He chuckles, but he slips out of his sweatshirt while he laughs at me. “Take this. Why don’t you run home and change into dry clothes, and then when you get back, I’ll find a job for you on land instead of at sea.”
“You’re not funny.” I tug the sweatshirt over my head and fold myself into its warmth. “And what makes you think I’ll be coming back?”
“Because you know it’s important to me and you don’t want to let me down?”
I blink at him.
“Okay. How about, you know you need to do this if you want to find a way out of here?” He reaches up and tucks a dripping strand of hair behind my ear.
“I hate you.” My breath catches as his fingers graze my cheek.
His voice softens, so I have to lean in closer to hear him. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”
The real annoying part is that neither of us meansit.
9
I take my time wandering through the carnival, making my way toward the exit. There are more people here than I’ve seen at any one time since landing in Heart Springs, and they’re all laughing and playing games and eating funnel cake and seemingly having a marvelous time. It’s not the kind of scene I ever would have longed to be a part of, but something about seeing it all here in front of me, well, that might be a jolt of loneliness piercing my heart.
I search the crowd for any signs of potential suitors, but all I can see are couples and families, which is a bit of a relief. I don’t know if I’m ready to come face-to-face with the kinds of men Mimi thinks are right for me. When even Ben’s sweatshirt can’t keep me warm enough, I hurry for the exit and make the short walk back to my little cottage. I’m tempted to hop in a hot shower, and lord knows I’ve earned one, but I promised Ben I would come back quickly, and it probably won’t help my case with the community if I abandon a children’s hospital fundraiser. And since finding aspot among the community somehow seems like it might be the only task I actually have a hope of accomplishing, I don’t think I can afford to fuck this one up.
So I change into a pair of jeans and a dry T-shirt and slip Ben’s sweatshirt back over my head. Only because there don’t seem to be any hoodies hiding in my frill-filled closet and I need something to keep me warm. Nothing to do with the fresh woodsy scent lingering on the fabric. After running a brush through my hair, I tie it up in a bun and wipe the remains of my makeup from my face.
Ben is waiting for me at the entrance when I make my way back to the carnival. I know the instant he spots me because his eyes take me in from head to toe, and I’m too far away to be sure, but something like appreciation lingers in his gaze.
But I must be hallucinating because by the time I cross through the gate, he’s back to all business.
“That was quite a long break, but glad to have you back.” He steers me, hand on my back, down one of the many aisles before depositing me at the bakery booth. “This is Emma, help her with whatever she needs.” He lingers there, hand still on my lower back for a half a second.
“Ben! We’re out of tickets at the ring toss booth!” a faceless voice in the crowd calls.
“Duty calls,” he tells me, his hand skimming my waist as it drops back to his side. “You okay here?”
I nod, words sticking in my throat.
“See you later, sweetheart.” Ben strides down the aisle.
I do not watch him walk away, not even for a half a second.
I take in a steadying breath before turning to face Emma,a beautiful Black woman who looks to be in her early thirties, who no doubt has heard all kinds of terrible things about me and would really rather have anyone else here in her booth to assist. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress and a jean jacket, the kind of outfit I would scorn in New York, but here in Heart Springs, I can appreciate the pop of color and how comfortable Emma seems in her own skin.
Emma greets me with a warm smile that lights up her whole face. “Hi there! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!”
“You have?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Emma laughs, and it’s kindhearted without even a hint of teasing. “Of course! Mimi mentioned that you might be interested in working at the bakery and I’ve been looking forward to the help.”
I take the pale yellow striped apron she offers me, tying the strings around my waist. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but so far I appear to be the opposite of helpful.”
She shrugs, handing a customer change and a perfect-looking pie in a pretty lavender box. “That just means you haven’t found the right job yet. Maybe baking is going to turn out to be your one true passion.”
“I doubt it.” I eye the various baked goods artfully arranged on the yellow gingham covered tables. Everything looks like it could be photographed forMartha Stewart Living, and if the smells are any indication, they taste as good as they look. “I don’t think I’ve ever baked anything in my life.”
“Well, you never know until you try!” Emma handles another customer before turning her attention solely to me. “Would you rather take orders or box up the goodies?”
“Taking orders means dealing with people, so I’ll do the boxing.”
Another kind smile lights up her warm brown eyes. “You got it! I’ll point things out as needed, but everything is labeled, and the boxes are under the table.”
