5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
A rriving at the festival site Saturday morning, I park and take a stroll through the vendor booths before heading to my own.
I was hoping to find a hanging crocheted plant holder, but no luck.
I might have to learn to crochet to get exactly what I want.
Maybe I can convince Chloe to schedule a class at the county recreation center.
I’m probably not the only one eager to learn.
The heat broke overnight, and it feels like fall, enough so that I bought a pumpkin spice latte at the coffee shop before driving to the fairgrounds.
Driving here, I admired the colors of the trees.
The red, orange, and yellow leaves are marvelous indicators of the changing season, a reminder to prepare for winter and expect a slower pace.
Soon, homeowners will rake and burn fallen leaves.
I’ll enjoy the smoky smell and remember the fun I had as a child, running and jumping in massive piles of leaves .
Living in a commercial building on Main Street, I don’t have a yard, and this is the one time of the year I’m thankful that I don’t. I have enough to worry about with bills, furnaces, and batches of soap. I’m glad I don’t have the exhausting task of keeping up with leaf removal.
I see Hunter when I’m still several booths away. He’s wearing an orange sweatshirt and khaki shorts. The shirt is going to make his green eyes pop. My cheeks flush, and I want to run forward to see.
Why am I thinking about his eyes? To distract myself, I stop to chat with the woman selling book-related T-shirts, stickers, and reading accessories.
She has adorable “Date With a Mystery Book” packages with books wrapped in craft paper and hints about the book inside.
Before leaving her booth, I purchase a sticker that says, “Go away, I’m reading” to put on my Kindle cover.
As I leave her booth, I remember the conversation with Hunter last night. I’m curious to ask him whether he’s happy living in the big city. I have a feeling he’s not. Call it women’s intuition. Call it a hunch.
“Good morning,” I say as I approach. His back is to me, so I don’t want to startle him.
He spins and grins. I was right; his eyes are enthralling.
“Hi,” he says. “How are you this morning?”
“Great. I appreciate the fall weather. Appropriate for a pumpkin fest. How are you?”
“I’m good.” He nods, like he’s agreeing with himself. “Ready to sell some suds. I charged the credit card reader, so I won’t be harassing you as much today.”
“I didn’t mind your harassing me.” I shrug. “Could be worse. ”
“Yeah?”
I laugh. “You could have been one of my exes.”
Shoot. Where did that come from? I don’t want to talk about anyone’s exes. His. Mine. Or anyone’s.
Backpedal! Before I can change the subject, Hunter steps closer.
“Now, there’s a topic I would love to explore more.” A lopsided grin brightens his face.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Not going there. Forget I said that word. Now, leave me alone; I have work to do.”
I turn my back and take a deep breath. It’s time for the latte to kick in! Any more slips of the tongue like that, and I’ll collapse from the mortification.
Thirty minutes later, I set out my last bar of soap and check the time. Twenty minutes before customers are due to arrive. Perfect.
I sneak a peek over at Hunter’s booth. He’s sitting in the folding chair with his legs propped up on a large cooler. He’s watching me.
“Enjoying the view?” I quip.
“Yep,” he answers. “Did you see Mrs. Johnson’s sign? With the two pies talking on phones?”
So, he’s going to pretend I wasn’t in the view? Fine.
“Of course. I think my cousin Glenn painted it.” It was Glenn or Jackson, pretty sure of that. They’re both talented artists.
“Right. Didn’t he paint the mural in the high school gym?”
“I think it was Glenn, Jackson, and another person,” I reply. “It’s still there. ”
Hunter probably doesn’t know that—I’ve never seen him at a volleyball match or basketball game. I go frequently. It is the local entertainment.
“Wow. Still there?”
“You should try to get out there for a game while you’re home. I have all the sports schedules on my phone.”
He grins. “I’ll think about it.”
Does he think I’m a nerd for keeping up with school activities? “Ready for a bustling day? With it being Saturday and cooler temps, I think we’re going to be busy bees!”
I want to squeal. If we have two more great days, I might make enough to have the furnace repaired before it’s needed. That would be almost as good as pumpkin pie on turkey day!
“You seem excited about that?” Hunter’s statement sounds like a question.
I look away; I don’t want him to see the desperation in my eyes. “I’m not here to watch the passersby.”
“But these are your neighbors, your friends and family. I would’ve thought you’d love chatting up everyone.
” Hunter stands and steps closer. Where are the customers?
I need their distraction. Hunter’s making me think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about, like how I wish he wasn’t going back to Chicago.
Sure, he’s staying through the week, but he’ll be too busy with work and helping his mom. I probably won’t see him after Sunday.
I wouldn’t have guessed that I wanted that before yesterday, but I would like to spend more time with Hunter and get to know who he is now. What’s happened in his life to make him who he is today ?
“I love visiting them.” My arms rise to emphasize my point. “However, I live here, and I see them all the time.”
But I don’t see you all the time, and I don’t need to get enamored with you.
He leans over my table, resting his hands on it. “The benefits of staying close to home. Did you move back right after college?”
He doesn’t know my story? Doesn’t he keep in touch with someone who will give him the local gossip? Does he even talk to his sister?
“No. I moved to St. Louis after college, stayed there a couple of years, but my grandma Birdie got sick, and I wanted to move home to help.”
“That’s sweet.” His eyebrows pinch together in the middle. “Did she get better?”
“Yes, she’s moved into the big house. She can’t live alone anymore.”
“The big house?”
I laugh. “Yes. Uncle Jim and Aunt Dana’s house. The farmhouse. We call it the big house.”
“Wow, I haven’t been out there for ages. I worked at some of their special events in high school.”
“I remember. We both worked the tulip festival concessions during our senior year.”
“Right!” he says. “We had to put on those crazy Dutch costumes with the wooden shoes.”
“Yes, the cousins revolted after that year. Those costumes are a thing of the past.”
“Will they have a corn maze this year?”
“Yes, it’s going on now.” I straighten a couple of soaps that shifted when he leaned on the table. “I can’t believe you haven’t had fifty people ask you about it. A hundred people asked me yesterday.”
“I must look like I’m not from around here.”
“That’s it! You don’t.”
“Hey, I am from here. I just haven’t lived here in a long time.”
“Well, unless you move back, you’re going to be seen as an outsider.”
He looks away again, his forehead creases with worry, and I turn to see if someone is behind me. No one is there.
“You aren’t considering moving back, are you?” I ask.
He turns back to me and smiles, but it’s tight. “Never say never.”
He retreats to his booth, and I stare after him. Is he considering moving back? That shouldn’t matter to me. But I feel a jolt of excitement.
I want to know more.
Around three o’clock, a lull settles over the field of vendor stalls. Fair attendees must be home napping or lined up around the food trucks for an afternoon pick-me-up. I’m ready for a jolt myself and am considering which caffeinated drink I want.
Before I can ask Hunter to watch over my booth, my sister Chloe approaches. I see her coming and wave hello. Maybe she’ll run and get me that drink, and I won’t have to leave .
“Hi, Sis,” I say as she approaches. I look at her outfit.
She always looks cute, but today she looks exceptionally gorgeous.
She’s wearing short boots, leggings, and a long-sleeved tunic top with a chic belt and a plaid scarf.
Everything highlights her blonde-hair-blue-eyes good looks. “Dang, girlie, you look adorable.”
I probably look like I’ve been selling soap all day.
My ponytail feels loose and messy, and I’ve spilled soapy water down my pant leg twice.
I set bowls on the tables so I can show customers how the soaps lather if they’re interested.
I glance down at my jeans, tennis shoes, and damp “Birdie’s Boutique” sweatshirt.
Wow, I’m not this messy when I make soap!
Maybe I should have taken more time with my appearance.
“Thanks.” She smiles and glances at Hunter’s booth. “The store was dead, so I closed a little early and got ready. Hope that’s okay.”
She doesn’t know how big the furnace repair bill is. If she did, she wouldn’t have closed early. I sigh.
“Fine. Everyone’s here at the festival. Besides, you could help me out by getting me some caffeine. I’m flagging.”
“Of course! Coffee? Soda?”
“A maple pecan latte, if you can find one.”
“I’m on it. Hey, Hunter!” she calls. “Making a beverage run. Want anything?”
“I’m good.”
Chloe turns to me and whispers, “I bet he is.” She winks before turning on her heel. I want to yank her back by her scarf and ask her what she means.
Or do I ?
Hunter has a softball in his hand, and he’s tossing it in the air a few feet before catching it again.
Why does he have that? Walking out in front of his booth, he looks left and right.
He shrugs and strolls into my booth. He makes like he’s going to toss the ball to me, and I put my hands over my eyes.
“No!” I shout. I don’t need a ball coming towards me in this tight space.
He laughs and takes a seat in my chair. “You did well in the game last night, Slugger.”
“Oh, come on. I got lucky with one hit. Don’t forget I struck out twice.”
“Minor details.”
My embarrassment wasn’t minor; I almost cried after my second strikeout.
I want to bring up the possibility of him moving back but worry the question would give him the wrong idea. Like I like him or something.
“Do you keep in touch with Toft?” I ask instead. Ray Toft was his best friend in high school.
He smiles, and I notice a dimple in his left cheek. Was that always there?
“Yes,” he answers. “He might come by this afternoon. He’s texted me sixteen times today.”
“Only sixteen?”
“I may have exaggerated.” A mischievous grin dances across his mouth.
“Tell me about your job,” I say.
I don’t want to talk about Raymond Toft, or think about Hunter’s dimples. I want to know what Hunter’s like today. There are thirteen years to catch up on .
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a data analyst. I crunch numbers. Not too exciting.”
“Do you enjoy it, at least?”
“It’s okay. Good benefits. Good salary. I shouldn’t complain.”
“But?”
“Maybe it’s time for a change.”
I notice his foot bouncing and glance down. His shoelace is loose. “Don’t trip on that.” I point.
“Catch,” he says as he tosses me the softball. Surprise, surprise, I catch it! He puts his foot up on the chair to tie the shoe.
Chloe returns and hands me a coffee cup.
“Maple pecan, m’lady,” she says, bending down in a curtsy.
Hunter looks up and laughs.
Chloe turns to him. “Are you attending the hay parade tonight?”
The hay parade is a pumpkin festival tradition.
Tractors will line Main Street pulling hayracks, and for a five-dollar donation to the park district, you can ride.
They follow a three-mile-long trail through town, out to my aunt and uncle’s farm.
There, groups can take an evening stroll through the corn maze or hang out at the huge bonfire that my cousins build over several weeks, searching the county for old lumber from outbuildings, barns, and other structures.
They even found an outhouse several years ago.
Yes, the volunteer fire department is on standby, just in case. The cornfields are extremely dry this time of year, and no one wants a county-wide fire caused by a careless teenager sneaking a cigarette in the hidden paths of the maze.
“Yep, wouldn’t miss it,” Hunter responds.
Chloe’s eyes twinkle. “I think we should all ride together!” she exclaims.
“Ray’s coming,” Hunter adds. “Can he join us?”
I notice Chloe’s cheeks turn pink. She’s had a crush on Ray Toft for ages. This should be interesting.
“Yes, of course!” I chime in. “It would be great if Ray came.”
I don’t dare look at Chloe; I know she’s giving me “the look”.
When I got home last night, I popped into her apartment to give her the rundown of how the first day of the festival went.
Rather than ask questions about sales volume or which soaps were the most popular, she wanted a detailed list of everyone I’d seen and talked to.
When she heard Hunter was in the booth next to mine, she asked twenty-seven questions (I counted!) about him and my response to seeing him.
Did I think he was attractive? Could I imagine myself dating him?
Would I move to Chicago to be near him? Did I think he’d ever move back home?
Did I know his sister Joy dated our cousin Glenn, but they broke up?
My head spun from all her questions, and I fell asleep thinking about Hunter, dreaming about possibilities.