Bob rarely went to that part of town, mostly because he couldn't afford to eat out at the fancy eateries along those high-priced blocks. Sometimes he'd overhear his friends and coworkers praise a little sweet shop wedged between those fancy bakeries, but he didn't have much of a sweet tooth. His wife did, but right then he wasn't in the mood to give her a gift of chocolate.
Actually, he was more in the mood to give her a gift of divorce.
It wasn't that he'd stopped loving her, not entirely, but the spark had gone out of their lives. Those first frisky years of honeymoon love were gone, passed by several more years of not-so-blissful toleration. Now they were just roommates, two people who cohabitated for financial convenience. There wasn't even any make-up sex after their fights, just brooding and oppressive silence.
But that wasn't what he was doing right then. Right then he was walking down the street searching out a friend who'd invited him to one of those posh places on that posh block of eateries. He saw two familiar bakery chains side-by-side along the block-but wait. There was an awning between the two buildings, which themselves didn't have any cover for their customers. He stepped up beneath the shaded cover and glanced up that short flight of stairs to the door. It was painted a light, inviting pink and a small doorstop in the shape of a loaf of bread propped it open.
Bob was curious about this strange pink door that stood between the rest of the gray and brown city. He stepped up to one of the windows and peeked inside. His eyes barely looked over the tall sills, but he could still see the wonderful shelves filled with their goodies. It appeared no one was inside, and he wondered if he could manage a quick look around before any of the employees spotted him and bothered him with their over-helpfulness.
That's when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and Bob jumped a foot in the air. He turned mid-flight and came face-to-face with his friend, Ryan Dotson, a man nearly twice his age at fifty-five. Bob clutched at his chest and scowled at his companion.
"Did you really have to do that?"
"You looked so distracted that I couldn't help myself," Ryan replied. There was a wide grin plastered across his face. "Besides, I wanted to stop you before you went in there."
"Why, what's wrong with the place?" Bob asked him. He glanced back at the window and the top of the shelves. There hadn't been anything foreboding about the shop. On the contrary, the wide front windows allowed a lot of natural light to flow into the building.
"Well, if you went in there then you'd have to buy something, and I know you don't have much of a sweet tooth," Ryan pointed out. Bob furrowed his brow.
"Why would I want to buy something?" Ryan shrugged and nodded for them to head down the street. If they didn't get to the restaurant they'd overrun on their lunches.
"It's just something that happens in there. You go in there with no intention of buying anything and come out with at least one of their city-famous bagels."
"City-famous? How come I haven't heard of the place? What was it again, Mr. Arrow's Place?"
"Mr. Eres' Sensual Sweets," Ryan corrected him. He tilted his head toward Bob and gave him a firm, confident look. "And believe me, you'd come out of there with something in your hands."
"What if I didn't have any money on me?" Bob teased.
"With everyone carrying around plastic, I don't see that happening," his friend replied. Then he rubbed his hands together. "Now let's get us some fancy grub."
"Your treat, right?"
"Yep, my treat. Just don't go expecting me to do this every day; it can get pretty expensive for me, too," Ryan scolded.
The two friends had their fine lunch at the fine restaurant, and then went their separate ways to their separate work places. Bob had to retrace his steps past the sweet shop, and though he was running late he allowed himself a short pause in front of the candy store. He still didn't see anyone but the door was wide open, tempting him to enter and be amazed. His watch, however, demanded his more immediate attention, though he promised himself he'd return another time, maybe tomorrow, and have a quick look around. Hell, maybe this strange curiosity would subside by the end of the afternoon and he'd forget the whole place entirely.
Bob returned there after work that same day, and his stay wasn't short. He couldn't get it out of his mind all afternoon, and by the time the clock read five he was nearly mad from his curiosity. Bob shot out of work, unusual of late because of the wife problems, and made straight for the place. The door was still propped open, but the store was no longer empty. Instead through the entrance he could see an elderly gentleman with thinning, brushed-back hair serving a customer, a young woman. She had a pile of stuff on the counter, but they appeared to be talking about more than just the sweets and food.
He eased himself inside and quickly turned right so he wouldn't interrupt their conversation. The man turned to him for a moment and gave a wink that made Bob feel both nervous and right at home. He'd hoped to come in and go out unnoticed, but the guy behind the counter had such a bright smile and the place matched the stranger's sunny disposition. Besides, there was so much variety in the store that Bob was tempted not to believe what he saw.
By the time he was done in the aisles it was later than he expected and the woman at the counter was gone. There was just the old man who smiled at him when he came out of the last row of stuffed shelves.
"Find something you like?" the man asked him. His voice was like a sweet, honey-filled song that romanced young lovers. Bob wasn't the romantic type, not anymore, but he didn't find the man's tone sickening. It reminded him of all the fun times he'd had with Tiffany, his wife.
"Um, I'm not really into sweet things," Bob admitted. He wished he could just run out of there and go home, but there was something about the man's lazy posture that invited conversation. "I was just, um-"
"Just looking for your wife?" the guy finished for him.
"Y-yeah, how did you know?" The employee nodded at Bob's left hand.
"Your ring told me about the wife, and if you're not in here for yourself then it must be for her."
"That's some pretty good guessing," Bob complimented as he sidled up to the counter. The old man closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Guessing has nothing to do with it. You just have to pay attention to the wants and needs of those around you, and then go about providing it."
"I guess-" Bob got a playful warning look from the old man, so he changed his wording. "So you've been at this a long time?"
"Yep." The stranger's eyes wandered around the building and its many goodies. "Opened up shop so many years ago that I can't remember, and been bringing a smile to so many faces that I can hardly remember them all."
"With how popular my friend told me this place was, I'd be surprised if you could remember anyone's," Bob joked. The stranger, who he now assumed was Mr. Eres, smiled.
"Well, they're all important to me, and I've got a memory that serves me well. But enough about me, young man, what can I get for your pretty Misses?"
"How do you know she's pretty?" Bob challenged him. He was surprised when the old man's smile slipped off his face.
"That bad of troubles?" Eres asked him. Bob winced at the gentle question because it was so spot on and personal.
"Well, um, it's complicated." He didn't want to get into the details, and was grateful when Eres nodded his head.
"I've heard that word used a lot these last few years. Let me tell you something about love." Eres leaned over the counter and Bob met him halfway. "Love's complicated. You have to know what you want before you can learn what the lady wants."
"I don't follow you," Bob replied with a shake of his head. Now he was starting to understand why the woman was standing here talking with the old man earlier. Eres was a purveyor of romantic advice. The idea was laughable on its face, since this little old man hardly looked like any cupid he'd ever seen.
"Love, affection, attention. These are parts of a romantic relationship, but everyone wa
nts more of one than the others," Eres told him. He looked Bob up and down. "Now take you, for example. I can see you're more of the physical type. You jog when you can and avoid sweets because they'd ruin your diet."
"How'd you know I jogged?" Bob was a little unnerved by this man's powers of perception. Eres' eyes wandered down and Bob followed the other's gaze to his wrist. He wore a watch on his left wrist.
"You have a fine tan there, son. From your clothes I imagine you wouldn't work outside, so you must play outside as often as you can get."
"I'm impressed," Bob complimented the man. Everything was so simple when Eres explained his observations, but a normal person couldn't have deduced such complicated reasonings from common details. "You should become a police officer or detective." Eres bowed his head and smiled.
"I thank you for the compliment, but I find I'm needed here. You, for example, are in great need of my help." Eres furrowed his brow and tapped a scrawny finger against his chin. "Now let's see. Physically active, unhappy marriage, wife who likes sweets." His eyes glance over to Bob. "What is your wife's favorite sweet?"
"Chocolate. She'd consume a whole plate of the stuff if it was put in front of her." It never lasted long in their house. Eres slowly nodded his head and muttered to himself.
"Yes, this should work. Just the thing to put the pieces back together." Bob watched with curiosity as