10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
T he answer is no, they don’t. We see maybe twenty more people milling around over the next four hours. Several vendors pack up before the end of the festival because it’s so slow.
I refuse. There’s a chance shoppers will reappear, and I’m going to be ready.
No such luck.
Hunter is one vendor who breaks down early. I have to say I don’t mind, because it is less competition. But what’s the meaning of competition if no shoppers come in?
Hunter returns from taking his last load to his car and asks if I want help packing.
“No, I’ve got this.” This is my responsibility. Just like the furnace bill is my responsibility. My opportunity. My desperation. My downfall.
Don’t think like that.
I feel the tears well in my eyes. Don’t cry! Not in front of Hunter !
Too late. A stream of water overflows from my right eye. I can’t even blame the rain. I look at his shoes. Maybe he won’t notice.
Hunter steps closer and gently lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. Worry lines crease his forehead.
“Nothing,” I blather.
“Those tears are not nothing.”
A sob shakes my shoulders. “It wasn’t enough. The rain ruined it.”
“What do you mean? What’s ruined?”
“Sales!” I yell in frustration. I look away. “There weren’t enough sales.”
My breath quickens and my muscles tense thinking about Steve, who sells leather belts and tote bags in my store, and Jill, who makes the cutest beaded bracelets, and Bonnie, who makes T-shirts with hand-embroidered animals on them.
Steve, Jill, Bonnie, and several other artisans depend on my store. Depend on me. If I fail, I fail them, too. It’s not just my livelihood on the line.
“Is it because of the furnace?” he asks.
“Yes!”
He listened to me. Normally, that would thrill me, but right now I keep thinking about how I’m failing.
“Hey.” He wraps his arms around me, a hand rubbing large circles on my back.
Just like last night, his touch is soothing. I want to burrow into his arms and never come out .
He makes a soft shushing noise and rocks me gently. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.
“We?”
“Yes, we. I’ll help you figure it out. I like problem solving.”
“Oh, mister. You do not know what kind of problem we’re talking about.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, like five-numbers-before-the-decimal-point kind of problem.”
“Ah, numbers. I’m a math guy. That’s right up my alley.”
Hunter takes a breath, and I find it comforting. I close my eyes and take a breath myself.
“How about this?” he says. “We get you packed up, we get out of here, and I take you to dinner. I know how you are on an empty stomach.”
My stomach growls loudly. He laughs. “My point exactly,” he says.
I smile. “Maybe I should have eaten something other than donuts today.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “Let’s get going.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead, then smooths my furrowed brow with his thumb before stepping away.
Hunter merges the stacks of soap on the nearest table, and it takes a moment for my body to unfreeze. I take a deep breath and force myself to smile. He’s right. The furnace bill is figure-out-able. Somehow. Someway.
As I pull out plastic containers to fill with all the leftover soap, I whistle. Grandma Birdie always says that when you’re feeling down, whistling a tune will bring you back up.
Hunter laughs, then joins in with his own whistle tune. We may be whistling two different melodies, but they sound perfect together to my ears.