Chapter 11 #2
“An extra hour of what?” I ask in a quiet voice. Lana is a bit intimidating, and I don’t want her to hear my question.
He shrugs. “I promised her free labor the next time she needs my handyman services.”
“For donuts?! They can’t be that good.”
Before he can answer, the door opens again. Lana holds a white paper bag and two coffee cups. Drew and I each take one. “Your coffee isn’t as hot as it was a half hour ago.”
“That’s fine,” Drew says. “Thanks.”
She lifts her chin in my direction, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Her free hand looks cold. You might want to do something about that.”
She shuts the door.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “Do you have mittens in your pocket or something?”
Drew tries to hide his laughter. “Or something. Come on. We have about a mile walk to the fairgrounds. Or we can drive if you’d rather?”
“No, let’s walk.”
“Good, because I’m not sure we’d be able to find a parking space. Now try this donut and tell me if it isn’t the best thing ever.”
I remove an apple donut from the bag. It’s a filled donut covered in cinnamon sugar.
I take a bite. Soft on the inside and crispy on the outside.
I hum in appreciation as the sugary apple flavor fills my mouth.
I can’t be sure if it tastes so good because it really is that good, or if it’s because I’m in Blissful, on a clear fall day, walking beside Drew.
“Well?” Drew asks.
“Delicious.”
My next bite gets me to the apple filling. The small apple chunks are tart, the thick sauce sweet with a hint of caramel. Yum.
“I want to eat these every day,” I say.
“From mid-September through October, I do. Unfortunately, Lana only makes them during Apple Jamboree.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, something like that.”
We drink coffee cooled to the perfect temperature and eat apple donuts as we walk.
Lana gave us a half dozen, but I’m only able to eat two.
Drew eats three, and when I insist I can’t eat another, the last one.
I’m full, but when we reach the fairgrounds, and I see how many food trucks are here offering delicious options, I’m already impatient for lunch.
Besides the food trucks, there are rows and rows of vendors selling crafts, t-shirts, and an odd assortment of other merchandise.
“Is this here every day through the end of October?” I ask.
“No, just weekends. It’s slow during the week, except at the pumpkin patch. That’s a popular place for photos most days.”
The other half of the grounds are empty but for a raised platform and a sea of blankets spread over the grass. Drew leads me in that direction. I’m a few feet away when I recognize Drew’s mom, Diane, sitting on one of the blankets. Her face lights up when she notices me following her son.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Diane says. “The first and last weekends of Apple Jamboree are always the best. It’s when most of the locals come out.”
“Is there something happening here?” I ask. The stage is empty, but there are so many blankets. “It looks like it’s morning nap time.”
Drew laughs. “No. We’re staking out our spot for the show and fireworks tonight.”
“Wow. Eight hours early?”
“Drew actually came out at six this morning to get us this close,” Diane explains. “Not early enough to beat a dozen families, but this is a good spot.”
“Are you going to hang out here all day?” I ask her.
“No. I’m waiting for my husband, then we’ll walk around. You two, go have fun.”
At her insistence, we leave and walk up and down every row of vendors.
I stop at a bunch of booths because it’s all so cool.
Soon I have bags filled with hand-sewn plushies for my niblings, felted hot pads for my sisters, bolo ties for my brother and brothers-in-law.
Not that I think they’ll wear them; it’s more of a joke.
For me, a hand-made notebook and a few pairs of earrings.
I don’t know the visitors from the locals, but they make themselves obvious by stopping to chat with Drew. Are all men in Blissful this well-loved, or is it just him? They seem to know who I am before I’m introduced. They say things like, “you must be Stella,” or, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
When we’re alone, I finally lean close and ask him, “How does everyone know who I am? Did you put an ad in the local newspaper?”
“Nope. Just one of the perks of being in a small town.”
That doesn’t really answer my question, but someone else stops to talk to him, so I don’t get a chance to press.
After telling me, “I’m so glad Drew has a friend,” they walk off.
Drew has so many friends it’s a ridiculous thing to say.
Unless he’s implying I’m more than a friend.
Best not to acknowledge the implication.
“Are you running for mayor?” I tease.
“No way. Though wouldn’t my mom love that?” Drew catches me staring at him. “What?”
“You might not be running for mayor, but this place would elect you in a landslide. Maybe tone down your friendliness, or you’ll be a write-in candidate at the next election and win a new job you didn’t campaign for. ”
He puts a finger to his lips and leans close. Our arms brush. “Don’t give anyone any ideas, yeah?”
The apple orchard isn’t far, and after dropping off my purchases at his blanket, we head in that direction.
“Are you sure no one will take them?” I look back over my shoulder. “I’m offering my things up on a platter to anyone passing by. I can tie the bags to my backpack.”
“This isn’t Tucson. It’s Blissful. It’ll be fine.”
“Yes, but a lot of people here are from Tucson.”
“Trust me.”
“I do.”
His grin is beautiful. “Then let’s go pick some apples.”
After we grab a basket, we wander through the trees. The smell is intoxicating. It’s earth and wood and apple, with a hint of chill in the air. Unlike any scent I’ve experienced before.
Drew pulls a knife from his boot.
The shock of it makes me laugh. “What is that?”
“It’s a must for apple picking.” He pulls an apple from a branch and cuts a slice with an easy flick of the knife. “There’s nothing like an apple straight from the tree. Try it.”
Our fingers touch as I take it from his hand, causing a delicious shiver down my spine.
He’s right. My first bite is crisp and fills my mouth with an explosion of sweet with a hint of sour.
“This is amazing.”
As we walk through the orchard, eating our apple, I’m happy and content. When was the last time I felt like this? It’s been so long, I can’t remember. Probably when I was in Ireland with Mallory, hiking the Dingle Coast.
A red-headed, pig-tailed girl runs in front of us, almost tripping me.
I recognize her, and watch as she runs into the arms of my book-boyfriend, Mickey.
I do not want him to see me. What if he remembers how I took his picture in Blissful Clothing Co?
I speed walk away so that Drew has to jog to catch up.
When I glance back, Mickey’s looking straight at me with that same confused head tilt.
Of course he is, because I can never pass up an opportunity to embarrass myself.
At least I don’t live here and won’t see him again.
At the cashier’s table, the staff bags our dozen apples and then wave us through without paying.
“The apples are free?” I ask.
“I helped the owner's daughter move last month, and he’s paying me in apples.”
I laugh. “How do you make a living? It seems you barter for everything.”
He shoots me a grin. “We help each other here. People give me what they can, and I have a small grocery bill.”
I nudge his arm with my shoulder. “Seriously? How do you pay rent?”
“No rent. It’s part of the benefit of running the hardware store, and Roger pays me really well on top of that. Now, are you ready to go boot shopping?”
I can't help but skip and clap my hands. I’m a thirty-five year old woman acting like my three-year-old niece. I’m ridiculous, but Drew seems to enjoy my enthusiasm.
The boot store is a block away. It’s not flashy or modern.
I feel like I’ve gone back in time to the seventies.
An old man with a white handlebar mustache comes out from behind the counter and talks to Drew about town stuff.
I slip away and browse the styles. In a few minutes, both men come and find me.
Drew hands me a pair of long wool socks. “These are what you want. Cowboy boots are going to fit differently than sneakers. You want a snug fit so your feet don’t slip around, but room for your toes to wiggle. Arne just needs to measure your feet.”
Once measured, I look in the area of my size and find a gorgeous pair of faux leather, honey-colored boots with a sunflower design stitched up the sides.
I walk around the store while Arne asks me questions on how they feel.
The answer is perfect. I stuff my sneakers and socks into my backpack and head to the register.
Arne has disappeared. Drew hooks his hand in my elbow and tugs me toward the door.
“I have to pay,” I tell him, not moving from the checkout counter. “Where did he go?”
“It’s all taken care of.”
I put my hands on hips and glare. “These are a hundred and fifty dollar boots. You are not paying for them. I am.”
“Arne and I struck a deal. I’ll paint his living room and kitchen; he gives you the boots. A fair swap.”
“Drew,” I whine. “You can’t keep doing that. You’ll be working for a month to pay back all your neighbors after today.”
He raises his eyebrows and glances from my head to my feet. “Seeing you in those boots? Worth it.”
I blush, though I can’t deny that I do look good.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll let you give me one-fifty for those boots if you let me pay you for all the stuff you bought for my loft.”
“No way!”
“Then my deal with Arne stands.”
This time when he tugs on my arm, I follow, though somewhat reluctantly. Does that make me an awful woman to take this huge gift from Drew? I want these boots. From the look in Drew’s face, paying for them myself is an argument I won’t win.