“Soundslike a hippie festival,”Isay as we pass a stall of watercolor paintings where the artist is working away at an easel.
“Yousay that like it would be a bad thing.”
“Ha.Well, my cousin just got engaged to one.Andhe's the last person to hang out with hippies.Well,Isuppose she’s not an actual hippie.Maybehippie-adjacent.”
“Yay!”Thecry comes from the guy manning the balloon darts game.Itseems a skillful player has just burst three in a row.Thesign on the front of the stall says, “$1 per game.Seniors’HomePing-PongTableFund.”
Pollyjoins in the applause as we stroll by. “So, there is precedent in theDashwoodgenes to have your mind changed?”
“Notwhen we’re dealing with a business decision that was my idea, there isn’t.Sodon’t get your hopes up.”
Theguy at the next table is selling handmade candles and doing a demonstration of how to make them with a camping stove that looks like a fire hazard.
“Yourmom should be here with her soaps.”
“Sheused to be, but she’s not felt up to it the last couple of years.AndIcouldn’t guarantee to be able to run it for her because of the shop.I’veleftCarlythere on her own today, which isn’t very fair.Sundayscan be busy.”Shelooks down and plays with the strap of her bag.
Interestingthat she’s kind of dumped on her best friend to be here.Couldthat mean her motives aren’t purely business related?Andthat they might be kissing related too? “Sowhy did you take time off from the shop to come here today?”
“Forthe greater good.”Sheflings her arms wide. “I’mtrying to save the whole community.”
“Fromme?”
“Hell, yes.”
Christ, she is a fatal combination of attractive and sparky.
Ilower my voice. “Areyou also trying to saveyourselffrom me?”
Shepretends to ignore me.Buther cheeks are a touch pinker, and her mouth curves up slightly as she focuses on a tent off to the right.
“Ah, this will be good,”she says and grabs my sleeve.Eventhough she doesn’t touch my skin, contact with my clothing is enough to send a ripple of lust to my groin.
Shepulls me through the tent entrance, past a sign reading, “Rita’sWreathWrapping.”
“RitaWigginsis fun.You’lllike her.She’son the council and definitely won’t want you here.Herdaughter just opened a bakery onMainStreet.You’llkill her.”
“Theone who made the donut you were eating at the protest?”
Shenods.
“Well,Ican vouch for the stray bits of sugar being exceptionally delicious.”
Shepoints her finger at the tip of my nose but doesn’t quite touch it. “Stopit.”
Sheseems pretty determined to not fall for my charms today.Butthis time her face fully reddens.
“Actually, did you say her name’sWiggins?Andshe’s a councilmember?”ThenameWigginsis on my list of members of the planning board.
“Yup.Foryears.”Pollypulls her cardigan across her chest. “Andshe won’t like you.”
Well, here’s the perfect opportunity for me to fix that.
Atthe far end of the tent, tables are laid out in a horseshoe shape.Atthe bottom of the curve stands a woman with long, curly gray hair.Wreathsin the shape of theNewYorkYankeeslogo hang behind her.Onemade from twigs, one entirely of leaves, and the other covered in flowers in the famous blue and whiteYankeescolors.
“What’sthe deal with theYankees?”
“Massivefan.Huge.Youshould see her basement.EnormousTVand walls covered withYankees-abilia.”
