“This weekend. I thought, with the bakery closed, there might bea chance you were free.”
It really did seem like a date. Didn’t it? “I have one weddingcake Friday. I’m co-opting a kitchen in Trumansburg. I could go Saturday orSunday.”
“I think Saturday should be the better day, weather-wise. And theofferings are better the first day. How about I pick you up at nine? There’s agreat brewery and barbecue joint, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
She’d pretty much be into anything that involved Quinn, butdidn’t want to seem too eager. “Sounds good.”
* * *
Quinn pulled into the grass lot at the edge of the fair, put hercar in park, and cut the engine. “Ready?”
Amanda nodded eagerly. “I am.”
It was hard to say which had her stomach doing nervousflips—Amanda’s genuine excitement about hunting for old chairs or being on thispseudo-date with Amanda in the first place. Amanda had this effervescentpersonality, but it had substance underneath. She’d come to appreciate how rarethat was. “We should be able to fit eight in the back and another four on theroof if you don’t mind them being tied down for the ride home.”
“If I find a dozen chairs today, you can tie me to the roof forthe ride home.” Her emphasis on the “me” made Quinn laugh.
“Fortunately, you take up less room in the passenger seat, soyou’re safe.”
Amanda smirked. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
A harmless question, but it hit home as they wandered into town.Booths lined the main street, mostly crafts and food vendors. “All the seriousstuff is in the field up ahead.”
“Field?”
They rounded a small bend in the road and the main area spreadout to their left, the size of three or four football fields. “I told you itwas big.”
“Yeah, but this.” Amanda gestured in front of her, arms wide.“This is intense. How are we supposed to make our way through it all?”
“We aren’t. We’re going to be selective.”
Amanda’s brows furrowed in a way she found unreasonably charming.“But how do you even know where to start?”
“Easy. You come with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Shegrabbed Amanda’s hand. Only after doing so did she realize what an intimategesture it was. But dropping it would only draw more attention or, worse, giveAmanda the impression she didn’t want to hold her hand. She made a point ofgiving it a gentle tug as she steered them into the crowd. There, that made itseem logistical more than romantic.
They meandered the aisles, scoping out chairs, but pausing forvintage signs, antique milk jugs, and even a chicken coop. Amanda’s commentarywas smart with a hint of self-deprecating. If Quinn hadn’t been smitten before,she was now.
Amanda found two pairs of chairs, letting Quinn haggle on thesecond set. She got the price down by twenty dollars, which didn’t seem likemuch but thrilled Amanda. “That’s it. I’m only going to flea markets and antiqueshows with you.”
Sounded good to her. “I accept this right and responsibility.”
After a couple of hours, the press of people and lack of shadestarted to take a toll, at least on her. She imagined Amanda felt the same.“Lunch break?”
“That sounds fantastic.”
“The barbecue place is out of this world, but if that’s not yourthing, there are lots of other options.”
“Oh, no.” Amanda shook her head. “You put barbecue in my head andI’ve been thinking about it all week.”
“It’s that way.”
The line was long but moved quickly. Before long, they sat sideby side at a picnic table with a family of four.
“You’re going to let me try that, right?” Amanda gestured to thepulled pork sandwich in front of Quinn.
“Assuming you’re going to return the favor with the brisket.”
“Want to go halvsies?”
Quinn chuckled, amused by the phrasing as much as the idea.“Sure.”
“Don’t feel like you have to say yes,” Amanda said.
“Oh, I want to. I just don’t ever assume people want to share.And my ex-wife is a vegetarian.”
Amanda laughed. “I have kids. I’ve been sharing my plate fortwenty years.”
“Right.” She cut her sandwich in half and offered it to Amanda.Amanda did the same. They ate leisurely, then resumed the hunt. Bymidafternoon, they’d hit their goal of twelve chairs. They circled back throughto collect them and got them loaded.
After everything was secured, Amanda stepped back and planted herhands on her hips. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Once or twice.” It was the sort of thing she and Lesedi used todo together. She hadn’t realized how long it had been or how much she’d missedit. “I’m also good at spatial relations.”
On the trek home, conversation lulled, but in a good way. It leftQuinn feeling like they’d known each other longer, and spent far more timetogether, than they had. At Amanda’s, they unloaded the chairs into the garage,then stood for a moment admiring them. Eventually, Amanda turned her way. “Ican’t thank you enough.”
“It was my pleasure, really.”
“I feel bad you didn’t find anything for yourself, especially ifit was so I could have all the room in your car.”
She loved that Amanda would think about that, even if there wasno need. “My apartment is too full already. So, if anything, you saved me frombeing a fire hazard.”
Amanda’s face took on a shadow of worry. “Were you sad to give upyour house when you got divorced?”
Oh. That. “I was. It had great architecture. And, you know,fifteen years of memories.”
Amanda touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”
The last thing she wanted was to ruin the day with bad memories.“Thank you. It’s fine, though. I wasn’t crazy about the neighborhood. Full ofCornell professors.”
Amanda snickered. “They’re the worst, aren’t they?”
Right. Because her ex was a Cornell professor, too. “They are.”
She’d expected the day to end there, but suddenly she didn’t wantto leave. Too bad they were at Amanda’s and not her place.
“Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?”
Well, that was easy. “Are you offering because you feel like youshould?”
Amanda looked at the ground and then right into her eyes. “No.”
“Then I’d love to.”
Amanda poured glasses of Riesling and they sat on her porch. Theperfect end to a pretty perfect day, not to
