The Beautiful Things Shoppe

by Philip William Stover

  “Sorry about that, guys,” Vince says sincerely. “Tack, I told you to lean the other way,” he says, knowing that his fiancé loves to stir the pot.

  “Oh, did you?” he asks with mock innocence.

  “Dad, come on,” Jules says tugging at his hand.

  “Nice to see you. Dinner next Monday night? The inn is closed so just upstairs at our place. Please join us?” Vince asks calmly and politely.

  “Unless you two are at the intimate candlelight dinner for two stage still?” Tack grabs the sled from Jules and runs up the hill effortlessly. Vince grabs Jules and puts them on his back and follows Tack up the hill with Jules piggyback.

  We are alone again in the snow and lying on our backs. All traces of the sun are gone now and a purple-blue ocean appears above us.

  Prescott pops up. “That’s it,” he says with an unfamiliar enthusiasm in his voice.

  “What’s it?” I ask sitting up mostly because I want to see his beautiful face.

  “The candlelight dinner stage. We don’t want to gloss over that. I mean we have to follow the rules,” he says. I love this playful side of him. I know how reserved he is usually so seeing him act sort of silly like this makes me think I am getting to see a side of him that he doesn’t share with everybody and it makes me feel special.

  “Yes, I don’t want the romance police to show up and charge us with skipping a step,” I say just as playfully as him.

  “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow night. Candlelight dinner at my place. I’ll file all the paperwork with the authorities,” he says and then lies back down staring up at the sky.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say and lie down also.

  The storm has passed and there isn’t a cloud above us. The stars seem brighter and the sky darker. The crowds on the hill have thinned and a deep but wonderful quiet has fallen over the hill. I can hear Prescott breathing and when I move my eyes to the side I see a small cloud of air just above his mouth. I also see that his eyes are not looking straight up but out to the side at me. As soon as he sees that I caught him looking at me he moves his eyes back to the stars. I move mine back as well but I take my hand and inch it toward his. I get closer and closer until I sense his hand is next to mine, then I put my hand over his upward-facing palm. As soon as I do he moves his fingers to clasp mine and just like that we are on the side of a snow-covered hill under a star-filled cloudless sky holding hands. I don’t want to let go of him until spring. I rest my head on his chest and for a second I think I smell it too. Mint.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prescott

  I’m not a great cook. Most of the meals I prepare involve a rather pedestrian frozen dinner. Still, I’ve managed to make a simple fettuccini dish with truffle cream sauce using tinned ingredients from the Italian grocery in the Ferry Market.

  My small studio in Lambertville is above the local pharmacy. There’s room for a cafe table between the couch and the bed and a small fireplace makes the entire apartment more cozy than cramped. A neon light with the word Prescriptions buzzes just outside the window facing the street. Usually at night I shut the blinds but tonight the red glow that floods the apartment helps create the romantic mood I want to achieve.

  I want to kiss every part of Danny’s body and find out about him on this whole different level. But I’m also worried about things going too quickly. A lot of guys expect things to move faster than I can manage. It makes me uncomfortable, but it’s hard to imagine Danny being that way.

  I check the gilt-brass carriage clock that sits on the shelf next to the door and unfortunately I have a few minutes still to ponder my insecurities. I know I’m okay looking and that I have a certain broad appeal. I’m not ready to walk the runway, but I’m a visual person so I’m able to be objective and say that many people consider me good-looking. I’m not overly confident but I’m also not pretending to be something I’m not. In this moment I’m not worried about what most people think of me. I’m worried about what Danny thinks of me.

  I walk over to the ornately carved acanthus mirror hanging next to the bathroom door and try to see myself as Danny might. I’m wearing black pants and a crisply pressed black shirt. I’ve combed my hair back and added some product so it looks a bit darker blond than usual. For a second I think I look nice, then I think I look like I’m auditioning to be a pall bearer at some very chic funeral. The buzzer rings and it’s too late to think about changing. I let him in and hear footsteps bouncing up the stairs. I can’t believe how nervous I am to see a guy I’ve been sitting just yards away from for the past few weeks.

  “Hello,” I say smiling at what I see in front of me. He’s wearing his usual sherpa-lined denim jacket. The fluffy lining makes him look like a real-life teddy bear that anyone would just want to hold on to and squeeze. He has his Star Wars knit cap on that he told me looks like an android named R2-D2 and I make a mental note to not confuse Star Wars and Star Trek although until recently I thought they were the exact same things. He’s holding a bouquet of plum-speckled Stargazer lilies and box from the Honeysuckle Bakery. His eyes smile as much as his mouth and his round cheeks are pink from the cold.

  “These are for you,” he says, holding out the flowers and greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. The scent of his cherry lip balm passes by my nose and it’s a promise of things to come later in the evening.

  “Thank you,” I say gesturing for him to come in. “I have the perfect vase for these. You can put your coat on any of the hooks by the door.”

  I run some water for the flowers but steal a look at him as he’s taking off his coat, a habit I’ve acquired each morning in the shop since he usually stretches his arms back in a way that makes his shirt rise up enough for me to see the furry patch that covers his tight tummy.

  “I was going to put them in this pretty vintage Maxwell House coffee can I have but I figured you’d want something more...”

  Before he finishes I jump in. “These are lovely and I would have appreciated them no matter the vessel,” I say realizing I’m being a bit too grandiose in my speech. I’m nervous. I tell myself to relax. I’ve been looking forward to this all day but now that the moment is here my excitement has turned into nerves.

  “It smells fantastic in here. What are you making?” His voice cracks just a bit as he speaks which makes me a pinch more relaxed. Maybe he’s nervous too.

  Danny

  It took me a good five minutes to summon the courage to ring the buzzer and now that I’m actually standing in Prescott’s apartment I’m even more nervous. I’m sure he could hear it when my voice cracked. That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager—which isn’t entirely inappropriate because that was the last time I felt this way. No one who has met me would ever say I’m shy but tonight I feel a strange mixture of eagerness and mystery.

  “Just some pasta,” he says busying himself in the kitchen.

  I take a deep breath and notice a fancy mirror near what must be the door to the bathroom. Since he’s turned toward the sink I grab a quick look at myself. Why did I wear this shirt? It’s my favorite vintage Hawaiian print, surfers and waves and flowers, but it’s as loud as a parade down Christopher Street in June. I think about tucking it into my slacks but there isn’t enough time. I quickly pass my hand over my cheek. I should have shaved more closely. Then I get a quick whiff of the cologne I put on. It’s way too much.

  I’m with this guy every day in the shop and most days I want to strangle him, so why am I so freaked out about being with him now? A dozen new second guesses fill my head but I hear him turning off the faucet. As I turn away from the mirror I see him, really see him, for the first time this evening.

  He has got to be the sexiest preppy-boy I’ve ever seen. He always looks like he belongs in one of those clothing ads where people are sailing on yachts or picnicking at a vineyard. He’s impeccably groomed as usual. His hair is slicked back and perfect and there isn’t a wr
inkle to be found on him. He’s head to toe in black which is something I haven’t seen him wear before. It makes him cross the line from daytime cutie-patootie to nighttime hottie.

  “Do you want some wine?” he asks. “The man at the liquor store said this goes well with truffle-flavored things. I’m afraid I don’t really know wine that well.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly realizing my mistake. “I should have told you that I don’t drink. Fine if you want to have some. It’s not an issue for me—I just never had a taste for alcohol.” Usually I go on and on when I have to decline a drink. It feels good to be able to say things plainly with him. But he starts laughing and I wonder if I have made a mistake.

  “I shouldn’t be laughing, but I am because... I don’t drink either. That’s why I had to ask the guy at the liquor store about the wine.” He opens a cabinet next to the stove, displaying a small assortment of those little glass-and-a-half bottles that they serve on airplanes. “I even bought all of these in case you wanted something stronger than wine.”

  There is a short silence and then we both start laughing. “Well, it looks like we have been making a lot of assumptions about each other that turn out to be incorrect so let me pour us some sparkling mineral water and toast to that.”

  He grabs the green bottle of San Pellegrino and pours some into a glass filled with ice and a lime. He hands it to me and I wait for him to pour one for himself. I raise my glass and say, “To no more assumptions about each other.”

  He nods and raises his glass to mine. “No more assumptions.” Our glasses clink and our eyes lock on each other as we take a sip. Suddenly, all of my nervousness is gone.

  We chitchat as he prepares the final parts of the meal. I watch him in the shop a lot—probably more than I care to admit—but seeing him in his home is different. He’s more relaxed and less uptight. I wonder if the difference is seeing him in this setting or the fact that the way I see him has changed.

  We talk about our plans to meet with the city council about the demolition planned for the buildings as he finishes preparing dinner. Of course he waxes poetically about the Yardley House, but he’s begun to include the First Bank of Bucks in his rhapsody and it’s a tune I love to hear. We sit down to eat and he puts a perfectly presented plate of pasta with a taupe cream sauce on it before me. I’m about to compliment him on the dish when he jumps up from his chair.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” He walks over to the shelf and grabs two candlesticks that a few weeks ago I would have thought seemed overly ornate and dreadful. Tonight their gleaming brass seems solid and trustworthy. “We can’t have our candlelight dinner stage without candlelight.” He takes a match from the kitchen and sparks a flame, lighting both of the white taper candles and putting them on the table.

  The yellow glow from the flames dances across his face, interrupting the red glow that must be coming from the sign of the pharmacy downstairs. His eyes, which usually sparkle like blue spheres, display just a touch of violet in the show of light that tickles across them.

  “Well, now everything is perfect,” I say smiling.

  “No, not just yet,” he says. An exaggerated frown flashes across Prescott’s face. He puts his hands on the edge of the small table and rises up from his chair. He moves his head toward me and puts his lips on mine for a short but very sweet kiss. Then he sits back down. He gives me a smile so seductive I consider using my arm to clear the plates in one swoop and lying down on the table. He says, “Now everything is perfect.”

  He dives into his food and I grab my fork and decide to show the same enthusiasm. The truth is I hate truffles. They taste like armpit. But I’m so touched that he cooked for me that I’m sure I’ll be able to smile after every bite.

  After dinner, I help him clear the table and he sets out two perfectly formed panna cotta with ruby-red berry coulis from the Honeysuckle. “Those look so pretty,” I say.

  “Mona has outdone herself,” he says.

  “I’m going to miss her this spring. She’s traveling and her brother is going to run the place.”

  “Well, I hope he gets all the recipes. We don’t want an interruption to the scone supply chain.” He grins at me and I know he is thinking about our argument at the Honeysuckle that first week. I never thought a night like this would come after an introduction like that.

  “Look. It’s snowing again.” I turn to the window and see big fluffy flakes gently moving through space. Prescott puts the dessert on a tray and carries it to the coffee table in front of the couch. “Let’s watch the snow fall as we enjoy these.”

  I take a seat on the couch. He puts the tray down and sits next to me. Immediately I’m aware of the proximity of our bodies. We haven’t been this close since the sledding moment. I’m hyperaware of how good it feels to be this close to him. The snow falls silently as we eat our dessert. Sitting on the couch quietly next to each other, gazing out the window feels so right. I take some time to just enjoy it and let the feeling ripple through me and settle.

  Prescott adjusts a bit and I do the same. The brush of his arm against my waist makes my entire body respond with a focused attention that penetrates the quiet calm of the moment. An uncontrollable sensation ricochets around me covering every inch. I wonder if his body also suddenly feels like a pinball machine that has malfunctioned and released all the steel marbles at once. I catch a blurry reflection of him in the window and I am able to see that his face is flushed. Mine is as well. I think about slowly moving in to finish that kiss he started earlier, but before I can the arcade game inside me goes into hyper mode and I turn toward him just as he’s turning toward me and we both are thinking the same exact thing. Our mouths reach for each other and we kiss so deeply and passionately that it feels like we’re about to make high score.

  His hands reach for my chest and I hold his wrists to show him exactly how hard I like it. I guide his hands over my nips as our mouths continue to be entangled. I teach him to squeeze them hard.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says through a deep moan of pleasure.

  “You won’t,” I say showing him how to press even harder. He hits the exact right level of pressure that shoots immediately down to my groin and I release a heavy breath.

  He pulls back just a bit. I can tell he’s examining the look of pure pleasure that must be pulsing through my face. “It certainly doesn’t look like I’m hurting you,” he says, smiling and looking right into my eyes.

  I move my hands to his chest and give him another deep searching kiss. “What about yours?” I ask. “Hardwired?”

  He looks at me shyly. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Okay to find out?” I ask. He nods and I pull out his shirt from his pants. My hands dive under his undershirt and up his completely smooth torso until they find what they want. I don’t move in for another kiss. Instead I keep my eyes on his face to enjoy the effect my hands are having on him. I start very gently, like butterflies landing on a daisy. He is smiling but not giving me that look that says he is in ecstasy. I lock my eyes on his. Nothing will dislodge us during this race down Pleasure Mountain. I increase the pressure but it’s still not enough to get where I need to go. Prescott is full of surprises and the fact that he might like it rougher than I am expecting is one that I am very much enjoying. I make another increase—not as hard as he was on my little bullets but harder than most guys can handle. There. It. Is. His eyes widen.

  “Yes, yes,” he says like the words are forming somewhere deep in his body and being released by the pleasure. “Yes. Like that. Please don’t stop.”

  Now that I have my manifest I’m able to move my mouth toward his again while my hands stay occupied on his chest. He takes off his shirt and I’m able to really take in his body. He’s smooth like one of the small marble sculptures he has in the shop. His muscles are long and in elegant proportions. His hands go back under my shirt and resume their earlier perfect dan
ce of pressure and release. I keep hearing him moan deeply. I had no idea he would enjoy what I enjoy so much and from the sounds he is making he might even enjoy it more.

  I move one of my hands down from his chest to my pants. I am rock hard right now and when I glance down I see he is too. I’m about to go further when Prescott says, “Danny, wait. Stop.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Prescott

  I put my mouth back on Danny’s and give him the sweetest most sincere kiss I can before I continue. “I want to go slow. Is that okay?” I ask, searching his eyes. I’ve never been able to say this to a guy before. Not ever. I’m usually too scared and let the guy go a bit further than I’m comfortable with and then make up some excuse. But not this time. I want to share myself with Danny and that means telling him how I feel as much as anything else.

  He doesn’t answer at first and it makes me nervous. Then he kisses with a deep sweetness and sincerity and says, “Absolutely. I want to go slow too. I only want to do what’s comfortable for both of us.”

  I kiss him back in a way that shows him I’m both grateful and turned on by his response. Going slow doesn’t mean we have to stop doing what we are doing and I don’t want him to think I’m going at this speed because I’m not attracted to him. I am, and not just his hairy, thick body. It’s his kindness, his humor and his attention that are causing my pants to bulge. “But I think it’s okay if we...” I trail off, rubbing myself over my pants. He sees what I’m doing and does the same exact thing.

  Danny smiles and says, “I mean, if it’s okay with you. It’s a long, cold walk home and I’m so hard right now I’m not sure part of my anatomy wouldn’t break off like an icicle as I walk over the bridge.”

  I laugh softly. Only Danny could make me laugh and feel sexy both at the same time. “Maybe I could help you out?” I ask.