Chapter 18 #2
“These are delicious,” Kenny said to The Salsa Man, while she shoveled another bite into her mouth. “Next week I’ll eat breakfast before I come. I guess this is why they say to never go to the grocery store on an empty stomach.” She laughed.
“Don’t sweat it, miss. I always have plenty of samples available for people to enjoy. I wish I could give it all away for free, but the wife won’t allow it,” The Salsa Man said with a wink and smile.
“That’s very generous of you. I’ll take a bag of Original Oats and Peanut Butter Crunch, please. And I’d like to pay for them,” Kenny joked as she dug in her cross-body bag for cash.
“You can’t stop there. Salsa Man’s rule is if you try all his granola, you have to sample all of his salsas, too,” a man chimed from behind Kenny.
“Oh, it’s this guy,” The Salsa Man huffed. “When are you going to stop scaring away my pretty, young customers?”
“When you stop telling people where you take your golf lessons. It’s not good for business,” the man replied.
Kenny could tell from the banter and the expression on The Salsa Man’s face that the ribbing was cordial and when she turned around to add to the conversation, she forgot her witty one-liner just as quickly as she came up with it.
“J.P.! Hey, how are you?” she attempted to say in a cheerful, but calm, collected, not too over the top way.
“I had a feeling that was you. I noticed a bright orange bike parked near mine and figured I’d bump into someone from Pelican Pointe. There’s no flying under the radar on that thing.” J.P. laughed, motioning toward the bike racks.
“Yes, I’m sure you can see me coming from a mile away,” Kenny smiled and shrugged.
I came down here to fly under the radar and stay to myself.
And the only person who I’d potentially want to know thinks I’m an uncoordinated, granola-eating bad driver who falls ass over tin cups when approached by tiny animals and peddles around the plantation on a bright orange clown bike, Kenny thought.
“But I’m lucky to have it,” she quickly continued, forcing herself to make conversation so she didn’t accidentally blurt out what she was really thinking.
“This whole trip was very spur of the moment. I drove down in a one-way rental car and hadn’t given much thought to how I would get around the five weeks I was here. ”
“That’s just one of the many great things about Sea Pines. You don’t really need a car if you don’t mind walking and biking. The plantation has a shuttle, and you can always call an Uber if you’re in a jam. You might enjoy not having to rely on a car every day,” J.P. assured.
“I never mind walking; I love walking. I live in Manhattan, so my feet have been my main source of transportation for the last decade. They’ve been more reliable than public transportation lately, too,” Kenny said, hoping the joke didn’t fall flat.
“You’re one of those city girls, eh? I don’t know how you all do it. I give you credit but think you must be a little crazy to want to live in that chaos. And that subway, forget it. Don’t get me started,” he shook his head and crossed his arms.
Kenny raised her eyebrows and gave him an inquisitive look, hoping he’d continue the story. Although she barely knew J.P., she thought the slightly agitated version of him was adorable.
“If I had a dollar for every time I had to hear this story.” The Salsa Man laughed and walked away to help another customer.
“I’ll give the abbreviated version. My buddies and I met in New York for a night to catch a Yankees-Red Socks game.
We splurged on the fancy field level infield seats, we were pumped.
We were having a few beers at the Perfect Pint in Midtown before the game and the bartender talked us out of taking a cab to the stadium.
He said it was an easy subway ride up to the Bronx.
‘Get on the 4 train and follow the crowd,’ he said.
Easy enough, right? That’s what we did. When we got off the subway, we were in freaking Brooklyn! ”
“Oh no! I’m guessing the large crowd you followed were all wearing Nets jerseys and not Yankee gear?” Kenny poked.
“You know, I’ve been asked that exact question once or twice over the years and will continue to plead the fifth.
Anyway, what do you think?” J.P. raised his hands and looked around referring to the farmers market.
“Impressive, right. A few years ago, only about five or six vendors set up. I heard there are over forty booths here today.”
“It’s great. Aside from the produce and, of course, the granola.
” She nodded to The Salsa Man who had made his way back down the table and started to pack up his samples.
“I’m really impressed with all the art. Such beautiful work.
I picked up greeting cards from the oil painter.
And those basket weavers, I could watch them all day.
Such a complicated and tedious craft, I would never have the patience. ”
“Yea, it’s a creative bunch around here,” J.P. said proudly. “Why don’t you throw a jar of your famous pineapple salsa in Kenny’s bag, put it on my tab.” He motioned to The Salsa Man.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to pay for my salsa.” Kenny giggled.
“Think of it as an apology from Cliff. But I warn you, the stuff is more addicting than any of that granola you were loading up on.”
Confirmed. He witnessed me shoveling bite-sized samples of seeds into my big mouth. God, I hope I don’t have anything in my teeth.
She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to eat again but said, “Well, thank you to Cliff! And I’ll heed your warning. Where is your little wingman today?”
“Follow me,” J.P. motioned to Kenny while waving goodbye to The Salsa Man.
“Catch you later, man! Nice to meet you, Kenny. Hope to see you next week,” The Salsa Man smiled.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she replied, picking up her, now very heavy, burlap bag and trying to pretend she wasn’t bursting on the inside from J.P.’s “follow me” direction.
“Cliff is down here with his old roommates,” J.P. said as he led Kenny down the back ramp of the pavilion.
She hadn’t noticed the large fenced-in grassy area behind the pavilion where at least a dozen dogs playfully ran in circles.
“About two months ago, the Hilton Head Dog Shelter started showing up on Thursdays. They quickly turned into one of the biggest attractions. Even if the dogs don’t get adopted, it’s still a win-win.
Canine therapy is good for the soul and the shelter workers are happy the dogs get some much-needed attention and exercise for a few hours.
I just happen to be one of the suckers who came for produce one day and eventually ended up with a puppy.
” J.P. grinned, as he took a sip of the iced coffee he purchased from the Island Beans vendor.
“Walks on the beach, playdates at the farmers market. Cliff seems to have hit the jackpot,” Kenny exclaimed.
As soon as she let out the words, she instantly regretted them. The last thing she wanted was to sound jealous of a dog. Even if Cliff was living a life better than most humans. Not to mention in a loving relationship with a doting man.
“How did you pick out Cliff from the rest?” Kenny said in a quick pivot hoping that he wouldn’t read into the fact that she wished it was she and J.P. taking walks on the beach and trips to the farmers market.
“Cliff really chose me. I had no intention of getting a dog. I work a lot, and it wouldn’t have been fair to adopt one of these guys and then never be home.
But every Thursday, I’d stop over to play with the pups, and Cliff would always come right to me, like he did to you on the beach,” J.P.
said in a way as if he just had a breakthrough in thought.
“He was the shy one in the bunch, so it always surprised the workers. Anyway, my boss got wind of the story, he’s a big animal guy, and sits on the board at the shelter.
A few months ago, the morning after a meeting at the shelter, he showed up at the office with Cliff.
He said if I was able to care for him, I should keep him; and if he didn’t cause a nuisance, I could bring him to work.
He’s been a staple at the office, since. ”
“This Mr. Cunningham does sound like quite the guy. And what about the name? Did your boss choose the name, Cliff, too?” Kenny said as she squatted down to pet the homely looking dog that beelined to the fence as soon as it saw J.P.
“They don’t make them like Mr. C anymore.
He’s the brains behind this market. When he found out that a small group of local farmers, who weren’t too well off themselves, were donating their crops to needy families, he started paying them for the produce they gave away.
Then he bought this plot of land and erected the pavilion so they could gather and sell their goods to the masses.
A lot of these little mom and pop vendors would never be able to afford to have brick and mortar stores. ”
Kenny nodded with intrigue and admiration. She wondered why inspirational stories like Mr. Cunningham’s weren’t more widely shared in the news.
“As for Cliff, he came with that name.” J.P.
shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice but I’m not sure he’s the brightest bulb and I thought it would’ve been too confusing for him to learn a new one,” he whispered as he put his hands over the dog’s ears so he wouldn’t hear the insult.
“And my niece loved Clifford the Big Red Dog when she was a toddler. She really talked me into keeping the name.” J.P laughed, defending the choice.
Of course, he has a niece. She’s probably adorable and they clearly adore each other.
“Well, I think it suits him,” Kenny said as she stood to her feet and picked up the burlap bag. “I should start making my way back home. I want to get all of this produce out of the sun and into the fridge.”
“Cliff and I need to get back to the office, too. We’ve got a busy afternoon.” he said strapping the leash to the dog’s collar and picking him up and over the fence.
“It was great bumping into you, J.P. Thanks, again, for the salsa.” Kenny flashed a smile before turning and walking away.
The voice in Kenny’s heart told her to naively crane her neck and see if he was watching her walk away like the handsome men in Hallmark movies do. The voice in her head told her to stay the course, move on with her day and forget the whole encounter.