13. Darcy
THIRTEEN
DARCY
“I’m so sorry. I don’t have change yet. We’ve got someone waiting for the bank to open. We can take cards.”
Becca and I have been saying some variation of that statement for the last hour. I’d survived a full week of running the farm without fucking up.
Until this morning.
I overslept, only waking up because I had another Rob-centric nightmare. This time, I was pinned down while he spat all his tiny little critiques at me, one by one. The ones where I can’t do anything right. Nothing was physically holding me down but I couldn’t get away.
I woke up screaming, pouring sweat, and crying—and finding that I was twenty minutes late for the market, needed to stop for gas, and had forgotten to get more change at the bank after Wednesday’s market. I brushed my teeth, pulled on fresh clothes and a baseball hat, and tore down the path to get to the barn and load up. Luckily, I’d prepacked most of my stuff and made my baked goods the night before. Unlike last Friday night, I spent this one baking and not drinking whiskey and flirting with Jake.
I have my life together. I’m behaving. Or behaving as well as one can after one detonates one’s life.
I’m not answering the copious missed messages from Rob that hit my phone whenever I go into Paint. I’m a grown woman who set a boundary, and I’m sticking to it.
But his voice rings in my head today all the same.
You’re so forgetful.
Sometimes it’s like you fuck up on purpose.
That’s the woman of my dreams, the one who makes me turn the car around to turn off her flatiron!
I fight to center myself, thinking of all the positives in my life right now. Becca invited me out after our first day of work just because. Jake and Caleb had me over for video games and ramen. Stormy is living her best life, catching barn mice with the best of them.
The positive that scares me the most is that I’m alone. I thought I was better off because I had someone, but that’s not true if that person constantly tears you down. I didn’t appreciate how bad it was until I started spending time with people who lift me up when I make a mistake rather than kicking me when I’m down. The four of us at the farm don’t know each other that well, but there’s a safety net developing—and it feels really nice.
This morning, I got to test the safety net.
When I was wigging out about running late and not having enough cash, Jake swooped into action. He’d been outside loading baseball bats and helmets into his truck when he saw me come running. He helped me load up the farm truck, and just said, “I can go,” when I was working out the morning’s logistics out loud. The bank would open an hour after the market, and he’d go get the money then. He asked if I wanted him to check the mail since the post office is next to the bank, and I threw the PO box key at him with a thank you.
“We got this,” he assured me with a pat on the driver’s door before I tore out of the drive.
We . Not you.
And despite our lack of cash, business has been bumping this morning.
“If this is how it is now, I might have to quit before actual peach season,” Becca mutters under her breath.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, smiling to get the next customer to step forward.
The table’s full of the fruits of my labor: peach tea lemonade, peach muffins, and banana peach bread. I guess it’s enticing enough because a line snakes from our stand around the market.
“I swear we’re busier now than I worked the market with Bill,” I say to Becca.
“It’s because we’re two hotties,” she says with a shrug, then beckons the next customer. “Step on up, hun! What do you need?”
Suddenly, there’s a tall body next to me, a voice in my ear, and a large tan hand reaching for the cash box at my hip. “One of them peach tea lemonades, darlin’, please and thank you.”
I about jump out of my skin when I turn to find Jake in a baseball jersey with “Gina’s Angels” on it, a baseball hat with the same logo, shorts, and sneakers. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. But I do require lemonade for my service.” He looks out at the line and raises his voice. “Because those peach tea lemonades sure are tasty!”
A woman advances in the line and eyes Jake like the fucking snack he is.
Because he is, whether I like it or not. Not only is he physically attractive, but he always finds a way to be in the right place at the right time to help out.
And that’s hot. And annoying because a woman (me) who just called off a wedding (mine) should probably lay low for a while (maybe forever).
And now, he’s here smelling good and being cute and he fucking knows it. I both want to smack him for being a smug little shit who pushes my buttons and also hug his neck at the same time.
I can’t even focus on those thoughts because there remains a line of customers in front of me. The woman who’s obviously into Jake speaks to him and only him. “I’ll have one of those lemonades you’re talking about, and a dozen muffins. Do they freeze?”
I go to answer, but Jake talks over me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “Yes, ma’am, they do. They freeze and thaw beautifully. Darcy here makes them fresh every week.”
He’s being such a smarmy little down-home asshole, but of course, it reads as charming to the customer.
“Oh, are you two married?” she asks, checking Jake’s hand that rests on my shoulder for a ring.
“No,” I say a little too sternly, and Jake pulls his hand off my shoulder and steps to pour the lady a lemonade. He winks at me when he hands her the cup, filling a second and third cup with ice. It’s actually helpful since we’re so busy.
Helpful, yet again.
I hand the customer her box of muffins.
“You have a nice day now,” Jake and I say at the same time, and Jake cackles as I scowl at him.
He’s helpful, and he’s a menace. One does not cancel out the other.
“Don’t take my line,” I grumble.
Jake ignores me and rips a sip off the cup of lemonade he made for himself. “Oh my god, have you had this stuff, Becca? It’s incredible!”
I help the next customer and have to laugh at Jake’s bullshit. The people of the Paint Farmers Market are endlessly charmed by him, and if I give any indication that I can’t stand it, they’ll turn on me.
“Jake, pour me one, please,” Becca says.
“With pleasure, Becca,” Jake says with a too-big smile. “If only Miss Darcy had your sunny disposition. You catch more flies with honey, you know.”
I clamp my jaw and Becca cracks up. “I am sweet. You just come in here with this obnoxious ‘golly gosh gee willikers’ act and make basic courtesy look rude.”
“Good thing I love sweet and sour,” Jake says, pre-pouring a few more cups of lemonade, raising his voice again. “Just like this delicious peach tea lemonade. Sweet, sour, and refreshing.”
I sigh and Becca elbows my side. “You make it too easy for him.”
That cedar and amber scent surrounds me again and a styrofoam cup is thrust into my hand. Jake’s used a Sharpie to write my name and a smiley face on the side. “Stay hydrated, boss. I’ve gotta go coach. Your mail’s in the truck. Let me know if you need help later.”
And before I can ask what that means, he winks and is gone.
* * *
When I get back in the truck at the market’s end, I take a long drag on my water bottle. Who knew working a farmers market would feel like drinking from a firehose? Before turning the truck on, I flick through the mail in the passenger seat.
The heavy weight of horror descends upon me the closer I get to the bottom. There’s a package, though the packaging is thankfully discreet. I let out a wheezy sigh. Jake probably didn’t know what it was. Yes, it’s addressed to me, but . . . there’s no way.
But as I lift it to inspect it more closely, I notice a small tear in the tape. He couldn’t have opened that. It’s mail fraud. It’s illegal. I use the truck’s key to crack the rest of the package open.
No, Jake didn’t open it all the way. He just left a piece of paper in the top of the package, a thin strip he could have shoved in from that tiny slit.
Come get me if you need a hand ;) -J
That fucking scamp. I shake my head but can’t stop my smile as I start the truck and head down the road.