He glances at the garden gnomes watching us and rewards me with a half-grin. “That may be the most disturbing fact you’ve ever given me.”
“You’re welcome.” I take another piece of warm popcorn and smile. “Isn’t it nice to know there’s always a backup plan if life doesn’t really work out?”
“So where is this Fitbit guy?” he says, choosing to ignore any possibility of garden life.
As I chew, I focus on the indent between his dark brows.
“Finn,” I correct. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“Hide your kryptonite, people,” Charlotte says. “I think SuperFinn has arrived.”
It’s a nickname I know he’ll never shed when I turn to see Finn striding toward us, wearing jeans and an actual Superman T-shirt. I give a wave, while warring butterflies battle it out in my stomach. He’s so handsome, but will my friends like him? It’s important to me they do, because after the sex, I sort of want this to work with Finn. I’m invested. The swoony butterflies win when he reaches us and handles the introductions with dazzling charm. All that’s missing is a Mr. Clean-style sparkling tooth when he shakes their hands.
“So you’re a Superman fan?” Charlotte asks.
“Well, he is the Man of Steel,” Finn says, with a wink. For a moment, I’m fearful he’ll flex.
“I just wrote a piece on personality types and your favorite superheroes for the psychology magazine I work for,” she tells him.
“Ah. What does mine say about me?”
Charlotte launches into an in-depth analysis, and I latch onto the last part of what she says, “You’re loyal and ready to save the day.” Oh, interesting. Loyal is good. “You don’t like to lose.” Yep, I could see this after the nine-plate buffet.
“I’ll take it,” he says.
“My fiancé is a Spiderman guy,” Charlotte tells him. “It fits him. Completely responsible with a dash of nerdy.”
“Everyone knows Batman is the best,” Austin adds.
Finn chuckles. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, man.”
Austin arches a brow, and tosses a handful of kettle corn in his mouth. This superhero thing might become volatile, so I defuse the situation. “Ready to look around and have some judgy fun?”
Finn drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Lead the way, babe.”
Our quartet ambles into the flow of people and a few feet down, Charlotte stops at an enormous patch of ceramic bunnies in an array of sizes.
“Ah, the season’s hottest trend,” I say, moving from under Finn’s shoulder to gawk at the variety of pudgy rabbits.
Austin picks up a tan bunny with long ears and jumbo feet. “Uh-oh. This one appears to have a hare-line fracture.”
I laugh and wish I didn’t enjoy his corny jokes so much.
Finn moves beside me. “What kind of person makes only bunnies?” He glances at the silver-haired woman ringing up a sale.
“Lots of people stick to a particular item,” I tell him. “But this craft fair is seasonal, so a lot of vendors will focus on whatever holiday is upcoming.”
“Plus, she might be onto something,” Charlotte says. “Look at her line. It’s hopping.”
Finn smiles at her pun and so far, it’s going well. I’m noticing I never say great. Except for the sex. Minus the tight thing, sex was great, so we’re definitely compatible in that area. Hopefully, we are in others. Like friends.
This morning, I read introducing your inner circle is a serious step in a relationship. This is a casual relaxed atmosphere like they recommended, so why am I so on edge? Maybe it’s the clowns Finn is now entranced with across the aisle. It’s a horrid display of white-painted faces with cherry noses and creepy smiles. Their creator, a bald man with a bushy mustache, engages Finn in conversation. The surrounding cacophony prevents me from hearing what they’re discussing and why Finn is so enthralled. My phone buzzes.
Dude, if he buys a fucking clown, I’m not okay, a message from Charlotte reads.
I quickly reply, Not everyone hates clowns.
You do! I do! All the people murdered by them do!
I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… #Notallclowns
Name one.
Ronald McDonald.
She doesn’t look convinced.
Another message arrives from Austin. It’s two emojis—a clown and a knife.
“Stop. They can’t all be bad. Did you know there are clown commandments?”
“I did not know this,” he replies. “Is thou shalt not kill not one of them?”
“Babe,” Finn calls, “come here a minute.”
Somehow, I force my feet over to him. “What’s up?”
“Carl here says there’s a clown motel in Nevada. Next to a graveyard. How cool would that be for Halloween?”
My phone nearly rockets out of my pocket from the vibrations. But more important, he’s making future plans. “Oh, hm. That might be a little too spooky for me.”
“I’ll protect you,” he says, grinning.
“Yeah, no.”
“Thanks for helping with the box,” Carl says to Finn. “Would’ve dropped it, if you hadn’t swooped in.”
Aw. Carl leaves to assist another customer, and the breath stuck in my lungs leaves in a rush when Finn turns away, empty-handed. We rejoin Austin and Charlotte, and the clown crisis is averted when I send them both a text letting them know Finn was only saving the day for Carl.
We mosey further through the fair, and around the midway mark, near the crocheted rabbits, I sense Finn’s interest waning. He stands with his shoulder propped against a life-size Easter Bunny, checking his phone, while we study the intricate tapestries hanging from hooks.
“I think Finn is bored,” Charlotte whispers to me.
Discreetly, I tug her far enough away for Austin not to hear. “Do you think he fits?”
“It only matters if you think he does. Now that I know he’s not a clown killer, I can see the appeal.”
That’s not a winning endorsement, but I’ll take it.
We continue on to the next section, and Finn engages with my friends in lighthearted conversation as we weave in and out of a plethora of kitchen products.
“When are you going to put up a table, Chloe?” Charlotte asks.
“Yeah. You should do it for the summer fair,” Austin says.
They’re always supportive of my art, encouraging me to
