Wolf.

  Yeah. Sorry, Italy.

  “Oh, hello, Spyro,” I said. It was like seeing a teacher outside of the classroom. Awkward. “We’re actually—”

  Spyro flung open his doors and stood on the sidewalk. “Yes, I know. I’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in. You’ll find the finest toys Aradia has to offer.”

  “They’re a little old for toys,” I began, then almost swallowed my tongue when I saw the sort of toys Spyro peddled. There were vibrators fit for trolls, flavored gels, and some things that I plain didn’t want to know what they were for—or where they went. And that was just the stuff in the window. Honestly, I should’ve seen it coming a mile away. Much like Spyro himself.

  The twins' eyes boggled at the size of som
e of the dildos, which rivaled Spyro’s own ridiculously large erection.

  As for me? I was happy to get Marla a thank you gift, but I drew the line at sending her something capable of producing “Orgasms fit for an Olympian!”

  Spyro pulled back a curtain and motioned for us to come deeper into his store. Or lair. It was hard to tell.

  “Thanks, Spyro, but we’re on a bit of a schedule. The boys aren’t in town for long, so—”

  “Nonsense! There is always time for pleasure. I saw Luca yesterday and put in another order, so you’ll have to wait if you want top of the line, battery-operated experiences, but I think there are a few selections here your pups might enjoy.”

  He admired what was either a large turkey leg or… well, something else entirely. “Quick, boys,” I whispered while he was distracted. “Let’s make a run for it.”

  They were only too happy to comply. Visiting a sex shop with their mom was not on any soon-to-be eighteen-year-old’s bucket list.

  None of us stopped or turned around, not even when Spyro began to shout, “But you didn’t try the flavors of these candy panties yet! I have cherry and pineapple. Taste the rainbow!”

  Once we were safely on the other side of the square, the laughter bubbled up. We laughed and laughed until the tears started to fall. “Well, that’s a memory I’ll never forget,” Josh said, wiping his eyes. “Even if I tried to actively wipe it from my mind.”

  “Yeah, sorry boys. That was…” I searched for the right word. “Odd.”

  “You still need a gift for Marla,” Jacob said, a little too much sarcasm clinging to the last word.

  “You don’t have to say her name like that,” I said.

  “Why? That’s how you used to say it when she worked for you.”

  “Well, that was different.” I saw him open his mouth to argue, and since I didn’t have a good response, I preempted him. “Oh, those are nice,” I said pointing.

  We all turned and studied the shop in front of us. In its window, terracotta bowls and plates, some with intricate designs and others with a simple glaze, were delicately arranged on a bookcase.

  “Let’s check it out,” I said.

  Inside, display cases proudly showed off the pottery’s rich variety. One side of the shop held traditional-looking Greek cups and bowls and amphoras in red and black glazed designs of gods and myths. The selection transformed halfway into porcelain plates and cups of delicate white and blue patterns. Ancient mixed with modern. A bit like the citizens who called Aradia home.

  The store had a musty sort of smell, like sweet hay left to mold. “Welcome!” boomed a voice from the back, and we all jumped. “Ah, has the famous Ava Falcetti finally paid me a visit? Wonderful. Let’s get you set up with a full array of dinner plates for all those parties I never seem to be invited to.”

  The figure rose and rose, and my jaw dropped at the sight. The boys’ eyes followed him to the ceiling, lingering for a second on the network of scratch marks etched in the plaster. There was no way magic could cover up the literal bull in a china shop.

  Sorry, Minotaur in a china shop.

  He had an enormous bovine head, complete with a snout, coarse hair, and dangerous looking horns. His tail swished in excitement or agitation, but the rest of him looked like an elegant man wearing a pressed Italian suit in neon green. You couldn’t miss him, even if you wanted to.

  He bowed with a flourish. “Mino, at your service.”

  Chapter Five

  Mino took my hand and brushed a very furry kiss across my knuckles. “Lady Ava,” he said in a deep voice that made his wares tinkle precariously on their shelves. “How wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.”

  “Yes, I’ve read a lot about you,” I said lamely.

  “You mean my cousin, of course?”

  “Oh, that makes more sense.”

  Mino’s proud eyes twinkled darkly. “We don’t bring him up in polite company.”

  My mouth opened and closed, my face doing a very competent imitation of a gaping fish. Now that I thought about it, that story didn’t end well for the minotaur. Or the youth he devoured.

  “Uh, Mom?” Jacob handed me a black kylix drinking cup with a grotesque face painted in red in the center. Its eyes bulged, and its swollen tongue wagged. “How about this one?” he asked.

  I took it gratefully, warm relief trickling through my fingers for the distraction. It wasn’t the most elegant cup, but, thanks to the grotesque I’d met in the bathroom in St. Louis, I knew the creature’s surreal face was supposed to be like that. Grotesques were designed to be scarier than any demons that haunted buildings or—I guess—drinking cups.

  “Great eye, son. It’s supposed to ward off evil. We’ll let Marla decide the meaning behind it.”

  “Wonderful choice,” Mino said, leading me back to the counter.

  I followed, trying not to grimace at his swishing tail. “Do you have bubble wrap for international trips?”

  “Of course. I can gift wrap it now if you’d like.”

  Next to Mino sat an antique cash register, which I assumed was for show. I wondered what I could barter. What did a minotaur need? I’d never seen him at the bakery, so it presumably wasn’t caffeine and sugar.

  Shame.

  “Can I interest you in homemade pasta?” I asked. “Or some lovely walnuts?”

  Mino snorted, and for a brief second, it looked like he might lower his head and charge. “Walnuts, Ava? Do I look like a chipmunk to you?” He quickly wrapped the cup and handed it to me, tsking. “No, no. That will be five hundred Euros.”

  “What!” I sputtered before lowering my voice. Marla was not worth five hundred Euros. My wedding dishware hadn’t cost that much. “I thought it was a barter system on Aradia?”

  Mino picked at a piece of non-existent lint on his aggressively wide shoulder pads. “Yes, and that’s quaint and all for Marco and Rosemary. I, however, am a businessman.”

  I pictured the gold in my room, stuffed in a burlap bag under my mattress like I grew up during the Great Depression, which was sort of true if I counted Gladys Presley. “Alright, alright. Can I pay you later?”

  The minotaur’s eyes gleamed. “Certainly. Or…” he trailed off.

  I waited. “Or what?”

  “An invitation to one of your little dinners at Nonna’s house would be quite welcome.”

  “Welcome enough to be free?”

  “Come now.” He thumbed his chest. “Businessman, remember? But I could part with the kylix for half-price.”

  “Of course,” I said, mostly under my breath. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I took the bubble-wrapped bag from his hands and rounded up the boys, who were busy pretending like they hadn’t just been staring at the symposium cups depicting casual prostitute sex.

  Mino held the doors open for us as we left. “Buona giornata, Ava and pups.”

  The moment we were alone in the square, Josh whirled. “Mom, did you notice his forehead?”

  “It was kind of big,” I said, noncommittally, “but it matched the rest of his head.”

  “No, not that. It was pointy, like he had a growth or something.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my blood pressure spiking into danger zones. Deception was not good for my health.

  “There were two lumps,” he said. “Like he regularly runs into the door frame.”

  “Well, he’s certainly tall enough,” I said, breathing a huge sigh of relief. At least the boys hadn’t realized those growths were actually foot long, spiralized bull horns.

  “Why does everyone keep calling us pups?” Jacob asked. “Is that an Italian thing too?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, it’s a regional thing,” I said with a faux-knowing nod. I needed to change the subject ASAP. “Hey boys, would you like to go to your first apertivo hour tonight? It’s another regional specialty. All of the residents get together for snacks and drinks before dinner. It’s delicious, and you can meet t
he rest of my friends.”

  “All of them?” Jacob asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “No reason.”

  I crossed my arms. “Your mom will be there.”

  “And that is all we need,” Josh added.

  “Okay. Now that that’s settled. Let’s go back to the villa.”

  The tea candles flickered warm, buttery light over the patio in front of Marco’s taverna. Half of the island was already there, talking and gesticulating rapidly to their dinner companions. I noticed Spyro chatting to the faun sisters, and they didn’t seem disgusted. Good for him.

  The boys pointed to Marco’s Est. 1260 fire-blackened sign, and I grinned. “Want me to buy you a ‘We survived the Plague’ t-shirt?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Of course. Here, knock on iron and say, tocca ferro.” I demonstrated as we went inside, our knuckles ringing on the nail heads. “It’s like our version of knocking on wood for luck.”

  Inside, the taverna bustled with activity and smelled like melted cheese and fragrant, slow-roasted meat. Behind the bar, bright yellow jars filled with lemons for homemade limoncello lined the shelves. Some had wild strawberries, others blackberries. A few glowed faintly, making me wonder what magical fruit one would find inside.

  Marco leaned over the edge of the bar, nuzzling Rosemary’s throat. She giggled and blew him a kiss before hopping off the bar stool to greet us.

  “Buona sera, boys,” she said as warmly as her ovens. Then she leaned down to peck a kiss on either of their cheeks. It was a standard greeting, except I’d forgotten to show the boys how it was done, and they panicked, causing Rosemary to lay one right on Jacob’s lips.

  Jacob reddened and Marco’s mane flared out, but Rosemary laughed and pinched his cheek fondly. “Ah, we’ll teach you our ways, just as we did for your madre. Never fear.”

  “Come sta?” I asked, kissing both of her cheeks in return.

  “Va benissimo,” she replied. “Look at you!”

  I glowed at both her praise and the impressed looks on my twins’ faces. Who says you can’t teach an old bitch new tricks?