Maybethat’sthe real him.Maybethe hard-nosed, tough-negotiating, business dude is all a front.Maybemy plan to take him to the fair will work, and getting to know the real people whose real lives would be shattered by his store could change his mind.It’scertainly worth a try.
“Definitely.”Iwave both my hands at his face. “Butthere can’t be any more of that kissing stuff.You’regoing to meet the people, get to know them, like them, and understand you can’t open a store that would hurt them.Andthat’s it.”
Hegives me an aye-aye-cap’n salute. “Tilltomorrow.”
“Meetme at the fountain in the town square at ten.”
Iwalk away as fast asIcan without breaking into a trot and head around the back of the hay cart toward my protestors.
“Greatjob,Polly,” one calls out asIwalk by, unable to stop my legs from marching me right through them.
“Youshowed them,” another says, as someone else pats me on the back.
Theirvoices and faces are a blur.
“Loadsmore signatures and emails,” shouts one of the women on clipboard duty asIhurtle past.
Inod and smile while my heart races and my feet propel me like a high-speed homing pigeon down the street to the shop.
AsIstep inside,Carlylooks up from the carrots she’s tying into bunches with the stringI’vebeen saving from the paper bag bundles.Finally, a great use for it.
Sherecoils, her eyes wide. “Whatin the name of holy fuck has happened to you?Youlook like you found out you won the lottery, then set fire to the ticket.”
Ichew my top lip and wrinkle my brow.Carlycan read me like a book.Akid’s book.Withlots of pictures and not many words.
Shesimultaneously squeals and slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, my good fuckingGod.Youdidn’t?”
16
MAX
Fiveminutes to ten on aSundaymorning andI’vealready been pacing around the town square fountain, which shoots water from a stone dog’s mouth, for fifteen minutes.
Aplaque tells me the water feature is in memory of a dog that rescued a kid from one of the springs decades ago.I’veread it five times.
Thelast timeIwas this early and this nervous before meeting someone was whenIwas buying the office tower two years ago and desperate not to miss out on a prime piece of real estate that would reap benefits for the rest of my life.
Maybehow aliveI’vefelt these last few days isn’t only due to the excitement of getting my hands dirty with work again.Maybeit’s also due to wanting to get my hands on something else entirely.
HowhasPollygot under my skin?Nowoman gets under my skin.Ever.Butsince she speed-walked away and disappeared around the back of the tractor yesterday, she’s been right there, barely beneath the surface, the whole time.
WhileIwined and dined a councilman at lunch yesterday,Polly’soverall-clad butt floated constantly across my mind, along with sparks of the spirit it must have taken to stage that one-woman picket outside the council office the other day.
Duringtwo video conferences with people back inNewYork, my brain was peppered with images of her freckled nose, the outline of her cupid’s bow, and how her breasts curve slightly outside her denim bib, as well as the deep love she has for this town and its people.
AndwhenIcalled the head ofYellowBarnto find out what the fuck the deal was with farm suppliers being made to pay rip-off prices to have their produce packaged,Iwas admiring the devotion she has to supporting her mother.Andalso, my dick ached to press her up against some farm equipment again.
Itake another turn around the dog fountain, which sits in the center of a paved circle dotted with ice cream and pretzel vendors.It’sa beautiful, blue-skyed, sunny day and warm enough for shirt sleeves.Onthe sidewalk side of the circle, a large banner with the wordsWarmSpringsSpringFairhangs between two lampposts.
Largelawns extend on either side of the fountain area.Todaythey’re covered in stalls, tents, enclosures, and, at one end, a performance stage.
Festivitiesare only just kicking off, but already families, couples holding hands, and a smattering of tourists wandering around, are taking in the day’s offerings.Someare munching breakfast tacos from the food truck.They’remaking my stomach rumble despite it already being filled withMrs.Lovewell’shefty oatmeal.
Mypacing comes to an abrupt halt asIspot her.
Mypulse quickens at the sight of an almost entirely differentPolly.
