Tastes like Cupcakes

TASTES LIKE CUPCAKES

"Gladys, if you keep this up, you'll have more comics than me."

My nose twitched as I lifted the white lid on the second box of comics. She stood on the other side of the table, her eyes twice the normal size thanks to her coke-bottle glasses. I threw an arm up as I sneezed.

"Do you think they'll sell?"

The box held almost two hundred comics, each one with a cardboard back and tightly sealed in plastic. They were dusty, but every issue had been treated with love. As I thumbed through the selection, I let out a low whistle. Twice-Told Tales might give me a run for my money at this rate.

"Some of these might be worth real money."

Gladys let out a victory cheer. "You know Ricky's dad? He moved into an assisted-living facility. I just happened to stop by the yard sale and spotted these. He said they belonged to his brother. What's his name? Darrel? Darren?"

Gladys knew the name of every person in town and their lineage. There was no ‘just happened to' with Gladys. If there was a yard sale within an hour's drive, it pinged her radar. The entirety of her store were treasures— mostly treasures—she found and restored. Nearly all the furniture in her inventory had been made from lumber that used to pass through our mills.

"Bring whatever you want to the convention, but I think these will be a big hit. If you want, I can help you price them. There might be some you want to send off to auction."

She swatted at the idea. "Money is great, but I can't wait to see happy customers." Gladys loved her store. She didn't need the money. She was a modern treasure hunter and loved the thrill of the find. When her time came, I'm sure she'd be cremated in an urn from the China hutch in the back.

"Oh!" An excited Gladys made me giggle. "I have something else that might interest you."

She waved for me to follow. I passed an antique table with ornate chairs before crossing into the section of her store filled with old steamer trunks. In the middle of old lamps with stained glass shades, she had a quilt laid out. Gladys also served as the vice president of the local quilting group.

"My grandson is excited about the convention. He's growing like a weed. His dad gave me his old t-shirts. I thought this would be perfect for the raffle."

Gladys had stitched together the shirts, each one with a different logo for a prominent superhero. In the middle, she had created a shield with a giant P. It took me a moment to realize it was Prime's logo. Wrong, shield, but I didn't have the heart to tell her. It'd be perfect for the raffle.

"You've outdone yourself." The imperfections made her efforts noteworthy. They might not win superhero trivia night, but the town had quickly embraced the idea of a comic convention. Times like these, I couldn't fathom leaving. The city might offer more amenities, but it'd never have the heart of Firefly.

"Alright, I'm heading to the market. You call if you need anything."

Her head didn't reach my chin as she gave me a hug. "I remember you in diapers. I'm so happy to see you helping keep Firefly alive."

We parted ways, and I headed next door to the market for my last stop. In the middle of the day, I expected Bonny to be the only person in the store. The inside smelled like freshly peeled oranges. It wasn't much bigger than a corner market, but it saved locals the hassle of driving two towns over to the big grocery store.

"Morning, cupcake."

I wish the nickname was a term of endearment. Bonny didn't bother looking up as she applied a fresh layer of nail polish. Every time she said that word, I was reminded of the chocolate stain on the front of my shorts. A first-grade accident had followed me for decades. She smiled when I looked down to check my jeans.

"Thanks, matchstick."

If she thought I forgot the time Carl accidentally set her hair on fire in study hall, she had another thing coming. I'm not saying it was her fault, but I don't think she ever used hairspray again. There were no secrets in a small town, and every event was burned into our memories. Pun intended.

"Is Carl ready for the convention?" Yes, that Carl. "I still can't believe he'll have enough sculptures."

I leaned on the counter while Bonny finished applying her nail polish. "He's been in the barn all week. That damned chainsaw has been going non-stop."

Other comic cons had hand-crafted action figures and clay sculptures. Firefly Con? We had a chainsaw artist creating life-sized superheroes from logs. Bonny's husband came from a family of lumberjacks. Unlike his father, Carl used his skill to craft ornate statues for the residents' gardens. On my porch, I had two small bears standing on their hind legs.

"I'll help him torch them when he's done."

I couldn't suppress the giggle. The thought of Bonny wielding a torch was almost as comical as the poof of smoke that hung over her head in study hall. She connected the dots and gave me a disgruntled sneer. We weren't friends, but everybody in Firefly had a rhythm. There wasn't enough space to have enemies.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a customer perusing the wall of produce. I couldn't fathom who would buy vegetables here when the farmers' market started in an hour.

"Simon?"

I gave Bonny a wave as I wandered past the bread and pasta. He hovered in front of the zucchini, and I prepared for a lewd comment. My shoe slipped in a puddle from the vegetable mister. I slid and knocked into Simon's back.

He spun about, catching me by the elbow. I was going to have nothing but awkward encounters with this man. He helped me to my feet and raised an eyebrow. Under his gaze, my face turned red, and not from bumping into his backside.

"Hey," I said. I looked down at his other hand, a firm grip on the zucchini. "Nice produce you've got there."

He dropped it in his basket. Did I see another blush? I would never tire of his bashfulness. "I wanted to say thanks."

"For?"

"Last night, Lucas came to me and asked if we could read a story."

The thought of him flipping through the pages of a comic warmed my heart. It sounded like Lucas wasn't much different from me at that age. If comics got him reading, then I'd consider it a victory.

I put my hands on my hips and struck a pose. "Making readers one comic at a time."

He patted me on the chest. "You're my hero." Did his hand linger? It was probably wishful thinking .

"Bring him by Legends. Get him hooked on comics, and he'll never have money for drugs."

Simon laughed. The daddy bear had a certain appeal on his own. Knowing that he had a kid and how hard he tried to be a good dad? That only made him sexier. As much as I wanted to throw myself at him, I saw the potential for a friendship. I could live with our encounter being a one-time thing. But… friends with benefits? No, no, that'd just make things complicated.

"Do I have your consent to touch your zucchini?"

Before he responded, I reached into the basket, removed his produce, and put it back on the shelf. Any other day of the week, the market would be fine. Having tasted his food, fine didn't strike me as good enough.

"I'm going to introduce you to the farmers' market."

"Firefly has a farmers' market?" He sounded surprised. Did he not understand that half the town worked on a dairy farm or had livestock?

"Let me introduce you to the fun of small-town living."

"I'm not sure how much more fun I can handle."

He winked. Right? He definitely winked. This wasn't me dreaming anymore. I'd spend the rest of the day guessing and picking apart every detail. Not knowing… it gave me butterflies.

I took his basket and gave him a push toward the front. Bonny had already returned to applying more nail polish and didn't raise an eye as we passed.

"Bye, cupcake."

"What— "

I continued pushing. "Don't ask."

I always wandered through the farmers' market. The green between our stores had been filled with white tents and bright blue canopies. It normally took me twenty minutes to bounce from vendor to vendor. I'd grab a little of this or that, just to support the farmers. Simon, however, needed to touch and smell every ingredient.

"What's his story?"

For the last hour, every time he made a purchase, I'd give him a quick story about the owner. "Jones? I don't have any facts about him."

"I find that hard to believe."

"This one time, Dad took me to Jones' potato field. He said we were looking for potatoes he missed. What I didn't know, Dad had forgotten to buy them at the store. When Mom asked, we went on a mission to find potatoes in the wild. I'm officially a potato thief."

Simon chuckled. "When you said farmers' market?—"

"You thought we were a bunch of hipsters selling our boutique soaps?"

He nodded. "I didn't expect real farmers."

"Don't worry, Ms. Spencer has boutique soaps, too. She has bees and makes them with real honey. I learned the hard way when I kicked my soccer ball in her backyard."

Simon rested a hand on the middle of my back, guiding me along. I'd have let him usher me anywhere he wanted. I tried willing his hand lower. Not obscene, but close enough to my ass it'd be questionable. By the time we reached the water fountain, I hadn't gotten my wish.

We took a seat on a park bench, close enough to hear the trickling water. The fountain was only a few inches taller than me, but it added to the ambiance. It sat on one end while the gazebo occupied the other. During my lunch breaks, it made for a pleasant stroll when I needed to stretch my legs.

"How are you adjusting to the small-town life?"

Simon set all four grocery bags next to the bench before leaning back and relaxing. "I'm loving it. There's something refreshing about knowing my neighbors' names."

"Give it a few weeks. You'll know more than their names."

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

I turned on the bench to face him. "I know you live in Vinny's old house."

His eyes widened.

"You put your trash can on the right side of your driveway. Which, for whatever reason, is the wrong side."

His jaw dropped.

"You should get curtains for your bedroom. Unless you want to keep putting on a show for Mrs. Hawthorne."

"I… I… I don't know what to say. Are people really talking?"

I gave him a pat on the leg. Two seconds, no more, even though I wanted to let it linger. "You're new in town. A big city chef coming to our town? I'm surprised the gazette hasn't asked for an interview."

"Too late."

I gestured to him. "See! Don't worry. Eventually, there will be a scandal, and they'll all move on."

"Scandal? In Firefly?"

"Somebody will be five cents short at the grocery store. Jaywalking comes up a lot. Let's not mention how we all know Patricia is having an affair with the milkman." It made me wonder how long before somebody in town mentioned my mom and Gerald.

"Front page news, I see."

"Explain it to me. Why here? You lived in Boston. It must have been way more exciting than Firefly?"

He mulled over the question. "Exciting isn't the word I'd use. Overwhelming, maybe. The restaurant I worked at was doing well. It just…" He trailed off. He fiddled with the bottom of his t-shirt as his mind wandered. "During the divorce, it became too much. I worked too many hours to afford our house. I didn't see Lucas enough, and Lucy…"

He paused at the mention of his ex-wife's name. It was my turn to rest a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to tell me."

He snorted. "Might as well. I'm sure you'll hear it from Mrs. Hawthorne."

"So true."

"It's all about the slower pace of life. I don't want to be the chef with a kid. I want to be the dad who is a chef. Hopefully, Firefly will give me a chance to get my priorities in order."

I imagined being able to go into stores without an hour's drive each way. Most of my life had been spent within the town's borders. I had to love the town. The city, however, had luxuries we'd never have.

"You had museums."

"Crime."

"Botanical gardens."

"Overcrowding."

"Breweries."

"Expensive houses."

"Malls."

"Ugh. Malls."

We both laughed. It seemed like the very things I considered exciting; he tried to escape. It made me stop and try visualizing Firefly through his eyes. Had I taken it for granted? Maybe, but I wouldn't be thinking that as I drove an hour to pick up my favorite cereal.

"What about Lucas? Is he enjoying it?"

"He enjoys seeing his dad more." Me too. "He's not great at making friends. He's not used to seeing the same kids all day at school. It'll take him a while, I think."

"Bring him by the shop. There are kids playing card games in the back. I can introduce him. They're the geeks of Firefly. If he's willing to play Monsters and Mayhem, they'll love him."

He rested a hand on my leg, giving it a squeeze. "I appreciate it." I hadn't given it much thought, but paternal instinct quickly moved up my list of sexy traits.

Now, about that ex-wife? I wanted to ask, but I didn't want to ruin the moment. What happened to their marriage that she didn't come with him? Had she caught him cheating… with a man? The theories came in rapid succession as he gave my leg another pat.

"What do folks do for fun around here?"

"Kid or adult?"

"Both?"

"For kids? The quarry. Playing in the woods. Driving in circles wasting gas? That's about it."

"Careful, you're really selling Firefly. What about adults?"

"Quarry. Woods. Wasting gas."

He shook his head.

"Well, there is one other thing. Every few weeks, a bunch of us go to Spectrum."

He raised an eyebrow. Could we skip talking? I wanted to grab the sides of his face and kiss him. Let the whole town see. I didn't care what rumors spread. I wanted to feel that beard against my face again.

"Every Thursday Spectrum has…" I hadn't been this nervous since I came out of the closet. "Gay Night. It's cheap beer and dancing."

He gave a slight nod. I couldn't tell if he was interested or repulsed by the idea. I wouldn't play a game of poker against Simon, not with his flat expression.

"No pressure. It's a fun time. Get a few beers in Mrs. Hawthorne and she will break out some impressive dance moves."

"Sounds like a good time." It wasn't a confirmation. "Let me get back to you."

He reached down and snatched up his bags. I wanted to grab his hand and pull him back. Even if we weren't naked and sweaty, I genuinely enjoyed his company. I hopped to my feet, shoving my hands in my pockets to prevent touching his chest.

"I'm off to manhandle my zucchini."

This time, it was impossible to miss the wink.