Page 2 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

She shifts her attention to the date and time illuminated in the corner of her laptop screen. 12:01 am. August 9th.

Three weeks.

In exactly three weeks, twenty-eight will welcome her, scythe in hand, and her twenties will be one year closer to being buried in a metaphorical graveyard. Pressing a pillow to her face, Alana screams into the endless void until her throat hurts.

Success, much like anything else, isn’t measured by any one thing. She knows that. She has amazing friends, a decent relationship with her parents, and works her dream career at a bakery she is privileged to call her own. Frankly, she’s doing well for herself. Still, despite those accomplishments, she never thought she’d be quite so behind in other aspects of her life. A house, a committed relationship, and maybe a few cats were where she always assumed she’d be by now.

Twenty-seven, single, zero dating prospects, and dick appointments that only consist of silicone and her own lewd imagination? Gods, help her. This couldn’t go on.

She’s never so much as seen a penis that wasn’t behind a screen, for goodness sake. To her credit, it isn’t from lack of trying. While she could hook up with anyone she wanted, sex has always been something she only wanted to do with the right person. She promised herself she’d hold out until she found someone who gave her sparks. Someone kind and funny and interesting, who could make her believe love exists in this crazy world. But she could fill a book with how many failed dates and lackluster conversations she’s had over the years. Every time she found someone promising, they’d open their mouth and the attraction would fizzle out faster than a dollar store match.

You’re okay with putting out on the first date, right? Just asking before I pay the bill lol.

I’ll be honest, I’m really not over my ex right now. Can we keep things casual even though my profile literally says I’m looking for a long-term commitment?

I like you but…I think I’m still into my baby momma.

It’s always something.

Now, here she is, another year gone, hopelessly horny, and legitimately contemplating hiring some random wolf man to sleep with her. Alana groans and drags her hand down her face. A girl has her needs—sweaty, breathless, wrecked-until-youcan’t-see-straight kinds of needs. Paying someone to fulfill said needs had never occurred to her as a possibility until now. At the very least, hiring a professional left less room for disappointment in the end, right? A safe, controlled environment with someone who had no ulterior motives or secret agendas to waste her time. Being in their field of work had to mean knowing a thing or two about tact.

Hands hovering over the keyboard, Alana takes a breath and fills out an inquiry before she can talk herself out of it. She includes her name, her age, and what kind of experience she’s looking for. After pressing submit, she slams her laptop shut and burrows under the blankets.

It probably won’t go anywhere, but it’s worth a shot.

CHAPTER TWO

ALANA

When Alana arrives at her storefront, everything is covered in a familiar layer of darkness, broken only by dim streetlamps and the surrounding businesses starting their day. At least until the soft glow of warm fluorescents flicker to life, illuminating the quaint café space. In just a few hours, The Darling Coffee Company will open to the public.

“Alright, ‘Lana. Time to get that coin.” Adorned in her apron, Alana sets off towards the kitchen to get started on all the goods that had been prepped by her crew the night before: specialty cupcakes, cookies, pastries—the works. It isn’t long before the entire place smells of warm sugar and vanilla beans, their rich scent permeating the air like the world’s most edible perfume. Returning home at the end of her shift smelling like a day’s work was a surprisingly okay perk with her employment. That, and the free snacks, of course.

When shelves are stocked and the welcome sign is swung, she opens the doors for business. The sun has begun to rise by now, its pale yellow light filtering past the distant mountains and through the windows, graciously feeding the plants decorating the walls and ceiling. Soon, the flow of early-bird customers starts to trickle in. Most who come at this hour are regulars, stopping by for their routine pick-me-up before disappearing back onto the streets. Others choose to bring their work to Alana. They settle into their chairs and type away on their laptops or phones, lost in their own little worlds for hours on end. She can’t help her smile or the fullness in her chest each time a familiar face strolls in. There are a few other cafés in this pocket of town, and yet, so many choose to return to her. Convenience, maybe. But all the blood, sweat, and tears she put into her business have created something special. A solace for humans and monsters of all kinds.

Speaking of…

Alana flashes a smile to the next couple who enters. A Nymph, with her Satyr husband. She’s got a toddler at her side holding her hand, while their newest addition stays strapped to her chest. So tiny, it looks like they came straight from the delivery room.

“Hi, welcome! What can I get for you guys?” She asks as they scan over the menu hanging above the register. “I’d be happy to answer any questions.”

“Oh, thank you,” The woman taps her chin. “How are your teas? I was wondering if—” The toddler tugs at her cardigan. Alana peers over the counter at him, this little boy with a mop of auburn curls. His deep brown eyes are filled with an amount of curiosity only a child could really possess. With Alana’s attention on him, he tugs harder at his mom’s sweater and gasps.

“Mama…she has paint on her face.” He whispers like a secret meant to be shared only between the two of them. In true toddler fashion, his voice is hardly as quiet as he thinks and carries as more of a hushed yell.

Mortification cements on both parents’ faces, and the mother grabs his hand. “Cassidy, what have I told you? Unless it’s a compliment, we do not speak about someone’s appearance,” she chastises. Fanning her flushed face, she turns to Alana. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry. He’s at that stage where he just blurts out things.”

“We’re, uh, working on it,” the husband chimes in, awkwardly adjusting his tie.

Alana snorts. “It’s fine, it’s fine!” leaning forward against the counter, she smiles at the boy who has now shrunken into himself. He picks at the fraying of his mama’s sweater, hiding further behind her leg. “It’s not paint, see?” She demonstrates by smudging her fingers across the ivory patch under her eye, then showing him. No paint, no residue. “I used to be one color, but when I was itty bitty like you, I started to change. So now, I have these spots.”

The child—Cassidy—beams, wide-eyed and mouth hung open. “Whoa…that’s neat! You can change colors like a chameleon!” He digs around in his pocket and rushes to pull out a little chameleon toy as if thrilled to finally have an appropriate opportunity to show it off.

His father huffs a quiet laugh. “They’re his favorite thing right now.”

Alana mirrors his excitement and gasps, hand on her chest. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she can’t turn her vitiligo on and off like his favorite little reptile.

“It is pretty neat, huh? You know, I have something that reminds me of your friend. One sec.” She retreats to the bakery case and plucks out a fresh, bright green cake-pop. It was supposed to resemble a frog as opposed to a lizard, but if Cassidy noticed the discrepancy, he didn’t seem to care. Alana hands him the dessert, and his cheeks lift with a wide, gap-tooth smile, bouncing around with it as if he’d just been handed the kid equivalent of winning the lottery.