Page 7 of Wicked Flavors

Gwendolyn’s hands tightened along the strap of her purse. One way or another, she would have to go in if she wanted to pursue her dream. That didn’t stop the wave of trepidation from rolling in her stomach as her hand rose to the doorknob. The silver handle was no different from any other, but there was something nagging at her.

What were the chances that this little antique store had theMaddiedoll? They were rare for a reason, and were snatched up the moment they had hit retail shelves.Mostly byMiss Moxieflippers—vultures who had seen the popularity of the dolls and listed them for absurd prices online. Furthermore, why would an antique store with fine china, period furniture, and old paintings have a plastic doll from 2010?

Was she trying to avoid disappointment? Gwendolyn wasn’t a stranger to the feeling. Whether it was people or herself, life had been cruel more often than not. Even so, why on earth was there a bit of dread building in her belly? Why was she looking over her shoulder, as if someone was invading her space?

Paranoia—it has to be because of the insomnia, right?

That had to be it. Gwendolyn shook off the odd feeling, literally shaking her outstretched hand. Lack of sleep, anxiety—none of it mattered. Gwendolyn was going to get this doll one way or another. With a determined breath, Gwendolyn reached for the handle of the teal door once more only to find it gone.

The door had suddenly swung inward, the cooler air of the interior hitting Gwendolyn’s flushed face. She didn’t jump so much as stare in shock, the sound of the door chime echoing in her ears. Gwendolyn lingered in the doorway, mind still trying to decipher exactly what had just occurred.

“You might as well come in…” A voice called from within, sending a shiver down Gwendolyn’s spine. “Iknowyou’re there.”

Whoever it was, they had a voice she could only describe as smoked honey.

3

Skeptical

Gwendolyn

Crossing the threshold wasn’t as difficult as Gwendolyn thought it would be.

Her determination far outweighed her apprehension of whoever was inside the antique store. Gwendolyn may have been socially awkward, perhaps even antisocial, but she knew the script of interacting as the customer. Something that was far easier than being the one serving.

The first thing Gwendolyn noted as she came to halt in the entryway was how organized everything was. Her mother had taken her to antique stores when she was a child, and Gwendolyn remembered them being cluttered and musty. China dolls piled on top one another, rickety rocking chairs shoved tightly together. It had felt claustrophobic at the time, like Gwendolyn could disappear and never be seen again.

She supposed it made sense, as Mrs. Han said the antique store was new. Gwendolyn hadn’t recalled seeingthe teal door before, and knew she would have taken notice of it immediately. She was attracted to colors, the bolder it was, the more attention she gave. It was why she avoided wearing such colors herself.

The walls were painted in the same shade of teal as the front door, a sharp contrast to the warm wooden furniture. Things were arranged much like a display at a department store, setting the scene for a lovely parlor. The fireplace being the biggest focal point in the room.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was someone’s house, not an antique store…

Her eyes were so busy taking in every craftsman glass light fixture that she didn’t notice the man in the velvet chair until their eyes met. Dark eyes, so dark Gwendolyn wasn’t certain what color they were, only that they captured her attention. They could have been black, if Gwendolyn didn’t know better. Peering up at her from beneath a parted curtain of messy bangs was a rectangular face—ahandsomeface with tan skin just shy of being warm. Her eyes flicked across prominent cheekbones, to the slight curve of his nose, to the devastating peaks of his cupid’s bow.

A mouth the shade of pinkish brown that wasn’t too far off from Gwendolyn’s own. His facial features were difficult to place—much like Gwendolyn’s own. She wouldn’t have been surprised if this man was often called the blanket term of ‘Asian’ versus a specific race. Gwendolyn could relate. It was much easier to say Filipino than a mix of Filipino, Hawaiian, and several European countries. It also made his age difficult to pin down. At best, Gwendolyn would guess perhaps late thirties like herself. Early forties, maybe, but it was always difficult to tell when Asian didn’t raisin.

Either way, he has expensive taste,Gwendolyn thought as she eyed his outfit.

The suit was as form fitting as any outfit she had hand sewn for her dolls, suggesting his attire was likely tailor made. Custom usually meant expensive, something she was familiar with, given the time it took her to make a single doll. A cane lay across the leg he had thrown over the other, giving Gwendolyn a decent view of the bottom of his glossy boot. Everything was so perfectly coordinated monochromatic in design that she nearly missed the straps of a harness across his high collared dress shirt.

He was so …visually interesting.

“Ah, there you are,” the man said, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” she questioned, both skeptical and pleased. Though Gwendolyn had no idea why she felt an inkling of the latter.

The man hummed with a nod, gesturing to the chair across from him. The cushion was an off blue, silver fabric with gold trim lining that extended to exquisite leafing along the wood. It looked expensive, and felt the same as she carefully sank into the chair. Mrs. Han hadn’t mentioned the antique store was so high end.

She also failed to mention him,she thought as she squirmed under his gaze.

Men had looked at Gwendolyn before. The unwanted attention was something she had grown accustomed to from an early age. Puberty had a major hand in that, stripping her of the comfort of an oblivious childhood. It was part of the reason Gwendolyn dressed the way she did, why she didn’t wear makeup, and why she kept her hair plain. She was never outwardly hostile, but she didn’t invite people into her space, either. Her job got the best version of her when it came to being personable.

The whorl in Gwendolyn’s belly when this man looked at her was different. A lazy stare, as if he had all the time in the world to look at her, despite being surrounded by so many beautiful things. He was attractive—Gwendolyn knew beauty when she saw it—but that rarely stirred anything within her. And it didn’t explain the conflicting suspicion that there was something off about him, though Gwendolyn couldn’t say what. He didn’t raise any of the normal red flags, the ones that were easily seen from a mile away.It was all so…

Out of place.

“Well, shall we get started?” the man asked.

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