Chapter Twenty-Three
B irch slipped past the line at his booth in time to overhear two pretty young women discussing their appreciation of Grey’s fitted Serpent’s Tongue tee.
He scanned the crowds for Jocelyn, jumping when two arms wrapped around his waist. A familiar hand inked with a delicate flower ring splayed across his chest and he grinned, turning to face her. Ducking his head down, he kissed her, unapologetically slipping in a lot more tongue than was appropriate in a family setting. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips moving along her neck while he slid one hand down to squeeze her ass. “Where’d you disappear to?”
“Ice cream recon and parent collection.”
Parent collection.
Cringing, he glanced to his left, his stomach sinking when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Carter standing there, Mrs. Carter with a humored smile on her face and Mr. Carter’s brows almost to his hairline.
He cleared his throat and straightened up, acutely aware of Jocelyn’s grin as he extended his hand to the patriarch of her family. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carter. Birch Baker.”
Her father’s handshake was firm. “Good to meet you. Call me Matthew.”
“And don’t you dare Mrs. Carter me,” Jocelyn’s mother instructed, surprising him with a quick hug. “It’s Willa. And it is lovely to finally meet you, Birch.” Linking her arm in his, she stepped between him and Jocelyn. “Your booth is a huge hit.”
“I hear I have you to thank, so thank you for all the advertising swag. It’s been a big draw,” he replied, hoping no one picked up on the slight shake in his voice. “That’s my brother Grey working right now.”
Lifting Jocelyn’s tattooed hand to study it, Willa smiled. “Is he as talented as you? The fine details on this are beautiful.”
“He has a better eye for color. Grey’s only issue is he has to see it to draw it.”
“Well, this is a stunning ring you put on our daughter. Even if it is temporary.”
Jocelyn squeezed her mother out as they approached the booth. “Seriously, mom? Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. Just trying to put the poor boy at ease. He’s shaking.” Willa said, straightening the dwindling row of lip glosses toppled over. “Your father and I are going to head back to the corral for the cow judging and then go pick up a few pies from Annabelle’s table before they’re all gone.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Jocelyn has been told to invite you to dinner at our house on a night that works for you.”
His eyes moved to Matthew Carter first before he answered. “Uh, that would be great. Thanks. And thanks again for thinking about all this,” he said, gesturing to the lineup twenty deep outside his tent. “I honestly can’t thank you enough.”
With a promise to call, Jocelyn waved her parents off and returned to his side, her eyes laughing even though he could tell she was fighting to keep a straight face. “I am so sorry,” she said, dropping her forehead to his chest. “I tried to keep it brief, but they were blowing up my phone wanting to meet you and I figured it would just be best to get it over with.”
Exhaling, he lolled his head back and looked up to the sky. “I don’t know what was more unnerving, your dad’s silence or getting caught playing tonsil hockey and feeling up his only daughter. Which probably led to the silence.”
“Imagine how much less he’d speak if he knew you’ve been banging me.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing he figured that out,” he grumbled. “Why don’t we go take a tour of the grounds. I can’t ink up anyone while my hands are shaking this bad.”
*
Jocelyn perched on the edge of her chair and watched as Birch freehanded a crow on a woman’s shoulder blade, his black pen fluttering across her skin and his hazel eyes narrowed with a sniper focus.
Her own attention was torn between marveling at his skill and scanning the crowds for Ryder.
The Serpent’s Tongue booth hadn’t slowed down one bit throughout the day. Even now, with the sun beginning to lower in the sky and families setting up their blankets in the park for the fireworks, the line was still twenty deep. Despite Birch’s grumbled commands for his younger brother to head home and study, Grey remained at his side, Birch’s binder of work next to him and open to the piece he was copying onto a man’s bicep.
Her parents walked by periodically, her father observing the steady crowd around the tent with interest and her mother grinning ear to ear at the rapidly disappearing piles of advertising on the table. Rheyna and Elise came by with their husbands, Elise’s five-year-old daughter watching Grey intently until his client stood up and he glanced over. Patting the seat, he let the little one cut the line so he could give her fairy wings on her back, the bright colors extending from the straps of her sundress.
But no Ryder.
“I think we’ll be lucky to fit in two more before it gets too dark,” Birch said as he opened another pack of pens, his leg brushing against hers. “Any suggestion on how we deal with the rest in line?”
She looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Why don’t I take their names and you can offer them a free one on-site next week? It would bring people into the shop, and those who do show are probably the ones who will be aiming for a real one eventually.”
Kissing the top of her head, he turned and motioned for the next client to sit. “I love that mind of yours.” He froze for a moment, the tensing muscles across his back visible through his black shirt. Clearing his throat, he glanced back at her. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She gave his spine a quick rubdown as she grabbed a notebook off the table. “Don’t have a coronary before we have to clean this place up.”
Collecting the names of the people left waiting, she slid the list into her purse and pulled a box from under the display table. Setting the Serpent’s Tongue blanket aside, she carefully packed the few items left out, making a mental note to remind Birch he should order more business cards.
Bit by bit, she folded and rolled, tucked and packed. It was mindless and productive, a perfect distraction from the setting sun and impending fireworks.
Come Monday morning, it would be all business between her and Birch. She knew it. He knew it. But anyone who’d been studying them closely enough, like Grey, would be blindsided. Birch hadn’t gone more than five minutes without touching her in some way since they returned to the booth after his hands steadied that afternoon. When she passed by to chat with the next people in line, his fingers brushed her thigh. When she stood at the table offering pens and lip gloss and bookmarks to curious passerby, his knee nudged hers. When she returned after slipping away to bring all of them dinner, he hooked his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap before remembering they had an audience. A very interested audience.
With the last of their supplies packed, she added the box to the stack of chairs and the tables Grey had collapsed. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving the empty tent a final appraisal and scooping a discarded yellow pen off the floor. “Are we loading the truck now or after the fireworks?”
Birch squinted into the sunset. “It looks like a rock concert on the field.” He turned to his brother. “Where are you parked?”
“Two rows away from you,” Grey replied, hefting the chairs up. “Why don’t we shove as much as we can in my car. I’m taking off right away so if you give me the shop keys, I can unload on my way.” He looked over Birch’s shoulder at her. “See you when you two get home later.”
*
Birch trailed his fingers along Jocelyn’s arm, adjusting the blanket covering them when he felt the coolness of her skin. They lay in the bed of his truck in silence, the noise of the festival filtering over to the isolated berm he drove them to just outside the gravel parking lot.
The sun was disappearing too fast on the horizon, the tinny voice carrying on the wind from the concert stage announcing the five-minute countdown to the fireworks display the crowd was anticipating.
The success of the day was bittersweet. Even with his cautious pessimism, Birch had to admit that his booth had drawn bigger crowds and longer lines than every other one, save for the beer tent. His hands were aching from the hours of drawing, his neck and shoulders sore. But every twinge and discomfort had been worth it.
Jocelyn’s calm presence had kept him from becoming overwhelmed, her mere proximity giving him the same sense of surety he felt whenever he arrived at a clear game plan for the next obstacle in line.
He tried to keep his need for her under wraps, stealing steadying reminders of her nearness through quick touches of her hand or leg. Just by her being in his booth, he knew the town’s rumor mill would be churning at maximum speed by morning coffee, and the less fodder he gave them, the less Jocelyn would have to negate until she returned to Jersey.
Because it wouldn’t be him the whispers came to. It never was. Of the dozens and dozens of people whose skin he’d decorated today, not one of them would dare come to him with the gossip he knew swirled around him. It would be Jocelyn facing the comments and the stares, the judgements and the questions.
And she would be facing it for nothing.
A gentle touch moved across his brow.
“Did you know every time you start sinking into your darkest thoughts, this crease right here emerges?” she murmured, rolling on top of him and smoothing her thumb along his forehead. “No doom thinking right now, got it?”
“I wasn’t doom thinking,” he grumbled, pulling her down to kiss her. “I was contemplating reality.”
“Same thing.” The crowds a few hundred yards away began to holler their countdown. “Want to make out to the rocket’s red glare?”