Chapter 11
The Autumn Market
The craft market filled three blocks with tents, string lights, pottery, knitted scarves, candles, and enough pumpkin-flavored food to qualify as a civic emergency.
Lucy loved it.
She also had no time to enjoy it.
At ten-thirty, a jewelry vendor's tent collapsed.
At eleven, the cider stand ran out of cups.
At eleven-fifteen, a dog stole a decorative corn husk and dragged it through a ceramics display.
By noon, Lucy had spoken to forty people and eaten nothing.
Ben found her behind the library holding a clipboard and staring at a box of extension cords.
"When did you last eat?"
"I had coffee."
"Food."
"Coffee has calories."
"Lucy."
"Ben."
He handed her a paper tray.
Grilled cheese. Tomato soup.
"Where did you get this?"
"Food truck."
"I didn't ask for lunch."
"Correct."
She looked at him.
"You are impossible."
"Eat."
The tone should have annoyed her.
Instead, it warmed something embarrassing in her chest.
They sat on the loading dock behind the library. For five minutes, no one needed Lucy.
She dipped the sandwich into the soup.
"This is excellent."
"I know. I tested it."
"You ate my food?"
"Quality control."
She bumped his shoulder with hers.
Ben smiled.
The contact was brief.
It stayed with her.
"Do you ever stop?" he asked.
"Stop what?"
"Doing things."
"I'm sitting right now."
"You're holding your clipboard."
Lucy looked down.
She set it beside her.
"Happy?"
"Deeply."
A breeze moved through the alley, carrying the smell of leaves and fried dough.
"The festival pays for the children's reading program," Lucy said. "If we hit the fundraising goal, we can keep three afternoon sessions through spring."
"I know."
"So it matters."
"I didn't say it didn't."
"Then why do you keep looking at me like I'm doing too much?"
Ben was quiet.
"Because I think you believe the only way something matters is if you personally hold every piece of it together."
Lucy stared at him.
The words hit too accurately.
"That's not fair."
"Probably not."
"You do exactly the same thing."
Ben blinked.
"At the firehouse. With your family. With Mara. You fix things before anyone can ask twice."
He looked away.
Lucy felt a small, sharp satisfaction.
Then guilt.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
He picked up his coffee.
"You're right."
The easy admission took the fight out of her.
"Oh."
"Disappointed?"
"A little. I had a second argument prepared."
Ben laughed.
"Save it for later."
Lucy looked at him, sunlight catching the edge of his face.
She had spent years remembering the version of Ben who never saw her.
That man was gone.
The one beside her saw too much.