Page 23 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Sheila is here. Sheila is here, and I’m holding a dildo…

* * *

Sheila suggested Dock of the Bay. She knew from our texts that it was my favourite place for a morning tea. But after the shock of handling a second-hand sex toy, I thought an hour’s break and a strong brew might be called for. In many ways The Dildo Incident, as it shall forever be known, can be afforded a lot of credit for getting Sheila and I to sit across the table from one another for the first time. After she’d finished giggling, and I’d finished berating Michel for the unsanitary behaviours, I was so dumbstruck that I likely would have agreed to anything – anything to get me out of the shop and away from the box that Michel insisted on leaving behind. Sheila held the door open for me as we left, she caught my elbow to guide me when other pedestrians were close by, she insisted on my taking a table in the sun while she got the drinks. Everything about the woman was so… familiar. Apart from the sanatorium for butterflies that had unfolded in my stomach; each one fluttering and banging at the walls, twitching their antenna with an excitement I hadn’t felt since Ruby Rose joined the Orange is the New Black cast, reminding me that this was our first impression.

‘I know you don’t take sugar,’ she said as she set a squat bowl of sugar cubes on the table, ‘but I thought I’d bring some just in case, as you’ve had a shock.’ After that there came a polka dot teapot, complete with matching cups and saucers, and another girlish giggle from Sheila that caused my nerves to flare like embers that had been blown at. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t know.’

‘I can’t believe you did!’ I leaned forward and grabbed a sugar cube to throw into my mouth. It was a terrible habit but Sheila was right; I’d had a shock, two-fold, if you counted meeting her for the first time. ‘Why did you know?’ I raised an eyebrow in a way that I hoped was flirtatious rather than accusatory, but honestly– When was the last time I even needed to be flirtatious?

‘I saw one in the sex museum when I was in Amsterdam.’

She made it sound like the most natural thing in the world…

‘Say when.’ She poured my tea first. Even that warmed me.

‘When.’

‘There you go.’ Sheila nudged the cup and saucer towards me. ‘You have quite a nice little shop on your hands there, I meant to say.’

I smiled. ‘It’s grown into something over the years, that’s for certain.’ I pulled my tea closer, thankful for having something to do with my hands. ‘You didn’t say what you were even doing there?’ I’d watched enough Netflix originals to know that if her answer had anything to do with deliberately tracking me down by visiting all of the bric-a-brac shops in the area, then I should promptly leave – and close the shop down.

‘A friend actually recommended it. She said you usually had good furniture stashed away, and I was looking for a new up-cycle. Though of course, I didn’t exactly get that far.’ A small noise slipped out of her, not quite a laugh, though it was framed by a smile. She was more beautiful than her pictures gave her credit for, and I felt a pang of absolute disappointment in myself for thinking of such a cliché compliment. ‘Still, I definitely found something.’

I lifted my head in time to catch Sheila looking at me through the steam of her raised teacup. She cocked her eyebrow. There was a smirk creeping out from behind the red porcelain. And it was the first time in at least five years that I had felt butterflies there.