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The shop bells on the door of the Apothecary jingle as David fumbles awkwardly through the door carrying a large package.
Patrick stands behind the cash counter, forearms folded taut across his chest and a smirk flirting with his lips. “Good morning, David. Whatcha got there?”
David sets the package down on the cash counter with a thud and a huff. He sucks in a large breath and exhales an exaggerated sigh– a futile attempt to deflect attention from his labored breathing and distract Patrick from commenting on the spectacle he’d just witnessed.
“This was delivered to the motel. The vendor must have used my address instead of the store’s.”
“Mhm,” Patrick cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow at David and fighting back a tight-lipped smile as he slices the package open.
“Except we haven’t ordered any new inventory since–David! Why would you reorder these scarves? We haven’t sold a single one yet and winter–”
David pulls a scarf from the box and holds it up, admiring it. “–‘And winter is right around the corner and most people have already purchased their new winter gear’. I knew you would say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Patrick, who knows how long winter will last this year? You heard Twyla’s tarot card reading. She’s predicting another long one.” David wraps the scarf around his neck and waggles his eyebrows towards Patrick. “And I’m telling you, people will need scarves.”
“Twyla’s tarot card reading? So now we’re basing projected sales and profit margins on Twyla’s tarot card readings?”
David reaches across the counter and plants his hands square on Patrick’s shoulders. “We are–wait, no. I am going to sell every single one of these scarves by Spring. And when I do–”
David leans in closer and breathes the words into Patrick’s mouth, “–you’re going to put those thighs to work and ride me until your quads are on fire.”
Patrick feels a lump forming in the back of his throat and he can’t help but think about how gratifying it would be to lose this bet. He swallows hard and narrows his eyes onto David’s. “And if you don’t?”
“And if I don’t–which is definitely not going to happen–I’m going to put one of these on, and nothing else,” David whispers and tugs at the scarf around his neck, “and ride you until we’re both coming. Deal?”
David’s hands migrate to the collar of Patrick’s button-down and he hauls him in for a searing kiss. “So basically, we both win either way.”
“Ew, David! I could have been a customer.” Alexis squeals as she shimmies through the half-open door and drops a package to her feet.
“And excuse me, David? What deal? Are you referring to when you said that if I helped you carry these boxes inside that you would drop me off at Ted’s instead of making out with Patrick? That deal?”
Stevie follows closely behind carrying another package. “And I was told there would be nothing in this for me.”
“Not true. You can pick any one of the sample-size lotions from the basket by the cash.” David says, raising his eyebrows and wagging a finger at Stevie. “Except for the lavender. Or the eucalyptus. Or the rosemary.”
Turning back to Alexis, he smiles wide, “And you can either give me five minutes to unpack these boxes or you can walk to Ted’s.”
Alexis groans and moves to sit on the edge of the cash counter. “What’s in all of these boxes, anyway?”
Stevie rolls her eyes and looks up from the basket of lotions. “Maybe some lotions that aren’t lavender, eucalyptus, or rosemary ?”
Patrick laughs as he pulls a scarf from the box and nods towards the already full display. “Actually, David thought we needed more cat-hair scarves. And he seems pretty confident he can sell them all by Spring.”
“Oh my god, David.” Alexis gasps, her face somehow displaying a look of both concern and amusement in equal measure. “There are like...a lot of scarves in this box.”
“And apparently, we have two more boxes.” Patrick pulls one scarf from the box and rubs it gently across his cheek. “Oh wow, these are actually really soft.”
“Wait, Patrick, didn’t you say you’re allergic to cat-hair?”
“Oh, fuck!” David shouts, “you are!”
Patrick drops the scarf back in the box. “Oh, uh, yeah. I forgot.”
“You forgot? But you’re supposed to be the smart one.” Alexis giggles, winking at David. “What would you guys even do without me?” She coos through pursed lips and delicately flits her wrists in front of her chest.
David huffs and moves to set the box in front of the display shelf.
“Okay.” He exhales. “It’s time for you to go.”
David waves his hands at Alexis and Stevie, shooing them towards the door. “Out, out. Patrick, I’ll be back in twenty with Benadryl. Don’t touch the scarves again.”
“But I didn’t get my lotion–” Stevie protests.
“Wait, David!’ Alexis chirps over her shoulder, “How much is that scarf because it actually looks kind of cute?”
//
“You know, David, it’s been a week since the first snow and you still haven’t sold a scarf.” Patrick teases, his eyes twinkling and his mouth twisting into a mischievous grin.
“That’s not true. Alexis bought one.”
“No. Alexis took one,” Patrick amends.
“Fair enough.” David shrugs his shoulders. “But the season is young.”
Patrick smiles and steps forward into David’s space, wrapping his arms low around David’s hips and leaning upwards into a kiss.
The shop bells jingle, alerting the two men of a customer, and they pull apart. Patrick smooths the front of his jeans and watches as David cards a finger through his hair and clears his throat before greeting the customer.
“Hi, welcome to Rose Apothecary. Can I help you?”
“Yeah, hi. I was looking for some bath salts?”
Most people would assume that Patrick was better with the customers. He had an ease and a sense of familiarity about him. He was down to earth. Approachable. But the truth is, that while David isn’t any of those things, he is in fact , better with the customers.
“Sure, right this way.”
Patrick laughs quietly and watches as David walks briskly towards the customer. He can’t clearly hear what they’re saying but he’s watching David as he educates the customer on the many varieties of bath salts currently in stock.
And as David guides her through the store, having filled her basket with bath salts, he makes polite conversation. Patrick’s not sure how he’s done it so discreetly but somehow David’s led her to the display containing the cat-hair scarves. He tells her about Mrs. Henderson, who breeds Himalayan cats and handknits these scarves and owns a small farm right down the road. He talks about her like she’s family.
“They are just lovely, David.”
Patrick shakes his head fondly as David holds a charcoal gray scarf to her neck and tells her how wonderfully it compliments her complection.
“Do they come in any other colors?”
And just like that, David sold his first three scarves to one customer.
It’s not long before the lunch rush hits and the Apothecary is hit with a flurry of customers, one after another, and Patrick’s lost track of how many of them have bought scarves. He does know, however, that he’s yet to have the opportunity to remove the rubber gloves David has insisted he wear.
“You have to wear these gloves every time you ring up a scarf. We can’t have you going into anaphylaxis in front of the customers,” David had said after he’d returned with Benadryl, rubber gloves, and a 124 fluid ounce bottle of hand sanitizer to keep on the cash counter.
“Thanks, Alexis,” Patrick had thought.
Going into anaphylaxis in front of the customers would not be ideal, Patrick could agree to that. It wasn’t very on-brand. But the truth is, Patrick isn’t allergic to cat-hair and he hates pretending that he is.
Each scarf he rings up feels like another lie.
“Not telling me the truth is basically lying, Patrick.” David had said several months ago after finding out Patrick had been engaged to Rachel. It had taken David days to forgive him and weeks to feel like they had rebuilt the trust between them. He’d promised David there were no more secrets. And he’d meant it.
But this is different, right? This is silly. David wouldn’t really be upset about this if he knew. Would he?
After what feels like an eternity, the lunch rush dies down and Patrick hands the last customer her tote bag. “Thanks for stopping in. Stay warm.”
Before the shop bells even have a chance to chime the customer’s descent, Patrick peels the rubber gloves off of his sweaty hands and tosses them into the trash.
“Oooh, pruney.” David frowns as he takes one of Patrick’s sweat-logged hands into his own and rubs circles in his palm. “I’m sorry that I’m selling so many scarves.”
Patrick laughs, “No you’re not. You love that you’re winning.”
David smiles lopsidedly. “Okay, fine. I kind of love it.”
//
“Mrs. Henderson, it’s David Rose. – Yes, from Rose Apothecary. – I’m good, how are you?”
Patrick rolls his eyes as he prepares to listen to David place yet another restocking order for the cat-hair scarves. Was this the third order? Maybe even the fourth? All Patrick knew for sure was that the end of Winter was nowhere to be found and that David had a gift when it came to selling handknit cat-hair winter wear. And that pretending to be allergic to cat-hair for three months was beginning to give him an ulcer.
“Yes, I’d like to order another dozen scarves. – Mhm. – Do you think we could order some mittens too, while I have you on the phone?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick exclaims, his words hanging in the air like a low lying fog.
“Uh– excuse me, Mrs. Henderson. I’m going to have to call you back.” He places the phone down on the counter and turns to Patrick. “Um, are you okay?”
Patrick turns to him. “I’m sorry. I just– you’re selling so many scarves.” Patrick continues, “And it’s great. It’s so great for the store. But–”
“–But you wanted to win the bet? Patrick, I ride you, you ride me, we switch all the time. Who cares? This was just a silly bet.”
Patrick shakes his head. “No, no. That’s not it. It’s just–I–I’m not allergic to cats.”
David stands up straight and tilts his head to the side. “You’re not allergic to cats?”
“No.”
“But you– you said–I remember–Two years ago–”
“I only said that because Alexis was flirting with me and wrapping that scarf around my neck and I didn’t want you to think I liked her because I was really only there to see you and I didn’t know how to tell you that yet so I lied and–and I’m not allergic to cats.” He pauses, finally stopping to take a breath.
“So,” David exhales. His face is soft and radiates a warm fondness, “you’re not allergic to cats. Is there anything else you want to come clean about?”
“Honestly? I really love riding you.”
David laughs and wraps his arms around Patrick. “I know you do.”
He breathes into his neck and kisses leisurely at the thin stubble right along the collar of Patrick’s shirt. “How about we close up early and we go home to collect my winnings?”