Audria peeks up at me before turning to address her friend. “We were just wrapping up. I’ll leave with you.”
“Great,” Bea chirps. “I’ll wait for you by the… uh, door?”
“I’ll be right there.” Audria returns her attention to me, eyelids hooded and looking far too sexy. “If my two trips to Main Street are anything to go by, we’ll be bumping into each other often.”
“Most likely.” I’m already anticipating those future meets far too much.
“Could be worse.” She laughs, but the tune lacks its usual bounce. “If we cross paths? Great. If not? Maybe on the next round.”
Her explanation sounds too manufactured, superficial to a fault. I hate it. The sharp jab to my stomach is further proof of that. But this is how it has to be. No obligations lead to low expectations, or none at all.
“I’ll be seeing you,” I whisper. A better man would end the conversation there, but I can’t resist a small taste. I bend low and brush my lips over her forehead.
Audria’s breath hitches, and she presses into my light touch. “Until then, farmer.”
A telltale flurry of activity becomes visible as we cross the final block on Oak Lane. Sondra’s smile grows at the welcome sight. Mouthwatering aromas of several lunch options flow freely along with the buzz of music in front of us. Based on the rich scent of smoking meat, the Pit’s stand is already up and running. My neighbor treats herself to a greedy inhale, and I follow suit.
She refers to these bimonthly events as Whomp. From what I’ve gathered by my two visits, they’re a cross between a co-op and a festival. I’ll admit to being skeptical initially, but the impressive collections of randomness have become a favorite weekend tradition for me. A hodgepodge of crafts, food, art, and secondhand treasures are up for grabs. The heaps of odds and ends provide a convenient excuse to gather the majority of locals at home base. I imagine their tagline is somewhere along the lines of, Stop by on a whim to find whatever might tickle your fancy.
We cross the empty road to join the throng, blending into a small crowd near the south entrance. Canvas tents and wooden booths line both sides of Main Street in single rows. Car traffic, meager as it might be, is redirected during these boisterous occasions. Prickles of perspiration dot my hairline, reminding me of the uptick in temperature. Until now, the sprawling canopy of trees had provided a reprieve from the blanket of warmth. The hot July sun has begun to stretch its powerful limbs. Growing up just north of these parts, I’m aware that the oppressive heat will only get more intense as the summer peaks. Not that I could forget, with beams of unforgiving rays scorching my scalp.
I give my head a light pat and wince. A hat might’ve been a smart choice for spending the afternoon strolling outside. Fortunately for me, I’m in a shopper’s paradise. Glancing from left to right shows several options for sale. Stands featuring a rainbow assortment of gifts and goodies beckon me closer, displaying their wares across the open walls.
Before I can settle on a vendor, Sondra grips my elbow, and her voice cracks into the comfort of our silent perusing. “Well, there’s a sight you won’t see every Sunday.”
I follow her gaze, landing squarely on Reeve standing within the shade of a booth. A zing attacks my spine at the mere sight of him. It’s been weeks since our little chat at the Salt Lick. He’d asked me then if I’d been avoiding him. The notion was silly to consider, but we cleared up any confusion. Or so I thought. The truth is, I’ve wondered if he’s the one dodging me after our last encounter.
The man gives a mighty fine speech. I’ll grant him that. It shocked me initially, mostly because no guy in the history of those I’ve met would ever slap such stipulations down. Then I was half-tempted to be offended that he didn’t want to cross that line with me. That’s ridiculous, of course. Reeve is being respectful and conscientious. I’m not accustomed to that sort of chivalry. But that’s a huge gain in the win column for gentlemanly country stock. I continue staring as he helps a customer, stoic expression firmly locked in place. There’s something to be said about farm guys doing it right. If only I could explore all those possibilities further without consequence. Maybe one day I’ll get a tiny taste.
I quit leering like a creeper and peer over at my friend. “He works here?”
“Not usually.” She juts her chin forward. “It’s a very rare occurrence, actually.”
“Interesting.” The word curls off my tongue without warning.
Sondra quirks a brow at me. “Isn’t it? Maybe we should find out what the deal is.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I rush to say.
“And I strongly disagree.” She folds her arms, pinning me with an unflinching squint.
I mirror her intimidation attempt, minus the stainless-steel backbone. Who am I kidding? I’m likely to fold faster than a soggy cardboard box. “Guess that brings us to an impasse. We can say hello to Freya. Looks like she has new paintings on display.”
“What about Reeve?”
“He looks busy,” I hedge.
“Quit making excuses. You guys are friends, right?” Her emphasis on that word reveals her knowledge on the subject.
Naturally, my nosey neighbor is privy to the rumor mill. Word certainly travels at lightning speed in a population this size. The number of cursory glances tossed my way whenever I wander about confirms any suspicion. People talk. Whether or not their piqued interest in me involves Reeve remains a mystery I’m choosing to ignore. That doesn’t mean I can brush off his magnetism.
Almost too automatically, my eyes seek him out again. That tug is leading me to believe a simple
