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I close the laptop.
“That went well.”
49
PETAL
“I’ll beright with you, sir.”
I smile at the older gentleman who just entered the store, and hand a bag of shiny new romance novels to another happy customer.
I love the days when the shop is busy. Makes me feel like I’m making the world a better place, one romance novel at a time.
“Can I help you find something, sir?” I ask.
I look up at a very tall man with a shock of grey-white hair, beard stubble on his face, and a belly straining the lower buttons of his shirt.
He looks around uncomfortably, like the shop is full of naked vaginas, and they’re all closing in on him.
I get it. Men feel funny coming into what they think is a ‘woman’s space’. Same as in Victoria’s Secret. A dude might come in for a gift or Valentine’s surprise, but half of them look like they can’t wait to make their purchase and get the hell out, as if all the bras and panties are going to reach out and bite them.
“I bet you’re looking for a gift for someone. Or something for yourself.”
Always be inclusive, right?
He looks me over to the point where I’m tempted to tell him that no,I’mnot for sale, but I bite my tongue. For a change.
He clears his throat. “I am not here to buy any books.”
“Really? Just taking a look around then?” I ask.
He nods. “You could say that. I’m Don Hanson.”
Oh crap. Is this another reporter guy? They don’t usually come in the store out of respect for the business.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Rake Hanson’s father.”
“Oh! No way! Oh my gosh, so nice to meet you. Petal Parker,” I say, extending my hand.
He looks at it first as if deciding whether or not it might be dirty, and returns my shake.
“What brings you up to Sonoma? Rake didn’t say anything about you coming to California to visit.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” he says.
“Oh. I see. This is a surprise then,” I say. Not sure how Rake is with surprises but I guess I’ll find out. “How long are you around for? Can Rake and I have you over to dinner? Or, we could go out, if you like. San Francisco has tons of great restaurants?—”
“Miss Parker, I’m here to talk to you about Rake. This is not a social call.”
My stomach drops. “Oh no. Is something wrong? Are you sick? Is Rake sick?”
“I want you to stay away from my son,” he says simply, like he’s asking someone to please pass the salt.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
I’m sure I heard that wrong.
