by Amy Andrews
The next spoonful of pie paused halfway between the plate and Della’s mouth. She glanced up into Annie’s knowing eyes. “Thank you.”
“You know…you and me…we’ve got a lot in common, sugar. If you ever want to talk, you know where I am.”
Della nodded. Annie had offered the same thing back in the early days when Della had first come to Credence. Plenty of townsfolk had offered an ear, wanting to help ease Della’s transition. But Annie’s offer had been different. The old woman had never elaborated, but Della had sensed that Annie knew what it was like to be a victim.
And how to survive.
Della slid her hand briefly onto Annie’s arm. The skin was remarkably smooth for someone who was supposedly old as dirt. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Maybe she’d take Credence’s pie queen up on her offer one day.
Annie nodded and straightened, all business again, Della’s hand sliding off her arm. “Finish every last bite,” she said, all briskly crotchety again, before she moved off. “You’re too damn skinny.”
Della smiled at Annie’s back as the older woman departed before attacking the pie with gusto. One mouthful had stirred Della’s appetite, and she wouldn’t dare leave the diner without every morsel devoured. Annie considered even crumbs left on the plate a personal slight.
Hell, she might get some to go for Arlo tonight. Donuts might be traditional cop food, but her police-chief brother couldn’t walk past Annie’s pies.
Winona appeared as Della was scraping her plate clean. “There some kind of famine coming I’m not aware of?”
Della laughed. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” She put her spoon down on the plate and dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. “I’m contemplating getting a second.”
“You know,” Winona said with a faux-conspiratorial whisper, “this is Annie’s grand plan? She laces her pies with some mysterious ingredient developed in some secret government lab to keep the masses addicted and coming back for more.”
“Yeah.” Della leaned in and mouthed, “It’s called sugar.”
Winona sighed. “Damn it, why does sugar taste so good? Why?”
Della grinned as she gestured to the seat opposite her. “You wanna sit? Or have you got a book to be getting back to?”
“I do. But I’m stuck, so I’m procrastinating. I came here looking for an enabler in the form of pie.”
“Will I do? I’m not as sweet.”
“True. But you’re not going to stick to my ass, either.”
Della laughed. Hell, if she had Winona’s figure, she’d eat pie all damn day. She was almost six foot, big-boned, and curvy—very Xena Warrior Princess. Della would bet good money that it took a lot of pie to power that commanding frame.
“I don’t think your brother is that keen on us hanging out,” Winona said. “In case I corrupt you.”
It was well known around town that Credence’s chief of police and the erotic romance novelist rubbed each other the wrong way. Arlo found Winona a confusing and irritating mix of brash and laissez-faire. Winona found Arlo and even more irritating mix of hot cover dude with a side of stick-up-his-ass.
Sparks flew off them whenever they crossed paths, but secretly Della thought they both enjoyed the banter. “Corrupt away,” she said with a smile, using her foot under the table to push the chair out a little.
“Oh goody.” Winona grinned as she slid into the chair, her caramel curls bouncing.
“So…what are you stuck on?” Della didn’t think she’d be of much help, but she found Winona and her writing process fascinating.
The other woman sighed. “I can’t get my hero and heroine to do it.”
“Oh.” Della didn’t think for a moment she meant mowing the lawn or paying their taxes.
She really liked that about Winona—her frankness about sex and the unselfconscious way she spoke about it. There was nothing taboo or risqué, it was just another part of life. Della supposed that was par for the course for an erotic romance author, but she’d never met anyone quite like Winona.
She was pretty sure nobody in Credence had, either.
“They were supposed to do it in chapter two,” Winona lamented. “I’m on chapter ten, and they’re still refusing to get down and dirty. Seriously, I’ve never met two more recalcitrant characters in my life. I mean—it’s sex, right?” She bugged her eyes at Della in appeal. “It’s not like I’m asking them to swallow poison or have a root canal.”
Della literally had zero suggestions to give. She hadn’t been able to get Tucker to initiate a kiss, and she wasn’t likely to now, either. “You can’t just…make them?”
Winona hooted out a laugh. “If only.” She reached across and patted Della’s hand. “I wish it worked like that. I really do.”
“Well…that must be very frustrating.” God knew Della understood all about lack of sex and the frustration that caused.
“Yeah.” Winona’s curls bounced again. “But it’s okay…it’ll come to me. I just need to mull on it for a bit.”
Annie interrupted then with her ever-ready coffeepot and the slice of cherry pie Winona had ordered. “Annie, you are a goddess,” she proclaimed as the pie was slid in front of her.
The pie queen laugh-snorted as she poured hot black liquid in Winona’s empty cup. “When’s your next book out? You’re not going to make me wait for Darius and Skye too much longer, are you?”
Della blinked. Annie read erotic romance?
“Working on them right now.”
“Then why are you here, doll?” Annie demanded, fixing Winona with a cantankerous glare.
Winona grinned, unperturbed. “Sometimes a woman just needs pie.”
“Well you let me know next time you’re craving pie, you hear?” Annie shoved a hand on her hip. “I’ll get it delivered.”
Winona stifled a laugh as Annie shuffled off to her next customer. “So…what’s new with you?” she inquired.
It was on the tip of Della’s tongue to say, I made out with Tucker on Friday night, and now I can’t think about anything else, even though it was a stupid thing to do. She was absolutely positive Winona would be the perfect person to talk to about all these…feelings…she was having. Hell, she was sure Winona would relish it and probably be really, really helpful, but…it’d taken her a couple of years to warm up to talking to Selena about sex in the privacy of her Denver office. It was going to take a seismic shift to casually mention it in the middle of Annie’s diner in buttfuck eastern Colorado to someone she’d known for a handful of months.
They were friends but not close friends.
“I bought a car. I’m picking it up this afternoon.”
“Yeah? That’s great.”
Della told Winona all about the ten-year-old sedan she’d test-driven last night. It belonged to a ranch hand Arlo knew who’d just bought a truck and was keen for some fast cash. The vehicle was electric blue with a fire decal down each side. Arlo had winced at the paint job and said he’d get it resprayed, but Della had fallen in love with it on sight. It was bold and brash—the total opposite of her, of how she’d blended in for the last three years, and she liked the statement it made.
I’m Della freaking Munroe, and I’m baaaaack.
“Have you given her a name?”
A name? Della blinked. She didn’t know anyone who named their car. “Umm…no. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well you should. A car with flames down the side demands to be named.”
Della concurred. “I can hear Arlo rolling his eyes already.”
“Even more reason to do it.”
Laughing at the faux-innocent expression on Winona’s face, Della asked, “Does yours have a name?”
“Sure does.” Winona’s lips twitched. “Scarlet.”
Of course. Della couldn’t have picked a more suitab
le name for Winona’s deep-cherry-red Jeep. Suddenly, a name came to her. “Jolene,” she said, saying it out loud, trying it on for size.
It might have seemed a strange choice—the other woman. But Della had always felt a little sorry for the much-maligned Jolene. And hell if it didn’t make a statement. Della was stepping out. Like Jolene. A woman who had gone after what she’d wanted.
“I love it.” Winona held her palm up, and they high-fived. “Okay, where are we taking her on her maiden voyage?”
“Oh. Is that a thing?”
Winona nodded vigorously. “First chance you get, you gotta take her on a bit of a trip somewhere special. For a start, you need to let her out, see how she handles, right? But then you’ve got to mark the occasion. Make it an event you can tell your grandkids about. Life can be pretty dull and mundane most of the time. It’s important to celebrate milestones.”
Della nodded slowly, an idea forming in mind. “Okay…”
“Oooh…” Winona quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve got it, haven’t you?”
Della shifted in her chair. “Would you…come to Frieda’s with me?” Who better to visit a sex shop with than a woman who wrote sex scenes for a living?
Winona didn’t bat an eyelid. “Well, hell, yeah.” She slapped her palm down on the table. “Now we’re talking. It’s definitely memorable.”
“Yup.”
“Probably spare the grandkiddies the story, though.”
Della laughed, her heart beating weirdly fast. “Gotcha.”
Winona nodded. “It’s a date.”
Yeah. A date with a dildo. She couldn’t wait.
Chapter Ten
A pang of nervous excitement jitterbugged in Della’s stomach as they pulled up at Frieda’s lunchtime Thursday. She couldn’t believe she was about to visit a sex shop.
At lunchtime. On a Thursday.
She wasn’t sure what was a more appropriate time to be visiting a place that sold sexual paraphernalia, but late, late at night seemed more fitting. Or Sunday morning, maybe when every other person in eastern Colorado was in church and not around to witness any scandalous purchases.
“It really is god-awful, isn’t it?” Rosemary said as she exited the vehicle and looked up at the giant gyrating condom doing its little turn atop Frieda’s roof.
“I think it’s hysterical,” Marley said, also staring at it.
“Me, too,” Molly agreed. She snapped a pic with her phone. “My Insta-fans are going to love it.”
Della’s discreet trip to Frieda’s Palace had turned into a sex shop road trip for five. All it was missing was a bride-to-be and a pitcher of margaritas. But the more the merrier, as far as she was concerned. Hopefully everyone would be too busy to notice her lack of experience where female pleasure items, as Rosemary kept calling them, were concerned.
“It’s quite hypnotic,” Winona added as they all took a moment to admire the rotating Trojan.
Rosemary was the first to break the inertia. “Well, come on, ladies…this list”—she pulled out a piece of paper and waved it in the air—“is burning a hole in my pocket.”
Winona laughed, sliding her arm through Rosemary’s. “Mrs. Forbes, you and I need to talk,” she said as they set off together.
Della tagged along beside Molly and Marley, who eagerly followed the leaders as they chatted happily about specialized lingerie and chocolate body paint. Within thirty seconds, they were at the doors, and Della took a deep steadying breath as she entered the shop.
Taking Selena’s concern about the potential triggers of such a shopping experience into account, she’d googled sex shops to prepare herself for what she might find, which included YouTube videos to familiarize herself with the general layout.
All of the images and video footage she’d seen were of cluttered shop spaces and packed shelves. Tacky displays of vibrators, nipple clamps, and butt plugs all mounted on walls like the power tool display at Home Depot. Blow-up dolls hanging from the ceiling like giant Halloween spiders. Aisles of pornographic DVDs and racks and racks of risqué costumes for special adult dress-ups.
Not so Frieda’s.
Given the giant prophylactic on the roof, Della had expected palace to be ironic, but it was actually…classy. An upmarket brothel compared to a free window peep show. There was sumptuous carpet and fancy shelving and zero clutter. The displays were subtle rather than tacky, and the lighting was subdued. A multitude of quality display fixtures and elegant drawers showcased artfully placed wares, and some kind of classical music was being piped through the speakers.
It was like shopping at an Ethan Allen as opposed to Big Lots.
Not a blow-up doll in sight.
And it was surprisingly roomy. Deceptively so. From the outside, the shop didn’t look that big, but inside, it was quite spacious. Like a TARDIS. For the sexually adventurous Time Lord.
“Man,” Winona said. “I feel like I’ve fallen down the triple X-rated version of the rabbit hole.”
Rosemary held up a skimpy pair of red lacy panties with Eat me embroidered across the front in gold thread from a nearby rack. “Ray’s going to love these.”
Everyone seemed to disperse then, except for Della, who was momentarily paralyzed. Overwhelmed by her inexperience and the sheer choice.
“Where do you want to start?”
Winona’s low question to her right startled Della, and she realized she must be standing out like a pimple on a pumpkin, her head swiveling wildly around like a demented owl’s, her eyes just as large. Her first instinct was to pretend she was just looking, because admitting to being here for something specific seemed so…brazen. But hell, she was here for something specific, and Della doubted Winona would be scandalized by anything.
And she was preferable to Rosemary. Della felt enough of a novice without being schooled by an octogenarian in female pleasure items.
“I’m interested in the, um…” It was ridiculous how faint she felt even uttering the word out loud. But hell, if she was going to buy one and use it, she might as well embrace it. “Dildos.”
“Alrighty then.” Winona gave her a smile and her arm an encouraging squeeze. “You’re in luck. I’m an expert in that department. I have quite a collection.”
Della didn’t doubt for a moment she was in good hands as she was led toward a gilded countertop.
“The best part is,” Winona confided, “I get to claim them as a tax deduction.”
Della glanced at Winona, startled. “The IRS lets you claim…female pleasure items on your taxes?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “It’s research. Gotta keep up with the market.”
Della’s brain was officially blown. She’d been impressed she’d been able to claim her work shoes as a deduction, but that didn’t come close to getting the IRS to pay for orgasms.
She was vaguely aware of a clicking noise as she stared at Winona, but it wasn’t until a woman said, “Hi, I’m Frieda,” that Della dragged her gaze from Winona’s grin to face the woman who’d entered via the swinging bead curtain behind the counter.
Frieda appeared to be in her late fifties, with a forehead devoid of wrinkles and a tightness to her mouth that did not appear natural. She had bright pink lipstick, matching bright pink nails, and a genuine beehive hairdo to go with her genuine smile of welcome. She was wearing a fringed, rhinestone-studded shirt that pulled tight across her ample cleavage and spoke with a southern drawl.
Della hadn’t known there was an actual Frieda, but if she had, this was not who Della would have imagined. This very boudoir-style shop seemed to demand a bustier-wearing burlesque dancer or a dominatrix, perhaps. Not Dolly Parton circa 1970.
“Y’all just here for some browsing fun, or are you after something specific?”
“There’s actually a Frieda?” Winona asked, obviously as surprised as Della by the revelation.
“There sure is, honey.” Frieda held out her hand, and Winona shook it. “Frieda Cilento. Pleased to meetcha.”
The woman offered her hand to Della, who also took it, shaking absently.
Winona, being Winona, recovered quickly. “Della here would like to look at some dildos.”
Della appreciated Winona keeping her voice low, but her cheeks heated just the same. She was tempted, so tempted, to drop her gaze, but neither Frieda nor Winona seemed embarrassed by the subject, so damn it all—she wouldn’t, either.
“That’s right,” she confirmed with a definitive nod. To hell with female pleasure items or coyly whispering what she needed.
“Well now, hun, you’ve come to the right place. Are you after a vibrator or a dildo?”
“Oh.” Della glanced at Winona. “Umm…”
“Dildos are stationery,” Winona murmured. “Kind of a dick substitute. Vibrators vibrate.”
Well duh…of course. Except Della had no idea what she wanted. Sucking in a breath, she looked directly at Frieda. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. Could I look at both?”
“Of course, sugar,” Frieda said with a smile.
Winona shot her an admiring look. “Attagirl,” she whispered.
Della felt stupidly buoyed at her boldness. It didn’t last long. “This is my current range right here in these cabinets.” Frieda palmed the glass beneath her elbows, and Della was pleased she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to look down earlier.
She might have chickened out for good at the mind-boggling selection.
“Oh…my.” Della exhaled as she took in the breadth of Frieda’s collection, blinking at the kaleidoscope of lurid colors laid out like pieces of candy behind the glass.
Climax candy.
Frieda rolled out a long piece of crushed velvet on the countertop before reaching underneath and pulling the devices out one by one and laying them down. “Sex toys are like men,” Frieda observed throatily. “You should always try before you buy.” After placing the last one down, she looked directly into Della’s eyes. “Have a play, get the feel of them, and see what you think.”