A couple of weeks ago I’d made the mistake of calling him Jay when he was acting, let’s say territorial. Oh, he got pissedoff. Me too. There’s nothing I hate more than people giving me a headache for no reason. The make-up sex had been great though.
“That was Nella,” I explain, shoving my cold hands into my pockets. “She works at my sister’s office. Cheryl owns a couple of coffeeshops in this area, not the kind that serve flat whites. Some of these buildings are hers. She and Finn run the business.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “And what’s Sacs?”
It takes him a couple of seconds to realize what he’s actually said. God, this never gets old. Messing with him is free entertainment.
“Idiot,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You said sex to Nella, didn’t you?”
“Oh, that…”
He shoves me, and I stumble dramatically back into the canal railing.
“Careful, Doctor.” I brush off my coat. “That’s attempted manslaughter.”
His fingers flex, reaching for me and then stopping himself. He looks over my shoulder to somewhere in the distance that isn't a canal, isn't Amsterdam.
I wait, taking his hand. I offer him a little smile because that's what I do when he gets like this. The last month of learning each other taught me this happens sometimes.
A couple of blinks, and he’s back.
“I said we’re going to SACS. S-A-C-S. My store.”
His eyes grow big. “Your store? You own a business?”
“Co-founder. I handle the creative part, Jay and his friend Eddy handle the business side.”
“SACS stands forSpice: Amsterdam Candy Shop.” I nod toward the storefront. “There it is.”
The bell above the door jingles as we walk in, the familiar scent of the licorice house perfume hitting my nostrils.
Sweet, herbal, and a little old-fashioned—it all adds up to the aesthetic of SACS.
I let Yosh go in first. I want to see his face when he realizes this isn’t your typical small town sweet shop.
I could’ve mentioned this little part of my empire weeks ago, but where’s the fun in that? Finding out your boyfriend owns a sex shop in Amsterdam works better as a surprise.
His eyes find the candy jars on the wooden shelves. I watch him realize there’s no sweets sold in this store. At least, not the kind that is made out of sugar.
Condoms in all sizes are packed in twisted candy wrappers; mint green, butter yellow, hot pink, strawberry, mango, orange, ridges, knobs, smooth, take your pick.
“Tom…” he can’t bite back a chuckle. “It’s so…”
“Innocent?” I say, sliding past him. “That’s the point.”
The plastic cones hanging from hooks grab his attention. Our pre-selected candy bags. They’re packed with silk ribbons, lace lingerie, condoms, and sachets of lube.
The twitch of his mouth is killing me. He's not giving me anything.
No raised brow. No comment.
So I’m left guessing. I hate guessing.
My fingertips glide over the antique counter. The old wood has been freshly polished to preserve it. Everything in this shop is antique, after all. Everything except the merchandise.
Sitting on top of the counter is a glass display with the more exclusive items I hand picked; a diamond-tipped clit stimulator, a crystal egg, silk blindfolds, a whip with an eighteen karat gold heart-shaped tipped handle.
Sexy and a little extra, everything I can’t resist.
