Page 11 of Savage in the Sweets
Jesus, I am not prepared for this.
Lacy
I pullinto Gamer’s Grove, the last chance I have at finding a Xena action figure for April’s cake.
The last thing I want to be doing right now is going to a third place to find this nostalgic character, but I’d do anything for April. Even though I’m only twenty-six, it feels like I’ll never find a man worth keeping around. April is like the daughter I may never get to have.
I go into the building, perusing the aisles in search of the ’90s princess. I notice more than one awkward glance in my direction, indicating that word of my little outburst must have gotten around.
Like I care. I never fail to show up when the community needs me, and all it took was a five-minute speech from the new local jock-head for them to turn on me.
Irene called me up afterward, assuring me that my little outburst was warranted and that I have nothing to worry about. They might try new things, but there would always be a place for me there. Then she laughed, telling me it provided her with much-needed comedy relief.
I wish I could go home and crawl back in bed. Anything would be better than being out here in public, shopping like nothing happened. I really went off the deep end last night.
But I need to stop thinking about that. I’m here for April, and she wants Xena: Warrior Princess on her cake. Sure, it doesn’t go with the pink mirror glaze, and she’ll certainly not look right standing next to Cinderella or Belle, but she’ll be there.
I ask a cashier where to find Xena, and he points toward the back of the store.
Every fiber of my being wants to turn around, head back home, and bury myself under a mountain of covers, but this is for April.
You got this. You’ll be out of here in ten minutes flat.
I locate a wall of action figures, finding She-Ra, X-Men, and various K Pop figurines until I happen upon a lone Xena on the shelf.
Phew! With the night I had, the last thing I need is to disappoint April on her birthday.
But just as I’m about to grab it off the shelf, another hand beats me to it.
“Hey! I was eyeing that!” I snap.
“Yeah, and that’s all you were doing—looking,” comes a familiar voice, and it takes a good three blinks to figure out that I am staring into the steel-blue eyes of Mr. Tracksuit.
“You!”
“Hello, Miss Savage.”
Tall, broad, and devastatingly handsome, Mr. Tracksuit is a bonafide panty melter.
But I don’t want him knowing that, so I do my best to keep my eyes above his neck.
A little boy around April’s age takes the Xena figurine from his hand and says, “Thanks, Dad!”
So that’s Michael….
He’s excitedly staring at his prize, the one I so desperately need for April’s birthday party.
Maybe Mr. Tracksuit can be reasoned with. I mean, he can’t bethatbad, right?
“Is there any way you could let me take the last one? They have plenty on Amazon, and I really need this for—”
“And disappoint my son?” he says with a raised brow.
I can’t let April down….
I squat, so I’m at a level with Michael.
“Hey, if you let me have that, I’ll buy you two other figurines from the wall.” I point to the rows of action figures.
