He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, grumbles something about having to check on a tomato delivery, and leaves. I can’t imagine a dumber thing for a person to worry about than who is posting what on the bulletin board for his customers.
After the pinched-faced man in the headset stalks off, I turn to Henry. “What was that all about?” I ask.
Henry shrugs. “Oh, didn’t you hear? People don’t like me.”
I laugh because that’s a ridiculous idea. “What terrible things have you done that Sarah and I should avoid your pumpkin patch?”
Hearing her name, my toddler squirms in my arms, making me regret following the rule that dictates shoppers should not allow children to ride inside of grocery carts. She’s getting big for this wrap, even if the manufacturer’s guidelines say it’s meant to accommodate children much heavier than her. Whoever made these hippie-style wraps had not considered the wiggle factor.
Expecting him to laugh and brush off the silly idea that he’s done something to earn the status of town pariah, I’m surprised when he answers with, “It’s a long story. I’m sure you’ll hear it from someone around town eventually.”
I don’t know him well, but I do know one thing. Henry helped keep my Sarah entertained at the state fair. If it weren’t for him making my toddler laugh and buying her fair food and briefly running off to win her a stuffed unicorn, that day would have ended much earlier for us with a major toddler meltdown.
I wince when I see he’s not kidding around about supposed rumors about himself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful,” I say.
He shakes it off and changes the subject when he sees my job application in the cart, mingling with my small haul of groceries. “Looking for a job?”
I nod. “There’s not much for me to do here, and I’m hardly qualified to work retail but…” I start to explain, but he cuts me off with a surprise proposition.
“If you want a job at the pumpkin patch, it pays better than Norm. It’s seasonal, but you can start tomorrow and…uhm…there’s always lots to do year-round.”
The pink flush in his cheeks tells me the year-round part is a lie. And also, I doubt a locally owned pumpkin patch and corn maze would pay better than the grocery store, but something tells me he just doesn’t want me working here. Like maybe he’d be sticking it to that miserly manager if I went to work for him instead of the supermarket.
Well, I’m not above a little pettiness now and then. So far, I like Henry better than most people I’ve met here, even if he does have a secret scandal.
I’m also desperate for a job; I’ve already dipped into my savings to pay first and last months’ rent plus deposit on an apartment here and I’d like to replenish that as soon as possible. A job that starts tomorrow is better than slogging through an application and interview process.
Henry’s kind face, honey-colored beard, and flannel shirt that hugs his wide shoulders do not deter me from accepting the position under him, either, that’s for sure. As unethical as it might be to date one’s employer, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some eye candy while I’m…
“Wait,” I say. “What will I be doing, exactly?”
He flashes a congenial, laid-back smile and describes all the duties involved. It sounds like a little bit more physical labor than what I was expecting, but I’m up for a challenge.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’d love to be under you. Work under you. I mean…yay, I have a job!” And now, I’m blushing redder than a lobster in a stockpot on high heat.
He’s so happy I’ve accepted, and I’m so happy I have a job, that I feel compelled to hug him, which is ill-advised—and now just because the two of us clunk our heads together as a result of trying not to squish Sarah in the process.
“Ow,” I say, laughing.
“Oof,” he says, reaching out to touch my head but then stopping short of it. “Are you OK?”
Sarah is laughing at both of us. “I’m fine. You?”
He smiles down at me. “I’m perfect,” he says.
Henry hands me a flyer with the address and phone number, and we agree on a time for me to start my duties in the morning. Sarah grabs the paper and immediately tries to bite it. “Sarah, no-no!” I say, gently retrieving the paper from between her chompers.
“Huh. I think I’ll take this, too,” Henry says, pulling a tab from another flier advertising a pumpkin growing contest. “I bet Big Daddy’s got a chance of winning.”
My new boss walks me and Sarah to my car, and I ask about whatever Big Daddy is, and he tells me all about his 600-pound pumpkin. Evidently, it takes years of soil amending and seed experimentation to grow something that big. “I got a little obsessed with the idea of trying to grow a really big one,” he says, and I have to work hard to keep the smirk to myself. Oh, the places my mind goes with that comment.
Henry loads my groceries in the trunk for me without my asking, but I’m not going to argue. Then, he simply stands there, looking around, like he’s watching for other people.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I say, watching him, curious to see if he’s going to leave voluntarily or if I might have to back over him with my car.
He nods. “Sure thing. I’m just going to…wait here until you’re safely in your car with the doors locked if you don’t mind.”
I cock my head. “Is there a serial killer on the loose in this town or what?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “No. I just…well…I
