5 Lattes #3
I opened my mouth to say … what? That he made me feel all kinds of things too? That I counted the hours until I got to see him again, and went to sleep imagining what we could do to each other?
A woman and her kid appeared at the booth, smiling at the props. “Oh, how fun, is that a top hat? Can we get a photo?”
“Of course you can. Step right this way.” I smiled and led them over while James stood behind the camera and snapped the photos.
We had a huge swell of customers, which meant James and I could only communicate with our eyes. But during a break I walked over to him. He had the top hat on again, after taking it from a couple posing.
“I’ve always had a thing for top hats,” he told me. “Very fun. Very British.” And then, like he’d just thought of it, he asked, “Have you ever been to Europe?”
I froze. “Nope. Never. Have you?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Would you like to?”
“Yeah. I think so? Definitely. I’m just not sure how I would actually make that happen …”
“James, I …” I started. The letter was burning in my mind. He was the first person I actually wanted to tell.
But the words stuck in my throat. How could I tell him about the letter, about maybe leaving, when he’d just told me I made him feel like himself?
“I think we’re going to make a lot of money tonight.”
“Okay, lovebirds, out of the way, I need to get in there.” Krista separated us and I noticed she was holding on to Carter Blake like a prisoner.
I looked over to catch Lennie’s eye and noticed that she and Sara were …
arguing? I turned back to the booth, with something tight in my stomach.
I’d grab Lennie for a hug and a debrief as soon as I could.
“Hey, Carter,” I said.
Tonight he was wearing a Penn State hoodie and jeans instead of sweatpants. He looked at me, confused. I pulled off the wig and crown.
“Oh, hi, Taylor, didn’t recognize you there,” he said.
“Carter, are you ready for our pic?” Krista fluttered her eyelashes and tugged on his arm.
“Sure, let’s do it. Proceeds are going to the Kissing Tree?” he asked me.
“Yeah. All for a great cause.”
“Gotta save that Kissing Tree,” he said, and winked at me.
Carter Blake had no effect on me now. But I caught James watching, and his expression was unreadable.
Carter stood in front of the camera.
“Okay, Carter, just put your hand there, on Krista’s back. Perfect.”
Harvest Festival was as happy as ever. The air smelled like woodsmoke and cider and Mrs. Burrows’s famous pies. Music drifted from the bandstand, some group that Krista’s mom had hired, and kids shrieked with laughter on hayrides that rattled past every ten minutes.
For the rest of the night, though, there was a tension between James and me that hadn’t been there since that first day in the coffee shop. I handed people costumes, fixed the way they were standing, and made jokes to make them smile. James took the photos, never even looking at me.
By ten o’clock the crowds started to thin, and parents carried sleepy children toward the parking lot. The band packed up and Mrs. Burrows wrapped up her last few pies.
Our photo booth line had finally disappeared, and we’d sold out of food and drinks.
James was packing up the camera equipment and Krista and Avery were counting money from the cider stall.
They both looked exhausted, in a good way.
Lennie stood at the edge of the stall, looking exhausted, but not in a good way.
I was about to go over to her to find out what had happened when I spotted Sara walking across the square with her family.
They stopped at the almost-empty pie stand, and I watched as Sara glanced over at us.
At Lennie. She looked away quickly when her mom said something, and my heart ached for my best friend.
Meanwhile, James packed everything away effortlessly. I tried not to get distracted by how good he looked in his cozy sweater, which made me ache to hug him. But why was he acting like this? Quiet. Confusing. Unreadable.
James had started taking down the canopy above us.
The last sellers were packing up, the families were going home, and suddenly I remembered that Pop had said he was going to come.
I’d been looking forward to taking a cute photo with him in the booth, but someone must have called with some sort of home emergency.
I started counting the money we’d made, and I couldn’t believe it.
Forgetting the weird tension between me and James, I squealed: “We made more tonight than we do in a whole weekend!” I jumped into his arms, and he folded them around me.
For a second I was looking down at him, as if we were about to kiss again, bad vibes forgotten.
He held me easily with one arm as he reached up and brushed some hair from my face gently with the other, sending shock waves through my whole body. Neither of us spoke.
Then he cleared his throat and put me down, as if he’d just remembered something.
“Thank you for your contribution tonight,” he said. Formally.
“No worries?” I replied. Confused. Embarrassed. My heart still racing, a thousand beats an hour.