Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I take a moment to appreciate the crowd of people despite the heat. The farmers’ market is open every weekday and every other Saturday, and the Saturdays prove to be the busiest. Instead of just drawing in the Sugar Creek townies, the weekend brings people from across the whole county. I’ve loved coming here since I was a little girl. So when the town board discussed closing the market because no one wanted to take responsibility for it, I threw my name in the hat. I had no experience, and the pay barely covers my martini habit, but there’s something great about contributing to a wholesome endeavor like a small-town farmers’ market.
It balances my karma. I think.
I grab two jars of jam off the shelf behind me. “So, we have peach, but Brenda also made some cherry jam this week. Have you ever tried it?” I set both in front of Mr. Crowder. “It’s been selling like hotcakes, and I overheard a little birdie saying this is the secret ingredient in the Cherry Pie Pizza at Piper’s.”
The corner of his wrinkled mouth lifts. “It won’t be a secret anymore if you keep telling people.”
“Are you going to go snitch on me?”
“Are you going to give me a discount?”
My mouth falls agape. “You’re blackmailing me? Over jam?”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” He chuckles, taking fifteen dollars out of his wallet. “I’ll take ’em both. But if I don’t like the cherry, I’ll be back to let you hear about it.”
I take the cash, place the jars in a paper bag, and hand it to him. “I have no doubt.”
“Stay cool,” he says, the bag trembling in his hand. “I’m heading home. It’s too humid out here for me. Makes me regret smoking for thirty years.”
“Need me to get someone to help you to your car?”
He snorts. “What do I look like? An old man?” He chuckles. “I’m fine. Thank you. Have a good day.”
“You, too, Mr. Crowder.”
I give him a wave as he turns away and then grab my bottle of water for a quick drink before my next customer. The stream of people exiting the barn has slowed, and the crowds buying artisan breads and local vegetables have thinned. Maybe we’ll get to close early.
“What are you selling over here?” A boy with a smile way too ornery for his own good leans against the table. “A jar of jam is $7.50? Who still uses change? Or cash, for that matter?”
“We do. It’s part of our charm.”
He hums, scanning the area like he’s searching for something.
“Can I help you?” I ask, tugging my brows together. “Are you looking for something specific?”
“Yeah.” He pulls his face to mine. “A way outta here.”
Blondish hair, big green eyes, and a cheeky smile—this kid is trouble … but probably the same version of trouble that I was as a kid.
And an adult.
I lean against the table. “A way outta here, huh?”
“No offense, but this is for old people.”
“Well, I mean, I’m here, and I’m certainly not old.”
He starts to speak but stops himself, smoothing his features like he wasn’t about to say something he shouldn’t. “I just mean there isn’t anyone here my age.”
Well played. “The kids hang out at the park in the summer. There’s always a pickup baseball or basketball game. Do you play?”
“I play it all. I’m just new here and don’t know anyone.”
“Head over to the park. I’m sure you can find something to entertain you there.”
“I will. Thanks.” He turns to leave but faces me again, eyes twinkling with mischief. “One more thing—are you single?”
My brows lift in surprise, but I can’t help but smile. “That’s wildly inappropriate of you to ask.”
“I’m not asking for me, lady. You’re way too old for me.”
I pause to take another drink. “Can we stop with the old people crap? You’re giving me a complex.”
“My apologies.” He sighs as if I’m exhausting him. “I don’t see a ring …”
“I’m not married.”
“Boyfriend, then?”
“No, no boyfriend.” The words come out of my mouth before my brain can think fast enough to stop them. Why am I having this conversation with a little kid? “This is really none of your business.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
“What? No.”
He shrugs. “Had to ask. You never know.”
“Again,” I say, taking another drink, “it’s none of your business.”
“Then stop answering my questions.”
I sigh, closing my water bottle and placing it back on the bench under the table.
“Listen,” he says. “I have a dad, and he’s quite the catch. And he needs a woman to spend time with him so he stops wanting to spend it all with me.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. I’ve known him for a couple of years, and it’s great having a dad. But I’m eleven, and this is our second summer together, and he needs a hobby.” He leans closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “That doesn’t involve me.”