Chapter 19
Teddy
The artisan faire was already a disaster, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean we can’t give out samples?” I asked the volunteer coordinator who’d just stopped by our table.
“It’s a dry event,” she said apologetically. “I can tell you’re upset, but there’s just no alcohol allowed. Insurance reasons.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “No one mentioned this when we signed up.”
“It should have been in the vendor packet,” she said, already backing away toward her next crisis. “Sorry about the confusion.”
I looked around the village hall with fresh eyes.
She was right – this wasn’t like the cheese festival.
There were maybe three other food vendors in the entire place, and the rest were makers.
Pottery, jewellery, textiles, woodwork. Beautiful crafts that people could examine and purchase without needing to taste anything.
Unlike mead, which, as we’d learned, was a hard sell without letting people try it first. It was entirely possible the rule had been in the vendor packet; I wasn’t entirely sure I’d read it.
“Well, this is bullshit,” I muttered, slumping back against the cinder block wall, eyeing the multiple sleeves of sample cups we had lined up on the table.
One was half empty already; we’d been giving out samples without realising we were breaking the rules.
Now Chloe was tidying away the sample bottles and the FREE SAMPLES sign.
Every time I looked at Chloe, my mood got worse.
Not because of anything she was doing – she was being cheerful and supportive as always, trying to brainstorm solutions, suggesting we focus on the visual appeal of our bottles instead of the taste.
Being exactly the kind of business partner anyone would want.
Which was precisely the problem.
It had been easier when I could dismiss her as careless or incompetent.
When I could channel my anxiety about my own future into irritation with her, specifically.
But I’d seen too much evidence of who she really was to do that anymore.
The way she’d thrown herself into learning about sustainable practices, not because she had to, but because she genuinely cared.
How she’d saved the day at the cheese festival.
How she’d listened when I’d told her about my father, offering understanding without trying to fix anything or relate exactly to what I’d been through.
The way she’d looked at me the other day in the van, like she wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss her.
Now, every time she smiled at me or brushed my hand while reaching for something, I felt my carefully constructed walls crumbling a little more.
My inner bricklayer was working overtime trying to build them back up as quickly as she knocked them down.
I needed to be able to feel frustrated with her, or I’d have to acknowledge what was actually simmering beneath the surface.
“What if we focused on the artisanal angle?” Chloe was saying, holding up her phone to film our display. “Talk about the traditional methods, the connection to the land…”
“Could you stop pointing that thing at me?” I snapped. “I look upset, apparently, which isn’t exactly the vibe we’re going for.”
Chloe lowered her phone, and I immediately felt guilty.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ll just … go walk around for a bit. See what other vendors are doing.”
She disappeared into the growing crowd before I could apologise, leaving me alone with our increasingly depressing setup and my own foul mood, absentmindedly fiddling with the tablecloth as people walked past, mostly disinterested.
Of course, I was stressed about more than just slow sales.
Tonight, we were hosting a D&D session at the farm – my idea, actually, suggested casually to Fatima when she’d mentioned wanting to see Gwenynen.
Of course, she’d immediately seized the suggestion and organised the entire evening with minimal input from me, and now we were hours away from all of Chloe’s friends unloading on the place.
I’d spent yesterday frantically cleaning the warehouse so we could use the workshop table, moving tools and clearing up the soap supplies.
“Teddy? Teddy Cooper?”
I looked up to see a familiar face approaching – Dylan, whom I’d met summers ago when Mom and Jen used to drag me to local events over the summer to “socialise with people my own age.” They were obviously older than when I’d last seen them, their hair in a stylish mullet where it used to be a poof of curls.
They wore a crochet sweater vest, and I put two and two together, assuming the stall across the way selling crocheted stuffed animals was theirs.
They came around the table and held their hands up for a hug, so I stood and accepted it.
“Dylan! I didn’t know you were still in the area.”
“Could say the same about you,” Dylan said, settling into the chair Chloe had vacated. “Alice and I were just saying we had no idea you still came back every summer.”
Alice appeared a moment later – another face from those awkward teenage summers, now lithe and ethereal, with raven-black hair down to her waist. I’d seen her earlier selling delicate, handmade jewellery, but I hadn’t put the face with the name until now.
“How’s business so far?” I asked, though I could guess from their expression as soon as I mentioned it. We were only an hour or so into the event, but it was already clear it was a bit of a dud.
“Terrible,” Dylan said bluntly. “People keep complaining about the prices. Like they expect handmade crochet to cost the same as Temu slop. I keep explaining that each piece takes hours, that it literally cannot be made by machine, but—”
“But people don’t want to hear it,” Alice finished. “I’ve had a few sales, but I’m not sure I’ll even make back my table fee.”
“Welcome to the club,” I said grimly.
“You should come to more events,” Alice said. “Or for a drink. We get together sometimes, the local makers. It’s nice to take solace in each other when things are like this.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, getting momentarily, uncharacteristically excited about the idea of growing my friend group, before I remembered that I was more than halfway through my stay this year. It wasn’t really worth their time, was it?
I realised with horror that two and a half months had gone by in the blink of an eye. My time at Gwenynen always went too fast, but this year was extra short, and it was disappearing extra quickly.
I was about to ask more about their local makers’ group when Chloe reappeared, her arms full of packages and bags from various stalls.
I stared at her in confusion as she emptied her arms of the goods.
They tumbled out onto the table before she corralled them again, placing them inside a wicker basket she’d found somewhere.
“Been shopping?” I asked, surprised.
She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she turned to Dylan. “Are you the one selling the crochet animals?”
“That’s me,” Dylan said, then introduced themself.
“Could I buy one of the small bees, please?” Chloe asked, and Dylan beamed. They went to fetch an adorable crocheted bee from their display. Chloe held it up to me and raised her eyebrows.
“Anatomically correct enough for the Gwenynen brand?” she asked, without a trace of humour in her voice. I laughed for us both.
“It’ll do,” I said, and she nodded and added the bee to the display. It sat alongside a jar of honey and a bottle of mead from our stand, a mug, a hand-woven placemat she’d folded into a pretty fan shape, some wax-dipped cheeses, and a package of what appeared to be dried, cured meat.
“I’m Alice,” Alice said, holding her hand out. Chloe smiled and shook it.
“Chloe,” she said. “Are you a maker, too?”
Alice nodded. “And I’ve got the perfect pair of amber earrings to go with all this.”
“How much?” Chloe asked, businesslike.
“Thirty.”
“Sold.”
Alice rushed away, presumably to get the earrings, while Chloe fished some cash out of her pocket. She handed a twenty to Dylan.
“Chloe,” I whispered, leaning over the table to her, “what the hell are you doing? We don’t have the money for all this.”
“We do,” she said, ignoring me as she rearranged the bits in the gift basket.
“Jen gave me a marketing budget that I barely touch. I’m gonna host a giveaway for all this, which everyone whose stuff is in the basket will share on their profiles, and it’ll get us loads of new followers.
And followers means customers, which means money. ”
I nodded along as she spoke – I knew nowhere near enough about it all to know if she was right, but I’d seen her in action enough now to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Alice came back over with a pair of amber earrings that caught the light beautifully. Chloe added them to the basket, then stepped back and started taking photos from different angles.
A woman walking by stopped to admire the display. “Oh, that’s gorgeous! Is it for sale?”
“This particular basket is for a giveaway,” Chloe said smoothly. “But everything in it is available from vendors here today.”
“I already got the cured meat,” the woman said, holding up a package from another stall. “Does this mead pair well with it?”
“Absolutely,” Chloe said, not missing a beat, grabbing a bottle of the Golden Dragon.
“This one would go perfectly with it – the oak ageing gives it the structure to stand up to the charcuterie, and the fruit notes cut through the fattiness well. The Henford is nice, too, though, because it’s got a lot of herbal notes that pair well with the meat. ”
The woman smiled up at Chloe as she spoke, visibly delighted. Damn, she was so charming.
“I’ll take one of each,” the woman said, and Chloe beamed with pride.
“Are you a cheeseboard kind of person? Do you want some honey to go with it?”