Not What I Expected

by Jewel E. Ann

  Fiddling with my earring, I returned an easy nod. “So what kind of store is it?”

  Bethanne shrugged. “No idea. All of the windows are still covered in black paper. You’d think they’d want people to know what they plan to sell, especially with the holidays upon us. Anyway, Kaylee saw the owner coming out the front door and she took a picture.” She held out her phone and the photo of the man with a gray, slouched beanie, trimmed dark beard, and huge smile. “Kael Hendricks. That’s all I know until I get home and talk to her. Clearly, she asked his name. She’s a little nosey.”

  “I hope it’s a yoga studio or maybe a cycle gym. I could use some structured exercise again.” I wrinkled my nose at my lack of exercise.

  “Did you give up your membership to the All Hours Fitness?” Pam asked.

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’ve resorted to taking the dog on longer walks instead of enduring the poor-Elsie look that everyone gives me. Amie usually walks with me too. All Hours is just treadmills and a few elliptical machines and free weights. Nothing like yoga or cycling classes.”

  “I hate that widowed sympathy look. I swear it doesn’t go away until you find someone new and everyone is convinced that you’re officially okay.”

  Did I want someone new?

  No.

  Asking Craig for a divorce and the dull pain of my chronic unhappiness with my marriage had nothing to do with another man. It was me. I hit a point where to save “us” I would have had to let part of my soul die. Was anyone worth that? I didn’t know that answer. Maybe no one did. Maybe there was no distinguishable line between selfless and selfish—each required a sacrifice. We existed somewhere in the middle, but that middle was incredibly hard to find. Happiness wasn’t given; it was self-possessed. It had to come from within to be real.

  I needed something real again.

  Chapter Four

  I love my husband, except when he gropes me at two in the morning.

  * * *

  Craig’s parents started Smith’s Specialties nearly fifty years earlier. It flourished as the go-to place for gifts and a few home decor items. However, in November and December, they made more money than the other ten months combined. Everyone went to Smith’s for gifts and specialty foods for their holiday parties. After my husband took over the business, he added things like monthly box subscriptions and free twenty-mile delivery on all gift baskets.

  In a small Midwest town like Epperly, friendship and loyalty meant everything. And no one was friendlier than Ron and Mary Smith. In return, they had the most loyal customers. Craig carried on that great family tradition and nourished those relationships. When he died, I felt obligated to keep the business going—for him, for the children, for his parents, and maybe even for the loyal customers who I knew would be disappointed to see their favorite specialty store go out of business if I didn’t step up and take over.

  “What Did You Expect? is having a soft opening today.” Amie floated into the store like an angel carrying lunch—chicken noodle soup and fresh sourdough from Spoons, a soup cafe and bakery three shops down from Smith’s in the quaint Epperly town square. A line of maple trees and a small sculpture park filled the center of the square. Photographers fought for space in the fall when the leaves turned brilliant shades of red and gold. In December, they constructed a skating rink, our own version of Rockefeller Center.

  “I love you.” I opened the brown bag when she set it on the checkout counter as a few customers milled around, browsing the new holiday inventory.

  “Hot soup. Warm bread. Of course you love me.” She grinned, eyeing the new display of holiday caramel corn tins. On Fridays, she closed her clinic at noon and brought me lunch. It was a tradition that started after Craig died. I felt certain it was her way of making sure I was emotionally still hanging in there. After all, she was one of the four who knew the truth and therefore knew my true level of grief and guilt.

  So much guilt.

  “So what is it? Is it what you expected?” I stirred the soup and blew at the steam.

  “Haven’t gone in yet. As I was leaving Spoons with lunch, they were taking down the black paper. The lights weren’t on yet, but as Penelope was getting my order ready, she said Kael—the owner—stopped into her cafe yesterday and gave her some twenty-percent-off coupons to distribute to her customers if she wanted to help spread the word.” Amie tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into her soup.

  I nodded for her to sit on the stool as I leaned my butt against the edge of the counter. “But she didn’t say what he’s selling?”

  “He just said it was a mix of awesomeness and that he would be offering some classes as well.” She chuckled. “Not going to lie, I’m dying to know what he defines as awesomeness.”

  “Classes.” I perked up a bit. “It has to be an exercise studio of some sort. That’s my hope. Did you get a coupon for twenty percent off? We should think about joining. We could do early mornings since you don’t open until nine and I don’t open until ten. As it gets colder, we’re not going to want to walk outside every morning.”

  “I don’t know. Penelope said he’s pretty hot. I’m not sure I want to slide into tight, synthetic fiber and sweat a ton in front of some hot guy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If he’s running a fitness studio, he’s probably young and out of our age range.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m expanding my acceptable age range. Since I’m forty-two, I think I can go fifteen years in either direction.”

  I sipped my soup. “Fifteen? So you’d date a guy in his twenties?”

  “Funny how you go in that direction. As a matter of fact, I would absolutely prefer a guy in his twenties to a guy in his late fifties. Why go gray-balling before you absolutely have to?”

  I choked on my soup and reached for a napkin. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I agree with Dr. Amie.” Susan, a fifty-something, longtime customer, set a few things on the checkout counter. “Go younger. Bill—my gray-balled husband—overeats at dinner then falls asleep on the sofa. He wakes up at two in the morning and starts groping me for sex because he’s had six good hours of sleep, and his prostate wakes him up with an urgent need to urinate. So he figures since he’s up, I might as well wake up and let him do his thing with me. But I’m up late reading, and my body has no desire to be invaded at that insane hour of the morning.”

  Amie gave me a wide-eyed look before laughing. “Susan, you have made my day.”

  I sat my soup aside and rang up her items while chuckling and lifting my gaze to see if the two other women in the store could hear our conversation. Since I didn’t recognize them, I thought we should keep the conversation G-non-groping-related.

  “Pauline told me about your confession at your meeting,” Susan whispered as if that needed to be said in privacy, yet gray balls and two-in-the-morning groping required no level of privacy or discretion.

  Such a small town. Zero room for secrets. Gossip was the only form of entertainment that didn’t involve a screen and a Hulu subscription in Epperly.

  “It was probably inappropriate given the audience and the fact that it was at church. Sixty-two eighty.” I totaled her products and put them in a bag.

  “Pauline said you were a breath of fresh air. Saying all the things everyone else in the group had been dying to say.”

  Amie raised an eyebrow at me. “Clearly, you didn’t tell me everything.”

  I shrugged, nodding for Susan to go ahead and swipe her credit card. “I had a weak moment, and in turn, a few other women decided to have a weak moment too.”

  “Not weak.” Susan shook her head. “Honest. A breakthrough for some of those women. Acknowledging your truth is not weak; it’s strong. It makes you feel vulnerable to let people in like that. So the fact that you did that makes it not only brave, but it allowed the other women in the group to speak their truths too.”

  I chuckled, handing her the receipt. “And what truth is that? That our loved ones are dead, but we can�
��t let go of the irritating things they did?”

  Susan tapped her finger on the tip of her nose. “Exactly. Saying I loved him is only half the truth. I loved him, but he drove me crazy … now that’s being honest.”

  I loved him, then I despised things about him, then I fell out of love, then I asked for a divorce, then he died.

  My honesty was embarrassing, regretful, and tragic.

  “Thanks, Susan.” I went with the less-is-more route.

  “Anytime. I’m going to pop into the new place across the street. You know … to see if it’s what I’m expecting.”

  “Well, report back if it’s something amazing.” Amie smiled, and Susan nodded while heading to the door.

  That afternoon, the traffic in my store came to a screeching halt. The holidays were upon us. Late October to November always … always brought a steady stream of traffic. Standing at the door, I squinted to see through the windows of What Did You Expect? But the reflection of the sun obscured everything—except the line all the way down the sidewalk.

  Were people really waiting to go inside? For what? Fitness classes? Was he running a flash sale on memberships? Right at the door, taking a step inside the mysterious new business, I recognized Valerie Middleton’s pink hat that I knitted for her two years earlier when she was going through chemotherapy for breast cancer. I texted her to get the scoop on the situation.

  Elsie: What’s in the store. I have to know!

  She quickly replied with a wide-eyed emoji.

  Valerie: Um … it’s a specialty store. Sort of.

  Elsie: What products do they sell?

  She replied with a hand-covering-the-mouth emoji and a cringing emoji.

  Valerie: Food and other stuff.

  My store was considered a specialty store.

  I sold food and other stuff.

  Shit …

  I had competition? Going into the holidays, I had some new guy selling his own tins of popcorn, tubs of cheese, and rolls of turkey sausage? That wasn’t what I needed—not with my first holiday season without Craig, not with the store officially belonging to me.

  Switching screens, I messaged Amie.

  Elsie: I did NOT expect the new store to be my competition!

  Amie: Yeah, I was going to call you later. After lunch I slipped inside to take a quick peek.

  Elsie: And?

  Amie: It’s different than your store.

  Elsie: Different good or different bad?

  Amie: Not sure. Probably a matter of personal taste or opinion.

  Elsie: And what’s yours?

  Amie: Just call me when you get home. Too hard to describe via text.

  I didn’t message her back. Instead, I remained planted by the window, watching the steady line of people congest that entire side of the square, waiting to gain access to see if it’s what they expected.

  Kandi, one of my employees, arrived at four for her shift. “Wow! The line still hasn’t gone down.”

  Twisting my lips, gaze fixed to said line, I nodded slowly. “Did you go in?”

  “Yeah. I checked it out before my hair appointment.”

  “And?”

  She tucked her purse under the register and shrugged off her coat. “And I think you should go see for yourself. It’s hard to explain. But it’s definitely not what I expected.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I kept my expression neutral. “What did you expect?”

  Kandi sipped her grande coffee in a white to-go cup and lifted a shoulder. “I wasn’t sure. Frame shop. Bath and body store. New restaurant. But I can say with absolute certainty the biggest attraction right now is the owner, Kael. He’s hot. And incredibly nice. Nice like Craig.”

  Everyone loved Craig.

  But they didn’t live with him for twenty-two years.

  Yes, in a romantic sense, I fell out of love. In another sense, my love for him grew deeper because my appreciation for his work ethic and the way he loved our children never faded. It aged into something admirable and unforgettable.

  “I’m going over.” I snagged my coat from the hook behind the counter and meandered across the square to get in line. Never had I waited in line outside in Epperly. Even at the grocery store, it was rare for the checkout lines to be more than two customers deep. It took twenty minutes to get to the door.

  “What the heck?” I whispered to myself.

  Two registers.

  At least a hundred customers.

  Fire code violation?

  I sure thought so.

  As I wormed my way through the store, familiar faces glanced at me for two seconds before turning away to avert their attention.

  Shame.

  They were ashamed for having their arms and shopping baskets filled with things from my competitor’s store instead of mine.

  Flavored vinegars and olive oils in stainless steel vats lined two full walls. Eager customers snatched tiny cups of free samples before grabbling bottles of all the flavors. The middle aisles contained everything from special syrups and spices to unique kitchen items, gourmet organic hot chocolates and coffees, and loads of gift sets.

  I had never seen any of the brands or items. So no … not what I expected.

  Worse.

  So much worse.

  “Welcome! Can I tell you about any of our items or get you signed up at twenty percent off for any of our cooking classes?”

  My gaze drifted to his crisp white apron with words embroidered in green stitching.

  I’m Kael—Like Kale.

  Just as healthy.

  Twice as sexy.

  “I have four kids. I can cook.” I narrowed my eyes a smidge. He looked familiar. Celebrity familiar.

  As his welcoming grin swelled, I made the connection. Captain America. He bore a resemblance to the superhero.

  Chris Evans, with a beard. I happened to like Chris Evans.

  A lot.

  Too much.

  “I believe you can cook, but I don’t believe you have four kids.”

  “I do,” I deadpanned. “Four kids. A dog. And a business on the opposite side of the square.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder toward the front windows.

  “Oh! You must be Elsie Smith.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many good things about you and your family’s store. I need to make it over, but we’ve been slammed trying to get everything ready to open.”

  My teeth dug into my lower lip as I internally bristled at his enthusiasm over stealing my customers going into the holiday season and the anniversary of Craig’s death.

  Not cool, Cap. Not cool.

  I might have been a little chapped that he looked too hot for Epperly. Too hot for a retail store owner. And too hot for me to think about all the ways he looked too hot.

  “Oh yeah? What sort of good things have you heard about me and my store?”

  He chuckled as if he didn’t expect me to ask him that—like when people asked how you are, but only to be nice. They didn’t really want to know about your dishwasher on the fritz or the shoulder pain that you recently noticed after no apparent injury.

  “Well … I’ve heard your husband was loved by everyone. Sorry for your loss. And I’ve heard your store is a staple for the classics.”

  “The classics?” I tilted my head to the side.

  “Yeah, the things that make us feel comfort during the holidays. Things we feel guilty splurging on during other times of the year unless it’s a gift from someone.”

  Tipping my chin up for an extended pause, I returned to my squinty eyes and dropped my head in a sharp nod.

  “Yo, Kael!” one of his aproned employees called him.

  “Listen…” he started to turn, but he kept his eyes on me as his hand slid into his pocket and pulled out a small card “…the cooking classes are more like a social hour with wine where I force everyone to make their own food. Come for free next Friday and bring a friend. Seven o’clock. Right when your store closes.” He winked, pretty proud of
himself for knowing that. Then he handed me the card (a voucher for a free class) and turned, zig-zagging his way to the checkout. Kael smiled and thanked everyone in his path for visiting his store.

  At Smith’s, we thanked them when they walked out the door or made a purchase. Based on the way his customers added five new items to their baskets after he showed his appreciation, accompanied with that Captain America smile, I needed to up my greeting game. Brilliant marketing: make them feel appreciated and they’ll carry a spark of indebtedness to buy something just because you showed a smile and gratitude for them walking through your door—before they’d made up their mind on the purchase.

  Well, I wasn’t going to buy anything, but Elsie seems so appreciative that I’m here, I’ll go ahead and buy this candle in a jar. As if I need one more ugly candle in a jar.

  The classics. Smith’s sold the classics. I’m pretty sure that was code for outdated shit no one wanted anymore. Kael didn’t open a fitness studio, but he might as well have opened one. Everything in his store gave off a trendy, healthy vibe.

  Organic, cold-pressed oils.

  Posh flavored vinegars.

  Natural this.

  Fair-trade that.

  My large tins—filled with GMO popcorn covered in high-fructose corn syrup, salt, and artificial flavorings and colorings—felt anything but trendy and healthy.

  Kale Kael.

  Artificial Elsie.

  Just … great.

  Chapter Five

  It’s hard to love a man who puts your bank account into the negative, buying foot porn on the internet.

  * * *

  “It’s a specialty food store!” I ran my hands through my hair before pouring a generous glass of wine for myself on Amie’s deck. It overlooked a pond filled with geese and ducks, lending a sense of privacy.

  She hugged one leg to her chest and swirled her wine with her other hand as the wind caught her blond hair, which made me slightly jealous. It was a few shades lighter than my hot mess of brown and random grays I fought to hide. “It’s apples and oranges. Not that many crossover items. Maybe the hot chocolate. And you’re still going to be the top pick for gifts. Hello! Popcorn. Sausage. Cheese. Do you really think people are going to forego their favorites for a bottle of vinegar?”