13. Bud

The floorboards creakedas Bo Harlow shuffled the jukebox away from the wall a little, just enough to fit the trolley underneath so he could wheel it outside and pack it onto the back of his little rig. It was early the next morning. The store hadn't opened yet, Maggie hadn't even arrived, and I was busy filling buckets with water and snipping stems when Bo had come knocking on the door for the jukebox. It was still plugged in, and he was about to yank the cord from the socket in the wall when I asked him—

"So how has Bea managed without her jukebox at the bar for the past few days?"

Bo gave me a tired look as though just the thought of having to talk to me was more than he could be bothered to do. With a sigh he said, "She managed alright. Any old excuse to get up on the bar and belt out a tune or two. You know Bea, she loves a spotlight."

"So, you and Bea are kinda close, huh?"

His tired look turned to anger as he gave me daggers. "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just that, she seemed really familiar driving your little rig the other day, and here you are helping out by returning the jukebox to her." I finished off with an innocent shrug, as though I was implying nothing at all. "But hey, you and Bea, that's none of my business."

"Damn straight it ain't."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, honest I didn't. I know you and me never saw eye-to-eye in high school. Come to think of it, I don't think you saw eye-to-eye with anyone."

"Watch it."

"All's I'm saying is, I think it's kinda awesome you and Bea are friends. Everyone loves Aunt Bea. How could you not? I wish I could be as popular as her."

"What are you talking about, you dumb jerk. Everyone in Mulligan's Mill thinks you're cool." It was possibly the nicest thing Bo Harlow had ever said to me, before he added—"Beats the shit outta me why… but they do."

"They do?"

"Oh, don't give me that shit. You know they do."

"Well, there's one person who doesn't. And yet he's the one person who I want to like me more than anyone."

Bo hitched one eyebrow. "Do I sense love in the air? Is Bud Sanders horny for someone?"

"Oh! Jesus, no! Well, yes. God, did I come across that obvious?"

"Absolutely you did. And there's nothing wrong with that at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sometimes being obvious is a good thing. Sometimes being obvious gets you exactly what you want. All too often people play games… all too often people play hard to get and fuck up every chance they have while everyone's busy trying to second guess what's going on. But being obvious cuts out all the bullshit. Trust me, I know this from personal experience."

"You do?"

"A-ha. You see the trick is, you gotta just cut to the chase. If you want someone… I mean, if you want them real bad… you just gotta tell them how you feel."

"But what if you keep fucking it up? What if they won't listen?"

"If they won't listen to what you wanna say, then you gotta show 'em."

"Show 'em? Show 'em how?"

Bo simply grinned and walked up to me. I flinched when he slapped his hands onto my hips. "You gotta show 'em your moves."

I gulped. "My moves? I don't have any moves."

Bo laughed. "Everybody's got moves. You just don't know it. Trust me, if you wanna romance someone, there's only one way to do it."

He turned away from me and walked over to the door of the shop, closing it and locking it with a click. He then strode over to one of the chairs that had been used during the snark squad interrogation and dragged it into the middle of the room, nudging it against the back of my knees before standing in front of me, placing his strong hand on my chest and giving me a good shove, dropping my ass onto the seat of the chair.

He smiled again as he crossed the floor over to the jukebox, punched in a number and said, "Whenever my gal's feeling down, this one always puts her in the mood."

An eighties drumbeat kicked in, and suddenly Bo's hips began to sway in time to the Divinyls' rock song I Touch Myself.

"Oh shit," I whispered as I realized—"Bo's about to dance like a stripper."

Yep, Bo the school bully… the guy who managed to rub everyone up the wrong way… was now squatting on his haunches before my very eyes and rubbing his back up and down the side of the jukebox in time with the music.

And fuck me, did he know what he was doing!

His biceps and triceps flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his old, worn T-shirt.

His narrow waist swiveled in ways I'd never imagined.

His eyelids fluttered while one finger slid in and out of his mouth.

And as he crouched low his thick thighs strained the seams on his jeans.

I subconsciously bit my bottom lip when he bit his.

I began to tremble as he ran his fingers through his hair.

I looked away, terrified, as he pirouetted and touched a finger to his ass crack.

My gaze returned in time to see him grip the hem of his T-shirt, creeping it up his abs and over his chest, revealing his taut, muscled torso before he pulled the tee over his head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

I squirmed and placed my hands on my lap, pushing down hard to try and restrain my bulging cock.

Bo took a step toward me, then another, moving in perfect time to the song.

His hands were crisscrossing his chest and stomach now, his fingers pointing their way from his nipples to his navel before his right hand disappeared down the front of his jeans, just as Chrissy Amphlett rocked the chorus of I Touch Myself.

"Holy fucking moley!" I breathed in a quiet shudder.

Bo locked eyes on me and edged toward me.

The legs of the chair scraped on the floor as I tried to inch backward, utterly intimidated by the thrusting, throbbing beast that Bo had suddenly transformed into, until my chair started to tip backward. "Whoa!"

Bo pulled his hand out of his jeans and reached out with both arms, catching me by the knees before I fell backward.

With a forceful thrust he planted the legs of my chair firmly back on the ground.

With another thrust forward he was suddenly on my lap.

"Oh shit! Bo, I don't think—"

He shut me up by pressing a finger to my lips… then sliding it inside my mouth.

"Oh uck! Oh yit! Mm-mm-mm… muuuaahh… yuuuahh!" I mumbled around his slow-delving index finger.

I thought I might have to bite down on it to get it to retreat—before creaming my jeans all over again—but before I resorted to drawing blood, Bo swiftly pulled his finger out of my mouth and lifted himself off my lap.

The song built to a crescendo and so did Bo by spinning around with surprising agility before stopping, legs spread, with his back to me.

With one last mischievous glance over his shoulder he gave me a sly wink…

Then he gave his ass a good hard smack.

And as he wet his lips and mouthed one final ‘I touch myself', Bo brought the song to a huffing, puffing end.

I was frozen to the chair.

For a moment there was not a sound, not a single movement in the flower shop other than Bo's panting, along with the rise and fall of his muscled chest.

Suddenly—with an unexpected spurt that made me jump—the timer that Harry had installed in the fountain clicked over and all the little cupids began peeing, their water trails arcing high into the air before splashing down in the middle of the fountain.

"Oh golly," I muttered, eyes wide as I continued to stare at Bo.

Bo scrunched up his handsome face. "Golly? Is that all you got?"

"I guess I'm kinda speechless."

I could see Bo's brain ticking over. "I guess I can take that as a compliment." In a flash Bo turned from impromptu stripper back to his old bully self. "It is a compliment, right? Otherwise, I'll kick your ass."

"Yes, it's a compliment. God yes."

"Good." He plucked his T-shirt off the floor and slipped it on before unplugging the jukebox and taking his trolley firmly by the handles. "By the way, what happened just now was a favor. I was doing you a solid with that advice. But if I find out you told anyone about this, you know what happens, right?"

I nodded. "Let me guess… you'll kick my ass."

"Damn straight I will."

Before Bo could threaten to kick my ass one more time, I jumped up and opened the door for him. "Thank you for the… show. And the jukebox, of course."

"The jukebox ain't mine, it's Bea's. What she does is her own business."

I wasn't entirely convinced that was true. I had a growing suspicion that Bea and Bo were closer than either of them wanted to admit to anyone. But hey, who was I to try and figure out someone else's relationship when I couldn't even get mine sorted out.

As Bo wheeled the jukebox outside and I closed the door behind him, I still had the Divinyls' song going through my head, as well as Bo's words of advice.

A confident grin crept across my face as a new plan hatched in my head.

"If he won't listen, maybe I'll have to show him after all."

The morning flew by with more customers than ever coming and going. At first, I wondered what was causing the increased foot traffic, until I realized that I was getting the flow-on effect from Pascal's Patisserie which had opened its doors that morning.

"Those chocolate éclairs are to die for," said Mrs. Carmody as she dropped in for a bunch of marigolds.

"I don't know how he gets his pastry so light and fluffy," gushed Mrs. Schwartzman, dabbing at the powdered sugar still sitting in the corners of her mouth.

"Them fancy French folk sure know how to bake up a storm," remarked Mr. Maynard, as though he'd just found a reason to like the French.

I turned to Maggie as soon as there was a break in serving customers. "Geez, it sounds like Pascal's pastries are really winning over the people of Mulligan's Mill."

"Oh, you betcha," said Maggie as she accidentally pruned the head off a petunia. "Those little cakes of his are downright delicious."

"Wait… You've already tasted one? When?"

"Oh, I snuck out before when you weren't looking. I couldn't help myself."

"What? You mean you didn't even ask if I wanted something too?"

"I guess not. Which is a pity, 'cause you're really missing out. I had this one little cake thing that was fucking amazing. What was it called again? A creamy burly thingamajig, I think."

"You mean a crème br?lée."

"That's the one. Then the second time I went I got this frilly little fruity Pop-Tart with peaches and pears on top."

"Wait, you went twice without telling me?"

"Actually, I snuck out three times. The third time I had this swirly scrolly rolly doodinkus with custard inside that was so darn good I may have peed my pants a little."

"Maggie, you can't keep disappearing on the job and leaving me to serve customers all by myself."

"But you're so good at it."

"That's not the point."

"Oh, I get it. You're jealous that I went to see your future boyfriend without you."

"No, I'm not."

"Well lucky for you, you got a friend like me looking after your best interests."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, while I was ordering the rolly doodinkus, I seized the day and asked Monsieur Fondue what he thinks of you."

I gasped in horror. "You didn't!"

Maggie stuck her tongue in her cheek, overly proud of her efforts. "A-ha. I sure did."

"And what did he say?"

Her self-assuredness waned quickly. "Nothing good, if I'm honest. Actually, you don't wanna know."

"Maggie, what did he say?"

"Something about you being weird. And a pervert. And did you ejaculate in your jeans? He said you ejaculated in your jeans. Geez, Bud… there's a time and place. No wonder he thinks you're a whack-job."

"Oh God, he called me a whack-job too?"

"Mmmm, no, that might have been my word. But you get the picture." Maggie put a hand on my shoulder like she was about to give me a heart-to-heart. "Bud… buddy… I think it's time you faced up to the cold, hard truth that this guy isn't the one. He's just not that into you. I know it's a kick in the balls, but how many times can you take a boot to the nuts before you either give up or your testicles turn into the squishy stuff you scoop out of a pumpkin at Halloween? Maybe it's time to let it go."

Defiantly I shook my head. "No, Maggie. I can't. Every time Pascal pops into my head, I can't get him out. He's the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, he's the last thing I think about when I go to sleep… even then, he's there in my dreams."

"It's romantic, I know. He makes your heart sing. He makes your stomach tingle. He makes you ejaculate in your jeans. But the real question is, do you make him ejaculate in his jeans too?"

The question made my head spin. "I don't know. All I know is, I need to give this one more shot, otherwise I think I really will turn into a whack-job. I'll go crazy if I can't have him." Quickly I untied my florist's apron and handed it to her. "Hold the fort, Maggie. There's something I need to do."

"You're leaving me to look after the shop on my own again? Wait, are you going to get one of his Pop-Tarts? Because if you are, can you get one for me too? Or maybe two. Or three."

"I'm not going over to Pascal's. I can't face him, at least not yet. There's something I need to do first."

As I hurried out the door, I heard Maggie call after me, "But I still don't know how the cash register works!"

It didn't matter.

All that mattered in that moment was my last-ditch effort to win Pascal's heart.

It was going to take some guts.

It was going to take some of Bo's hottest moves.

And it was going to take a hat.

"Well, hello handsome." The blonde woman behind the front desk smiled like a Cheshire cat. As soon as I stepped inside Benji's BnB, she stopped leaning on the check-in desk and pulled the sleeves of her tie-dyed blouse off her shoulders. "Welcome to Benji's BnB. Are you checking in alone? I can fix that."

She gave a flirty laugh that completely disarmed me, leaving me with one question—"Where's Benji?"

"He's upstairs re-wallpapering one of the rooms. I'm just minding the check-in desk for the day. My name's Connie, I'm his cousin. May I help you? Oh please let me help you. You're giving off a lot of negative energy. I sense confusion, I sense insecurity, I sense an immense amount of self-doubt. There are so many dark spots swirling around your aura, it's like a galaxy of black holes sucking the life right out of you." She wasn't wrong. "Come here immediately and let me hug you."

"I'm fine," I lied.

"You're not."

"I'm just gonna go upstairs and find Benji."

"Oh wait, I know you! You're the guy who just opened up the flower shop, right? Bud's Boobs."

"Bud's Blooms."

Connie smiled gently. "Boobs. Blooms. The Universe thinks they're all beautiful. You still want that hug?"

"I never wanted a hug in the first place."

"Yes you did. You just didn't know it."

At that moment I heard Benji's footsteps on the stairs. "Connie? Is that someone wanting to check-in?" He sounded excited.

"I don't think so," Connie called back. "It's just Bud. The guy from Bud's Boobs."

"Blooms," I corrected.

"Namaste," Connie smiled.

Benji came down the stairs. "Bud? Hey, what's up? Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine."

"He says that," Connie chimed in. "But his chakras are as backed up as the New Jersey turnpike on Thanksgiving week. Are you constipated?" she asked me bluntly. "I bet you're constipated. You could do with some crystals under your bed."

"Connie, Bud doesn't need crystals." Benji turned to me and added, "I'm assuming you didn't come here for crystals, right?"

"Right. I came for a hat."

"That's kinda… random," Benji said. "Most people come for a room."

"I know, but I kinda thought that Meredith Bixby might have left some hats in this place when she died. I mean, being a hat-maker and all…"

"Come to mention it, she did. In fact, I've got a whole storage room full of them downstairs. Wanna come see?"

"Absolutely!" Connie exclaimed, beating me to a response.

Together, the three of us headed down into the basement of the old Bixby house, past a bunch of creepy ghost-like items of furniture draped in white sheets, until we arrived at a door that Benji unlocked with one of the keys clattering and clinking on a large old metal ring.

He flicked on the light to the storage room, and Connie and I both jumped at the sight of what looked like a bunch of people standing in the room staring back at us… only to sigh with relief at the realization that they were all mannequins, each with a hat perched on their head.

"Welcome to the last of Meredith Bixby's millinery collection," said Benji. "Beautifully adorned hats for women, stylish hats for men, and a surprising amount of bonnets for children. Not exactly her best-selling line, but let's not forget that Meredith was ninety-six when she died."

"Which I think is the same age as this hat." Connie blew the dust off a wide-brimmed straw hat with a bow on the side, then tried it on. "What do you think, Bud? Is this the kind of thing you're looking for? What's the occasion, anyway?"

"Um… well… I kinda wanna impress someone."

"Who?" Benji and Connie both said at the same time.

"Nobody. It's nothing. And I'm not really sure what kind of hat I'm looking for. I guess I'll just know it when I see it."

Just then, my eyes spotted exactly what I was after on a high shelf at the back of the storage room. "There. What's that one called?"

"I think that's a trilby," said Benji. "You want me to get it down for you?"

Benji was already weaving his way through the mannequins.

"Let me help, cuz," Connie offered, following close behind him. Like, real close.

At one stage Benji flinched. "Connie! Do you mind?"

"What? That wasn't me, it was one of the mannequins."

I watched as Benji unfolded a step ladder and took three steps up.

I watched as Connie grabbed a handful of Benji's ass as she helped hoist her cousin up the ladder.

"Connie!"

"What? I'm just making sure you don't fall."

Benji grabbed the trilby off the shelf and eased his way down the ladder, with Connie's hands to guide the way.

"Easy, cuz. Watch your step. Take your time."

"I think I know how to climb down a step ladder, Connie."

At that moment, we heard the plod and shuffle of footsteps on the floorboards upstairs, followed by a woman's voice calling, "Benji? Benji, dear, are you here? Connie? Where are you? Oh God, please don't tell me you're being held hostage somewhere in the house! Knock three times on the nearest pipe if you need us to call the police."

Benji let out a defeated sigh. "Oh joy. Guess who's here."

"Benji?" came a man's voice from above. "Connie? Where are you two kids hiding?"

"Are those your parents?" I asked. "I haven't seen them in years."

"I wish I could say the same. Unfortunately, they grace me with their presence practically every day."

"That's because they love you," Connie said with a wag of her finger before calling up to the floorboards above, "Aunt Lonnie… Uncle Ronnie… we're down here in the basement."

The stairs withstood a battering as Benji's parents, Lonnie and Ronnie, came clambering down, still calling at the top of their lungs, "Benji? Connie? Are you down here? What on earth are you doing down here?"

Benji maneuvered his way past his cousin and the mannequins, handed me the trilby, and stuck his head out the storage room door. "Mom, Dad, we're in here."

Soon, Lonnie and Ronnie joined us, reacting exactly as Connie and I did when they saw the mannequins.

"Jeepers, Benji! It looks like a goddamn zombie movie in here."

"Dad, it's just a storage room."

"Holy smokes!" exclaimed Lonnie. "Who are all these people?"

"Mom, they're not real."

"That one is," she pointed at me.

I waved at Benji's Mom. "Hiya, Mrs. Larson."

"Bud? Is that you? Oh it's so nice to see you, dear. Are you living down here now? There are some much nicer rooms upstairs, you know."

"Mom, he's not living here."

"Good, because I don't think it's safe. You could get attacked by anything down here and nobody would hear you scream."

"Mom, it's just a storage room. It's perfectly safe."

"Then why is that woman being attacked by a raccoon?"

"Mom, that's a hat. And it's not a woman, it's a mannequin. A mannequin wearing a hat. That's why we're down here. We're looking for a hat for Bud…"

"But I think we found just the one," I said, putting the trilby on my head and running my finger along the brim. It fit like a glove.

"Oh, that looks lovely on you dear," said Lonnie. "What's the occasion?"

"He wants to impress someone," answered Connie with a sly wink.

Lonnie drew an excited breath. "Oh, Bud! Is true love knocking on the door? How exciting! You know, our Benji here found true love once, but then Bastian left him and poor Benji has been pining over him ever since."

"Mom!"

"But we're not allowed to mention Bastian's name because Benji only gets even more upset."

"Mom, can we please not do this right now!"

"Of course, dear. Just pretend I never even said Bastian's name. Besides, I want to hear all about Bud's budding romance. So, tell us, Bud… what's her name?"

I cleared my throat, uncertain whether to fess up to the truth. But then again, half the town already knew about it so what the hell. "Actually, it's a him."

"Groovy!" said Connie.

"Well good for you," said Ronnie.

"Oh heavens, how wonderful," said Lonnie. "You know, Benji was such a lonely little boy growing up. We thought he'd always be the odd one out. Now look at Mulligan's Mill. Queers everywhere!"

"So, who's the lucky fella?" asked Ronnie.

"You won't know him. He's new in town."

Lonnie gasped again. "It's not that handsome French pastry chef Pascal, is it?"

"So, you do know him."

"Oh, he's a dreamboat! We went to visit his new café first thing this morning and my word, it did not disappoint. The moment we walked in—with the smell of warm pastries fresh out of the oven and the sound of Edith Piaf playing in the background—why, it was like strolling through the streets of Paris. Not that we've ever been, but Ronnie has always promised that he'll take me one day, isn't that right, dear?"

"That's right, dear."

"And his food. The mouth-watering macarons, the delicate flaky croissants, the lemon tarts that melt in your mouth… the man is a true artiste."

I felt a pang of rejection that they hadn't visited my flower shop, yet they'd made a special trip to Pascal's. I couldn't help but ask, "Did you happen to check out Bud's Blooms too?"

"Oh, yes, of course we did, dear. We've been meaning to come visit your quaint little flower shop for the last few days, we were just waiting for Pascal's Patisserie to open up first. As soon as Pascal had finished tantalizing our tastebuds, we popped straight into your shop. We must have just missed you, but Maggie was happy to serve us. It really is a lovely florist store, dear. Although just between you, me and the mannequins, I do think a hundred dollars for a bunch of carnations is a little on the high side."

"Oh God, I'm sorry about that. Maggie's not so good with the register." I glanced at my watch. "Speaking of which, I'd better get back there before she overprices every last posey in the store." I turned to Benji and asked, "Do you mind if I borrow the hat?"

Benji smiled. "If it's to win the heart of the man you love, be my guest. Keep it. It looks better on you than it does sitting on a shelf in the dark."

I beamed with gratitude. "I'll bring flowers. A big bouquet for the front desk. Who knows… maybe they'll bring some love back to this house."

Lonnie and Ronnie both gave a romantic sigh and said in unison, "We can only hope."