“Well,” he said, barely containing his amusement. “Guess that’s one less advertisement.”
“That wassabotage,” I said, hair whipping across my face. “You let the wind take it.”
“Right. I’m in cahoots with the breeze.”
By noon, we’d managed to plaster a decent handful of posters around the wharf, though I was down one and Rhett was sure there would be another casualty. We were heading back to the truck for more signs when he clutched his stomach and sighed.
“Any chance you’re hungry for dinner?” he asked, tilting his head toward the market.
“I am if you are,” I lied.
Inside, booths overflowed with fried dough, pizza, even popcorn. It was like they had the Summer’s End Festival every day. We settled on lobster rolls because I couldn’t resist the smell. Rhett carried two paper trays to a large barrel converted into a table, tucked in a corner beside a wall decorated with local artwork. For a minute, I forgot we were on a mission. It felt like we’d just come here to spend the day.
The second we sat down, he dug into his lobster roll and groaned with relief.
“That hungry?” I said, picking off a piece of bread.
Rhett covered his mouth and replied, “Starving. You’re not gonna eat?”
Truthfully, I was still full from lunch—I hadn’t been used to eating two big meals in a while. But I didn’t want to make him feel bad, so I took a small bite and smiled behind my hand. By the time I finished that mouthful, his tray was empty.
“Do you want the rest of mine?” I pushed my mostly-intact lobster roll toward him.
He frowned. “You’re not hungry.”
“No… not really.”
“But it’s been—” He checked his watch. “Four hours since we ate lunch.”
A blush spread across my cheeks and I smoothed some hairs behind my ears. “I don’t eat a lot normally,” I explained, “Sometimes Ruth feeds me, sometimes I forget. I don’t know.”
My tone was light, but Rhett frowned in response.
“Is there anything youwilleat?”
“Yes.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “But you won’t like my answer.”
Sometime later, we weaved through the busy market pathways as I bit into a piece of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head.
“You have the tastebuds of a middle schooler,” Rhett murmured as he directed us outside.
The ocean gust pushed a curl across my face, and I pushed it away with the back of my arm, fingers already dusted in sugar. “A middle schooler withgreattaste,” I replied before polishing off my final piece.
Tossing the tray into the trash, we hurried across the street and toward the truck.
“I think I need to wash my hands,” I said with a laugh and leaned against the truck bed, desperately trying to get the hair out of my face without using my sugarcoated fingers.
“Here,” Rhett was saying before I could register what was happening.
He stepped in front of me, eyes narrowed in concentration as he peeled the stray curls away and tucked them behind my ears. His touch tickled my skin, gentle, methodical—a whisper in the breeze.
Our eyes met.
Breath hitched in my throat, I studied his face as he did mine. His gaze was soft when he looked at me. I couldn’t deny that any longer. I had been so sure that this tension was in my imagination, but now I wasn’t sure of anything.
Then, Rhett smiled. “You’ve got…” His knuckles lit trails of fire as he wiped the powdered sugar from my chin. “There.”
His hand froze on my jaw—or maybe time itself did.
