Page 39 of Toy Shop

“Why the heck not?” My sister’s frown is practically audible. “What’d you do?”

“Me?” I fake surprise.

“Yeah, you, Mister I-don’t-deserve-happiness. You’ve been denying yourself a relationship and family for far too long. No one thinks you’re a bad man. No one.”

“That’s debatable.” I sigh. I don’t think. I know.

Jolene sighs, cutting right to the chase. “You holding out on your life does nothing but tarnish Connie’s memory. She loved you. She’d wish for you to lead a fruitful life. Mom and Dad did too, and I still hold on to hope.”

“A poor man from the south who came from nothing and built and owns one of the largest companies in the States and a ton of other business ventures isn’t fruitful?” I reply, ignoring the true nature of her question. “Billions in the bank, charities I donate to anonymously, is that not making a good use of my life?”

“Ali, don’t you use that tone with me.” The groan emanating from her reminds me of her kids. “Your achievements, you using your mechanical engineering studies and your entrepreneurship skills to create what not many can, it’s admirable. But it’s not living. You know what is?”

I don’t have to guess, since we’ve had this conversation on repeat for the last twenty years. And there she goes, making me smile.

“Love is.”

“Exactly.”

Her victorious huff does it for me. I laugh. “Nola. Her name is Nola.”

By the time I’m done telling my remaining sister about the magic I’ve encountered while skipping the explicit details and focusing on how she makes me feel, Jolene gloats. I don’t have to witness it to know it.

“What are you doing then, sitting here on the phone with me, idiot? Sunday only comes once a week. Go enjoy it with her.”

“I’ll try.”

“And you will.”

My cell phone barely has a chance to cool down after Jolene hung up, and I’m already calling Nola’s number.

The shirt of mine she wore is in the drawer of my nightstand, safely out of the cleaning crew’s reach. While waiting, I extract it, sit on the edge of my bed, and inhale Nola’s scent on the garment.

Long days and longer nights have passed since she wore it last, but a trace of her fragrance remains.

Bliss.

A momentary one, that is.

“Yes?” The snappy edge to her response clashes against her sweet scent.

Can’t say I don’t deserve it. Can’t say I’m a man deterred easily, either. Not even a twenty-one-year-old who I’m growing more attached to by the minute.

“Hi, Nola.”

“Hi.”

“Where are you?”

She hums impatiently. “I believe the correct question word is how.”

Instead of aggravation, I’m feeling aroused. My groin heats at the prospect of the satisfying punishment she’ll receive for talking back to me.

“I’ll ask you any fucking question you want when I see you.”

“That’s cute.” She lowers her voice, though the sting doesn’t diminish. “That’s really fucking adorable, Alistair.”

“You’re the first one to tell me that.” I smirk, knowing it would lend my tone that not-fucking-around attitude. “I’m flattered.”

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