I go to answer, but Jake talks over me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “Yes, ma’am, they do. They freeze and thaw beautifully. Darcy here makes them fresh every week.”
He’s being such a smarmy little down-home asshole, but of course, it reads as charming to the customer.
“Oh, are you two married?” she asks, checking Jake’s hand that rests on my shoulder for a ring.
“No,” I say a little too sternly, and Jake pulls his hand off my shoulder and steps to pour the lady a lemonade. He winks at me when he hands her the cup, filling a second and third cup with ice. It’s actually helpful since we’re so busy.
Helpful, yet again.
I hand the customer her box of muffins.
“You have a nice day now,” Jake and I say at the same time, and Jake cackles as I scowl at him.
He’s helpful, and he’s a menace. One does not cancel out the other.
“Don’t take my line,” I grumble.
Jake ignores me and rips a sip off the cup of lemonade he made for himself. “Oh my god, have you had this stuff, Becca? It’s incredible!”
I help the next customer and have to laugh at Jake’s bullshit. The people of the Paint Farmers Market are endlessly charmed by him, and if I give any indication that I can’t stand it, they’ll turn on me.
“Jake, pour me one, please,” Becca says.
“With pleasure, Becca,” Jake says with a too-big smile. “If only Miss Darcy had your sunny disposition. You catch more flies with honey, you know.”
I clamp my jaw and Becca cracks up. “Iamsweet. You just come in here with this obnoxious ‘golly gosh gee willikers’ act and make basic courtesy look rude.”
“Good thing I love sweet and sour,” Jake says, pre-pouring a few more cups of lemonade, raising his voice again. “Just like this delicious peach tea lemonade. Sweet, sour, and refreshing.”
I sigh and Becca elbows my side. “You make it too easy for him.”
That cedar and amber scent surrounds me again and a styrofoam cup is thrust into my hand. Jake’s used a Sharpie to write my name and a smiley face on the side. “Stay hydrated, boss. I’ve gotta go coach. Your mail’s in the truck. Let me know if you need help later.”
And before I can ask what that means, he winks and is gone.
* * *
When I get backin the truck at the market’s end, I take a long drag on my water bottle. Who knew working a farmers market would feel like drinking from a firehose? Before turning the truck on, I flick through the mail in the passenger seat.
The heavy weight of horror descends upon me the closer I get to the bottom. There’s a package, though the packaging is thankfully discreet. I let out a wheezy sigh. Jake probably didn’t know what it was. Yes, it’s addressed to me, but . . . there’s no way.
But as I lift it to inspect it more closely, I notice a small tear in the tape. He couldn’t have opened that. It’s mail fraud. It’s illegal. I use the truck’s key to crack the rest of the package open.
No, Jake didn’t open it all the way. He just left a piece of paper in the top of the package, a thin strip he could have shoved in from that tiny slit.
Come get me if you need a hand ;) -J
That fucking scamp. I shake my head but can’t stop my smile as I start the truck and head down the road.
FOURTEEN
DARCY
Cane’s agitatedfrom the moment I get him out of the field. I usually have to clang their leads along the fence to get them to come, but he’s waiting and stamping around, anxious from the storm clouds overhead.
“Come here, you goober,” I say, reaching for his halter. He twists his face away and I’m trying so hard not to show my frustration. “You see this shit, Freckle?”
Freckle gives me no such resistance, calmly coming to the gate and letting me clip her without a problem.
