Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay in Waldon a little while.
“What’re you looking at?” John asks, as he sits down opposite me.
I clear my throat. “Just those shops there.” I point. “I wonder if I’d like owning a shop. Thanks,” I add, taking my food from him.
“What would you sell?”
“Good question. Clothes, maybe. Or jewelry.” Though even as I say it, it sounds kind of dull. I like clothes and jewelry well enough, but I don’t think I’d actually want to make them. “Ooh, or maybe I could own a bakery!”
“Can you bake?”
“Well... no. I mean, a little, but nothing fancy. But I could go to culinary school. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Like going to school, but your homework is cookies.”
John laughs. “I don’t think that’s what culinary school is like. My sister’s friend did it, and she said it was a lot of, like, food costing and learning back-of-house stuff. Plus a lot of butchery.”
I grimace. “Okay, that sounds less fun.” I take a bite of my food,a spicy curry dish. “Oh man, this is good,” I say. Then, through a mouthful, “Is your sister older than you, or younger?”
“Two years older. You have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “Only child. But my cousins lived next door to us when I was growing up, so I didn’t turn into one of those weird only children who don’t know how to share.”
John snorts into his soda. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s called Only Child Syndrome,” I tell him. “It’s this theory by some ancient psychologist that says that all only children are destined to be spoiled, selfish brats. I wrote a paper about it in high school.”
“That’s so random,” he says.
“Yes, well. Welcome to my brain.”
John laughs. We eat in (amiable) silence, then throw our trash away and wander around the booths. Most of it is a bit too crafty for my taste, but I do buy a box of homemade chocolates.
“For my movie marathon,” I explain to John. “What are your plans for the rest of the week?” I add, as we move on to wait in line for one of the most popular booths, which seems to sell some kind of jewelry.
“Just working on the race car.”
“Oh, right. You do... racing stuff?”
John laughs. “Yes. Just at the local track. Me and my buddies have an old Nissan we run.”
“So you race against other people?”
“Mm. I mostly take care of the car stuff. My buddy Tim does most of the driving. You should come out to a track day sometime.”
I raise a teasing eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to commit to a second date before this one’s even over? Things could go south from here, you know. I might tell you I’m in a cult or something.”
“Are you?”
“No. But you might’ve agreed to go out with me again before you knew that, see? First dates,” I add wisely, “are like interviews. You wouldn’t hire someone halfway through an interview. HR wouldn’t allow it.”
John stares at me, a mix of amusement and incredulity on his face. “You’re so weird.”
I open my mouth to retort, but we’ve reached the front of the line. The owner of the booth, a pretty woman with light brown skin and tightly curled hair, smiles at us.
“Hi, there,” she says.
I smile back. “Hi.”
“What do you think of this stuff?” John asks, pointing at the table.
