“Heya, boss! Got the mail for ya.” Britt, my employee who works the storefront in the afternoons until we close shop, walks over to me. Right away I spot them sitting in her hand.
“Gimme!” My hands reach out like a five-year-old reaching for his toy, grabbing at the stack of papers in her hand while my eyes see stars. Most people groan and moan when the mail comes, but my mail is like a rainbow-filled treasure chest that I get to dig for.
“How about a kiss first?” Britt leans over with puckered lips and instead of planting a wet one on her, I drop a few red and white Valentines Hershey’s Kisses into her hand. It’s only two days after the new year and they’re already breaking out the love and roses and chocolates all over the city. She blows a kiss at me, and as she stands back up, my eyes remain on her chest.
“My eyes are up here,” she purrs in amusement, setting the mail on the table. “Unless you want a look?”
“Sugar, is that even a question? Take it off.” I look up, and she’s got a wicked little grin on her face as she unbuttons her shirt. Soon, she’s standing before me in her Catholic school-girl uniform, white socks to her knees, a blue plaid skirt that shows her ass when she bends over, pigtails in her hair, black-rimmed glasses over her eyes, and hands resting on her hips, so her opened top doesn’t move. All that’s missing is the lollipop.
“Damn, sugar, you look fabulous.”
“You don’t think it’s too much?” She looks down the same time I shake my head.
“No. How long did you have to sit?”
“Only two and a half hours this time. But it’s done!”
The fire-breathing head of the dragon tattoo sits just above her chest, the tip of the fire barely licking the dip below her throat. The neck cleverly falls between her breasts, and sweeps around her ribcage. The body of the dragon takes up most of her back while the tail wraps around the other side and disappearing into her belly button.
This is the only time I’ll ever ask a woman to take her clothes off for me. I don’t want what they offer, and that thing between their legs scares me – proof in the horrible squeal I once gave when coming face to face with one in my street days.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to your crack. Happy mailing.” Britt buttons up her shirt and walks away, leaving me to my mail.
I toss all the crap in the trash and the bills on the table, so all that’s left are the two envelopes in my hand.
The first, a white envelope with a silver and gold glitter border – for my own princess benefit no doubt – shines like a beacon. Even my name is written with some sort of special black calligraphy pen with specks of glitter catching my eye. But that’s not what makes me smile. It’s the name itself – Mr. Anthony Brock Cunningham, Matchmaker.
I roll my eyes, but as soon as I open the envelope, I feel a full-blown grin grace my face. Elliot Booker and Sasha Peters. I introduced the two at a barbeque at my Fourth of July celebration. By Halloween, they were living together and engaged by Christmas. Barely a week later and I’m already getting a Save-the-Date for this coming April.
I turn around and pin it to the cork board behind me. A board filled with people I’ve set up – their wedding announcements, birth announcements, commitment ceremonies – and something inside me lights up. The happy faces of the pictures staring back at me are the only satisfaction I need in this little business of mine.
I flip around and open the blue envelope and yet another grin. My old friend Gunnar and his husband Mark adopted another little boy.
I let out a sigh as I put the latest pictures on my board. I can’t be happier for my friends. What started out as me hooking up a couple of friends quickly turned into a side job – a free one, because who the hell charges for love? – and escalated into something so much more. I’m almost twenty-nine, and in the last five years, I’ve seen more than thirty couples married, having kids, and happy.
I have a knack for these things, and it’s not like I set out to do this or anything. I just know people. I can see into their hearts, into their minds, and into their souls. Hey, maybe that’ll be my new slogan or something.
And who knows, maybe I’ll eventually find my one and only. For now, I’m happy doing that for my friends. I’m not ready to go looking for the big L with anyone. Maybe when I’m thirty.
“Trust me, sugar. This thing will diddle her skittle in all the right ways when you’re away on business.” I hand the man his bag with a wink and suppress the grin at the shocked look on his face. “Don’t worry, darlin’, she’ll be begging to crawl into your lap when you get home.”
I watch the man walk outside of my shop, relieved but satisfied.
“That’s it, Anthony. It’s eleven, and that was our last customer. I’m closing the doors.”
“Thank God. I love this job, and the whole month before Valentine’s day practically puts me in the black for the entire year, but I’m beat.” I stifle a yawn as Britt turns the lock and flips the sign to close.
“Oh, please! You’re the highest grossing franchise in the city. You’ve not been in the red since that first year. If you had it your way, Forbidden Apple would be open twenty-four hours during the Valentine’s season, and even longer than that if you could get those hapless corporate men to say yes. I thank the franchising God’s that that isn’t the case.”
I let out a low chuckle while closing out the cash register. “Uh huh, miss I-like-to-test-the-product. Go stock up really quickly, and I’ll let you leave early. I saw that little goodie bag under the counter earlier. Don’t think I don’t know what your plans for tonight are.”
I carry the register to my office, and for the next ten minutes, I lose myself in the end-of-night ritual I’ve come to love. I like owning my own shop. I like the customers and my employees and the long days. I almost don’t hear my phone ring, but it brings me out of my concentration.
“Yeah?” I put the phone between my shoulders and my ear but continue to record the numbers.
“Buddy. I have a new job for you.” Eyes closed, I bow my head until I groan into my chest. I need to start screening my phone calls.
“Gunnar, it’s almost midnight.”
“Midnight feeding, can’t help it. But seriously, I have a coworker who needs your magical touch. But there’s a catch.”
My head perks up, and I sit a little straighter. “Oh, spill, mon ami de longue date!”
“Lordy help us all, he’s back to the French,” he mumbles in my ear. A smug smile graces my face. It never went away.
“So, this guy, his name is Oliver Stark. He works in our IT department,” he say with an air of mystery laced in his voice. It catches my attention and I bite.
“What’s so unusual about that?” I toss the cash into the drop envelope and rubber band it shut.
“Well, he’s not your typical guy. He’s a bit of a loner, shy, geeky, and little on the chub side but it works for him. Actually, he’s kind of adorable. Lost a bet and now he’s got to find a date.”
“Lemme guess, Valentine’s?” I roll my eyes. Everyone is hoping for a v-day date this year. Who wants to be left alone on the most romantic night of the year? I don’t mind it but my ringing phone is going to cause me to lose my mind and drive me to drink.
“Well…I was thinking that’s too cliché. Maybe too soon for a date with The One. I was thinking Steak and BJ?”
“My, my, don’t we all want one of those?”
“Well, he’s more of a pi guy. Same day, just a whole other concept,” he chuckles, muffling out the fussy sounds of a baby.
“Well, send him my way tomorrow. Let’s see if the Cunningham Cupid can leave its mark on another willing victim,” I snicker into the phone.
“Dude, no one calls you that but you.” I hear a piercing cry before I can answer and I hold the phone away from my ear for a second. “Lord help me, this one is a wailer. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Be nice to him, Anthony. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Later.” I toss the phone on the table and finish my counts.
Another person in need and the Cunningham Cupid will be there to hit him straight in his ass with my arrow.
Again, I sigh.
Gunnar was right. That name blows.