There had been a lot of mumbling and eyebrow raising at that. Nan had always sworn black and blue that magic was real and the rest of us were tolerant of this. My Pa always said, “Well, you sure cast your spell over me the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Because I pulled you away from kissing Cissy Black? That was no magic; that was just good luck on your part,” Nan would reply.
“OK, well, we certainly can’t control what you dream about, I guess. I’ll open up the shop and pry the prince out of Jez’s claws.”
“Prince Charming is here?” Tess asked with a squeal.
“Yeah, I felt too mean just leaving him on the street. Come and meet him. He’s very polite.”
“And good-looking? He must be good-looking!”
“They’re all good-looking, even that weird elf guy with the purple eyes and the tinsel hair was pretty.”
“And did he kiss you awake?”
“No, he just opened the coffin. I was well and truly awake by that point.”
“But Ash, a kiss from a prince is–”
“Pretty sure swapping spit with royalty is much the same as with any other guy. You could kiss him if you like. I’m sure he’d be amenable.” I pointed to where the prince sat, still looking a bit freaked out. “It might help him calm down a bit.” I ran over to the door and flipped the ‘Open’ sign, wishing, praying that today s
ome of what used to be a steady stream of customers would walk in.
“I can’t,” Tess said, but I could see the longing in her eyes as she stared at the prince. This was the one thing I’d never understand about Nan’s spell. Every morning, I woke up in a different scenario, all determined by what my sister had read, watched, or dreamed about the previous night. Why wasn’t I visited by what I dreamed about?
I walked over to the stool behind the cash register and picked up the tattoo magazine Jez had been reading. Tess and Jez were cooing over the prince, plying him with tea and biscuits. I rolled my eyes. He was good-looking, I gave them that, but he was so clean-cut and polite it did nothing for me. No, if I was to be woken every morning by what I dreamed about, he'd look more like this, I thought as I stared at the full-page photo in the mag. The model was tall, muscular but not too bulky, tattooed and had long golden hair and a bit of a beard. Yeah, if I woke up to this, I’m not sure I’d come into work at all. . . . I was jerked out of my little fantasy by the sound of the doorbells tinkling.
“Oh, fuck . . .” I muttered under my breath when I saw who it was. “Jez!”
Two guys walked into the store. One was long and lean, wearing a threadbare singlet that revealed his many tattoos, and baggy black pants. The other? He looked just like the guy in the magazine moments ago. Muscular legs were encased in well broken in denim jeans. Check. Worn cotton t-shirt with a motorcycle logo on it. Check. Sleeves rolled up over bulging biceps that were covered in tattoos. Check. Sure enough, when I looked at his face, he sported a tawny-coloured three-day growth and long blond hair that looked like it had been raked back with his fingers.
“What’s the problem?” Jez asked with a frown, her eyes flicking from me to the man and back again, clearly not seeing what the issue was.
I watched him look around the store, probably looking for me. “I was just fantasising about a guy that looked exactly like him one moment ago, and the next he appears. What the hell is going on with my grandmother’s spell?”
“That guy? No, that’s not the spell, that’s–” Jez said.
“It has to be, how else could you explain the coincidence? I didn’t think we could have more than one spell-generated suitor a day? It’s OK, I’ll get rid of him.”
“Ash, that’s not–”
I marched straight up to Tall, Blond and Sexy and looked him square in the eye. “Well, I have to admit, as curses go, this is much better. You're big, tall and look like you’re made of pure muscle." Both guys’ eyes widened as I reached out and rubbed my hand along the bicep of the blond one. Man, he was solid. He had those thick, corded arms that comes from working hard for a living. "Jez, you gotta have a feel of this!" I said, but she just made a strangled sound. I moved in close, breathing in deeply as my nose trailed along his chest, drawing in the scent of sandalwood and motor oil. "So, do we have the obligatory six-pack?" I asked, lifting up the hem of his shirt. His waist was tight, a vein snaking up from his waistband and over one hip bone. His muscle flexed as I traced it with a finger. "Ah, there it is. Mm-hmm, Nana, I may have called you every name under the sun for this damn curse, but this, this was worth waiting for."
"You seen enough, love?" the guy asked, his voice a low rumble. “Or you want to see the whole package?” He wore a slight smile, his steel-grey eyes growing hooded as he placed a hand over mine on his hip and started to push it lower. Could I take a look at a fictional character’s dick? Check him out like a horse standing for auction? For a minute, I was tempted. I’d never thought about it before, but there was one positive about being plagued by fictional characters, and that was the lack of consequences to my actions. This guy was like an R-rated playground, all for me.
“Ash!” Jez hissed, trying to get my attention with a frenzied wave.
“What!”
“This is Gabriel Browning, the guy I was talking to you about. The one who might want to rent part of the shop?”
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fucking, fuck, fuck. Not a fictional character, a prospective tenant. My eyes swung automatically back to Gabriel. I snatched my hand away, wiping it on my jeans, then reaching over to tug down his shirt when it stayed rucked up, before taking two involuntary steps back. His grin widened, and he began to laugh, low and dirty. Gabriel was the kind of guy I was very comfortable looking at, across a crowded room or in a shiny magazine, but not one I felt comfortable talking to. Definitely not one I was OK with molesting the moment he walked in the door. Adrenalin smashed through my body, my heart stuttering, floundering before beginning to pound rapidly. I tried to smile, apologise, do something to try and make up for essentially sexually harassing a stranger in my shop, but my mouth was dry as a desert. I swallowed and then slowly held out my hand as it shook like a leaf. “I’m am so, so sorry. I thought . . . I don't know what I thought. It's been a really shitty morning, though that's no excuse. I shouldn't have. . . . Look, I’m Ash McKinnon.”
“Gabe,” the guy said with a wide smirk, "this is Flea. You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome," he said, taking my hand and squeezing it.
“My lady, are you quite well? Is this man bothering you?” Harold appeared at my arm, reaching out to wrap his arms around my shoulders, but I sidestepped him neatly.
“Not at all. This is business.”