Fairy Tale Flirts 2! 5 Romantic Short Stories Read online

  That was probably true. Greta sold more of her pickles and canned produce on days Hans came with her. Candy Lane was no fool.

  “That’s really a nice offer,” Greta said, “but Hans and I have business here on the island.”

  Hans walked over to Greta and set his hands on her shoulders. Her heart leapt whenever he did that. It felt so close to being a kiss. The warmth of his fingers on her skin left her throat tight.

  “Greta, since we’re going to be here a while looking for our folks, maybe I should consider it.” Hans tucked his hands into his pockets.

  “She’s your sister?” Candy asked. “She looks nothing like you.” Candy looked her over, and Greta felt herself blush.

  It was true that her hair was long, brown and straight. Nothing at all like Hans’ beautiful locks. Greta’s mom would sigh over Hans’ hair and say, “What a waste to put that hair on a man.” Hans would always roll his eyes like he couldn’t be bothered about his looks. But now here he was, lapping up all Candy’s attention.

  “No, we’re neighbors,” Hans explained. “My dad and her mom are a couple, you could say.”

  Just neighbors. That’s obviously all he thought of her, now that he was signing on to be lady bait. “If that’s what you want, stay here,” Greta said. “I’ll go look for them myself. I told you I didn’t need you to come on this trip with me. I’ll be fine without you.”

  Hans tried to answer, but Candy shoved a piece of chocolate in his mouth. Greta shuddered to imagine what shape it was.

  ***

  Greta stormed out of the shop, and was blinded by the sun’s bright light. She could do this on her own. She needed to do this on her own. If Hans still thought she was helpless little Greta, this was her chance to prove him wrong.

  She marched down the long line of vendors looking for a couple selling pickled products. Her parents had teamed up with Mr. Piper years ago, buying his pickles, peppers, and heirloom produce. They became a team and launched Piper’s Pickled Produce. Every summer, the two families would get together for daylong pickling parties.

  Felix and Hans would gather the wood and tend the huge fires to boil the jars. Greta and her mother were in charge of chopping vegetables, and everyone was forced to leave the room when Greta’s mom added her secret ingredients. Greta’s father and Mr. Piper supervised boiling the concoctions, and they’d all come together to ladle it into jars and slap on labels. Since Mrs. Piper had left Hans and his father when Hans was a baby, the six of them had someone to pair up with: she and Mama, Hans and Felix, her father and Mr. Piper.

  “There’s nothing like Pete Piper’s peppers for a good pickling,” her mother said one night while they all sat around the fire after a long day’s work.

  “Now, Margaret. Do I have to worry about leaving you two alone in the cold cellar?” her father teased.

  Everyone laughed, but Greta had noticed the deep blush that spread across her mother’s face and down her chest. It was more than a flush of embarrassment. But Greta said nothing. She would never risk ruining the wonderful friendship their families had. She would never jeopardize the chance to see Hans.

  Those pickling parties brought back the finest memories of Greta’s childhood. One year, when she was twelve, she’d fallen asleep against Hans, and he stayed there after everyone else had called it a night, waiting for her to wake. That’s the moment she remembered falling in love with him—waking and looking into his eyes as the embers of the fire crackled and hissed in the dark.

  But the moment hadn’t meant the same to him. He’d jumped up and held out a hand to pull her up. “Wasn’t sure if we’d be out here all night,” he’d joked.

  She’d been embarrassed by her feelings and ran inside. Neither of them ever mentioned it again. Greta was three years younger than Hans, so they never had classes together at school, and the most attention he ever showed in the halls came in the form of good-natured noogies. Her only real chance to spend time with him was when their families worked together. Those were the days she spent hours fooling around with her hair—up or down, bun or ponytail. Not that Hans ever seemed to notice the difference.

  Everything changed the summer she turned fifteen when the fire broke out in the barn, killing her father and brother. Investigators weren’t sure what caused it. Greta feared it was The Woodsman. People saw him creeping around the woods at night with an axe, wearing a big, black cape. Greta was convinced he’d been the one who dug the hole where they found her dog.

  “The Woodsman started that fire,” she cried to the police.

  Police humored her theory, but never investigated it. Hans would always listen, though. He never told her it was a silly idea. “If it was The Woodsman, police will find out,” he told her. But they ruled it an accident.

  The laughter and good times ended after the fire. It was as if Greta’s mother shut down. She wouldn’t get out of bed. She wouldn’t eat. So Greta hauled their goods by herself to the farmer’s market to sell, even though she had to do all the housework and cooking, too.

  This went on all fall and winter, until Mr. Piper showed up in the spring and asked her mother to take a shopping trip with him to pick out new produce to plant. From there on out, Mr. Piper made her mom go through the motions, until she found herself wanting to live again. The two of them became inseparable.

  Greta walked along the hot pavement, lost in her thoughts until she came to the last of the vendors in that row. She’d wandered away from the midway, and was now in the back alley that butted up against the side of the amphitheater. Singing came from that direction. The sharp tang of the ocean hit her nose. She figured it must be the water-skiing show she’d heard about.

  She was headed toward the big building when she spotted a little tent that advertised a fortuneteller. Greta rolled her eyes at the thought, but then shrugged. She was alone in a big city with no sign of her parents and no indication that the guy she loved would ever return her feelings. A bit of good news about her future would be welcome.

  She pushed aside the tent flap and walked inside. The smell of incense hit her, and soft, mystical music played in the background. “Hello?”

  An older woman with shiny black skin and a scarf wrapped around her head sat on a couch. She looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I usually don’t get clients while the show is going on. Normally they show up after it lets out.” She stood and gestured to a little table. Please, sit down.” The lady went over to the table draped with a lace cloth. A vase of flowers and a box of tissues sat on top.

  Greta settled across from the woman, feeling rather silly.

  “Give me one of your hands, dear.” The woman had a kind smile and a lovely voice that relaxed Greta.

  Greta reached out, and the woman examined the back of her hand, then turned it so the palm was face up. The woman’s fingers grazed the lines that snaked along Greta’s soft, fleshy skin.

  The woman let go and patted Greta’s hand. “You’re wondering about a man.”

  Greta’s eyebrows shot up, and she nodded. “And a woman. A man and a woman.”

  The woman leaned back. “A couple?” She blinked rapidly then looked down, smoothing the tablecloth. “If you’re looking for a couple, there’s an X-rated candy shop not far from here. She might be able to help with that kind of arrangement.”

  Greta almost fell off her chair. “No! It’s not like that. No, no, no. My mom ran off with my neighbor and I’m trying to find them.” In tears, Greta hashed out the story of her parents, running off, and about the contract, and her unrequited love for Hans. She hated herself for blubbering, but felt better letting her emotions out.

  The woman sighed. “That sounds like a fine mess.” She pulled a tissue from the box, handing it to Greta. “Here, honey. I think you need a therapist, not a fortune teller.”

  That made Greta cry harder. “You’re probably right.”

  “Then I’ve got good news.” The woman leaned forward, propping an elbow o
n the table, and settled her chin in her hand. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m a psychologist. I can’t tell fortunes.”

  “You can’t?”

  The lady shook her head. “Ninety-nine percent of the people who show up here are women, and ninety-nine percent of them have a question about a man—either about one they’re seeing or one they’re hoping to find. When I announce, ‘You’re wondering about a man,’ it’s just a good guess. And usually I’m right. Most times, they unload all the information I need to know from there. Then I tell them what they want to hear.” She shrugged. “It’s not so different from therapy. I had my own practice for years. Most people simply want to be validated. They want to hear, yes, you have a right to be upset that your father neglected you for years. Yes, you’re right your husband doesn’t pay attention to you.”

  Greta gripped the seat of her chair. “So, you’re not a psychic?”

  The woman sighed. “No, I’m not.” She held up a finger. “But, I will confess there have been a few times I’ve gone into some type of trance with a client, and when I come out of it they look so spooked I can only imagine I said something meaningful.” She paused. “But I’m not feeling that with you. I can’t see your future, and I can’t answer your question. I’m sorry.”

  Greta nodded. “It’s okay. I feel better just talking to you. Why aren’t you a therapist anymore?”

  “Oh, I retired. But I missed the connection with people. I wanted to try something new, so here I am at Neverland Island—a lot more flexible than holding office hours. Plus I can get cotton candy whenever I want. I’m Marlene, by the way.”

  “Greta.” They shook hands across the table.

  “So what are you going to do about Hans? He’s with the X-rated candy woman?” With one smooth motion, her eyebrows moved up and in.

  Greta let out a long, exasperated breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Marlene stood and smoothed her long, flowing skirt. “You go take a bite out of that Candy and get your man back before she eats him alive. I know her type. She’s not going to give up easily.”

  Greta nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I have to be strong. I have to go after what I want, right?”

  “Damn right.” Marlene grinned.

  Greta reached for her purse. “Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. Just promise you’ll come back to talk if you need to.”

  “Thank you so much.” Greta stepped out into the afternoon sun. Closing her eyes, she turned her face up to the sky and smiled. She was going to gather the courage to tell Hans how she felt.

  ***

  Hans was cornered. Candy gripped a handful of his shirt. Her long, red-tipped nails made him think of tiny hot peppers. Or blood. His blood. Hans couldn’t step back, so he stepped to the side. She kept her grip on his clothes. “Now, why do I need to take my shirt off?” he asked.

  She let go and patted the fabric. “You’re eye candy. I want packs of women shopping here, and that gorgeous chest of yours is going to be my billboard to lure them in. So stand outside the tent and offer free samples. I’ll pay ten percent of my profits, so the more people you get in here, the more money you’ll make.” She lifted one shoulder. “And I’m sure I could devise a bonus system that would benefit us both.” She walked her two fingers up his chest, and he took another step to the side.

  Her heels click-clacked on the cement floor as she went to the counter where she picked up a silver tray. “Here’s your product.”

  Hans took it from her and looked down at the tray of X-rated hard candies. He would’ve made a mint selling these back in high school. And he wouldn’t have had to take off his clothes in order to do it. But if he could earn money so that he and Greta could stay here longer to find their parents, he’d go topless. He’d do anything for Greta.

  He set down the tray and pulled off his T-shirt. Candy gasped. “Oh. Oh, my. I can think of lots of ways you could help around here.” A deep, devious laugh slipped out. “Now scoot outside and let me get behind the register. This place will be busy in no time.”

  “What do you want me to tell people?” he asked.

  She tapped a finger against her lips. “Give them a sample and tell them the dirty candy’s inside. And they must be eighteen to enter.”

  “Should I be checking IDs?”

  “As long as they look over twelve, let them in.”

  Twelve-year-olds shouldn’t be getting an eyeful of this stuff. He wouldn’t let in any kids, but he said nothing and went outside with the samples, happy to be away from her. He’d had his share of grabby girls. They were forever squeezing his biceps. A parade of girlfriends had been a good distraction for a while, but no one could ever get Greta out of his heart. And how screwed up was that? The little sister of his dead best friend. He was horrible for even thinking it. Despicable for wanting it.

  He walked in front of the tent until he stood in the middle of the people streaming by. “Dirty candy inside. Dirty candy. Want a sample?”

  A group of cute twenty-something women stopped and giggled. “A sample of what?” one asked.

  “Naughty candy.” He held up a small penis wrapped in cellophane.

  “I usually like them bigger than that,” one of them said, licking her lips.

  Made him think of mangy dogs. “Go see what’s inside,” he told them with a big fake grin. Not many people could tell the difference between his fake grin and the real one. But Greta could.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you smiling like that?” she would often ask him.

  He really missed Greta right then.

  “Go inside?” One of the women tugged on his belt loop. “Inside here?”

  The other women laughed. Hans gritted his teeth. He couldn’t imagine Greta being so bold and crude with a stranger. He pried the woman’s finger off his pants. “I think you’ll be real happy with what you find inside the store.”

  Still giggling, they each grabbed a piece of candy and walked through the door.

  Soon, he had a crowd of women around him. They all wanted samples. And they all thought it was funny to request a sample of him. Oh, what he wouldn’t do for an original line.

  When the men walking by noticed all the women flocking to the store, they came over, too. There was a line out the door, and he had a pocket full of phone numbers he hadn’t asked for by the time Greta returned. His heart lifted just seeing her.

  He hadn’t always had a crush on his best friend’s little sister. She’d been truly annoying for years, following them around, crying when they wouldn’t take her places with them. But after Felix died, Greta blossomed into a beautiful woman. He could imagine Felix decking him for the way he’d watch Greta whenever she walked away, swaying her hips without even knowing it. Her long hair was like a silky waterfall down her back. He wanted to smooth it across his cheeks. Wrap it around his fists. Of course, there was no subtle way to do that, and no reason the idea should be on his mind so often.

  Rather than risk anything happening between them, Hans made it a point to date a lot of women. It never helped. With each new girl, he realized how rare someone like Greta really was: smart, beautiful, kind, strong. She was a hard worker and full of great ideas. He couldn’t imagine a better mate. But, he’d made a promise to protect Felix’s little sister. Besides, Greta had never seemed interested in him.

  And right then as he stood in the hot sun with a tray of risqué candy, she didn’t seem happy at all to see him. Just more proof he was going to have to give up this fantasy.

  “What is this?” she hissed, sweeping her hand through the air.

  Seeing her, his heart kicked up a notch. “My new job. Only while we’re here in town.”

  She crossed her arms. “And you need to have your shirt off for this?”

  “So? I take my shirt off when I work the fields.”

  Her jaw dropped as her gaze moved from his chest to his stomach. “Not in front of me, you haven’t.”

  A prickle of heat crep
t up the back of his neck and his pants felt tight. He’d had women staring at him all day, and it hadn’t affected him one bit. Once Greta shows up, he starts thinking party? No, no, no. He shook his head. “Greta, I’m just trying to take care of you.”

  “You enjoy this kind of thing? All these women gawking over you?” she asked. “This is horrible.”

  He didn’t like her feeling bad about this. He was doing the job for her, even if it was embarrassing standing there like a useless lump, handing out treats. “Greta, calm down. I don’t mind.”

  She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes. Damn, they’re beautiful green eyes, he thought.

  “Of course you don’t mind!” She shut her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I can’t believe I ever…that I was going to…” She let out a frustrated scream. “I should’ve come here by myself.”

  Like hell he’d ever let her come to the city by herself. “My dad’s gone too, so I’m not just here for you, Greta.”

  Her shoulders hunched, and she nodded. “Right, of course. I know that.”

  He wanted to reach for her, but the tray was in-between them.

  She stood, scowling, while two more women approached. “What are you selling?” one asked.

  “Dirty candy,” Hans said. “There’s lots inside. Go check it out.”

  “We’d rather check out you. We don’t have to pay to look at you, do we?” the other girl asked.

  Greta grumbled something under her breath and stalked into the store.

  The blonde tugged on a piece of his hair. “How about a sample of you, good looking?”

  He rolled his eyes and handed her the bowl of candy. “You’ll have to settle for these.” He turned and went inside, having no idea how to patch up things with Greta.

  Candy stood at the register, tapping away at a calculator.

  “Where’s Greta?” he asked.