Nope. Full steam ahead and very hard to port.
I hated myself as I thought about Shay while I was in bed last night. Hated how easy it was for these depraved thoughts to take over my days and my dreams. But at the same time—and this was the part I hated the most—I didn’t hate it at all. I didn’t care that I did terrible things to her in my mind. I didn’t care that she’d leave again and I’d never recover. I didn’t care because I knew what it felt like to hold her and kiss her and nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing fucking mattered.
Especially not when she looked happy for the first time since meeting her all over again.
The smile I’d caught yesterday, the lightness in her—I hadn’t realized I’d missed it until it was there again, bright and warm and magnetic.
I was so fucked.
Shay and her friends went straight for the breakfast sandwich vendor. The woman who’d worn jean shorts and the bikini too small for any of Gennie’s dolls looped an arm around Shay’s waist, her head resting on Shay’s shoulder. The one with the deep olive skin and dark hair—Jaime, I thought—broke out some salsa moves while the high school jazz band started their set. Salsa didn’t match the tunes but I got the impression that woman cared little for matching.
The willowy blonde, the one who’d been conked out yesterday, studied the tents and banners of each vendor in the park. I saw it the moment she found me and Gennie, or, more specifically, our blue-gray tent printed with the farm’s name and our iconic hand-drawn stars. The whole group turned to look in this direction. Words were spoken, and Shay gave an exaggerated shake of her head.
The blonde directed them forward when the breakfast sandwich line moved but Shay remained where she was, staring across the park at the tent with the stars for an extra few seconds.
I swallowed hard. One of these days, she was going to figure it all out and then—then—I’d really be fucked.
I couldn’t read her expression from this distance or see her eyes behind those big sunglasses but a string connected us. It wasn’t until Jaime caught her by the elbow and swung her around that I blinked away from them.
A stiff, uncomfortable breath rushed out of me. I glanced over at Lillian, my teenage cashier and Gail Castro’s granddaughter. “You can take a break now. Gennie and I can hold it down for the next half hour.”
Lillian wiped her hands on her jeans and grabbed her phone from her back pocket. “Okay, Mr. Barden. Thanks.” She glanced around the setup. “Where is Gennie?”
I motioned toward the knife sharpening stall. “Talking weaponry with Osvaldo.”
Lillian laughed. “I’ll send her over.” As she stepped out from behind the table, she added, “We’re out of multigrain and honey herb goat cheese, and we’re on the last case of strawberry jam.”
I held up a hand in salute. “Thanks, Lill.”
Since the morning rush had passed, I had time to organize the table while snatching glimpses of Shay and her friends. They carried their coffees and sandwiches to the far side of the park, where a pair of benches curved around a small fountain. At first, they were focused only on the food and drink but it wasn’t long before the caffeine hit them and their conversation grew animated.
Gennie shuffled over, her plastic sword dragging on the grass and her eye patch worn like a necklace. “Why did I have to leave Mr. OJ?”
“Because Mr. OJ has customers, Gen. And Lillian is on her break so I need you to keep an eye on the loot.”
“Oh. Right.” She grabbed an empty milk crate and set it in front of the point of sale system. As much as it troubled me, she was great at running the system. Couldn’t make change but the kid could ring up a sale, no problem.
I kept an eye on Shay as we sold some jam and some bread. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave the comfort of the shade and the benches.
The bread should’ve dawned on me sooner. I’d spent the whole week wondering if she was eating but the very logical solution ofbring her fooddidn’t hit me until the bakehouse manager asked me to check out the newest test batch.
“Noah, look! Shay’s coming!” Gennie whacked the back of my arm with her sword. “And her friends too!”
“Watch the language,” I said to her. “Give it a real try this time.”
She held the sword across her chest. “Aye aye.”
I did the only thing I could do to avoid staring at Shay as she crossed the field. I ignored her.
I focused on the kombucha and pressed juice tent beside us. They did brisk business. I didn’t know much about kombucha but they’d sold out of nearly all their stock before ten this morning so they were doing something right. Where were they housed? Probably one of the refurbished mill complexes nearby.What had happened with Shay’s last relationship? The situationship, as she’d called it.There were plenty of those complexes in this state. I’d toured some of them a few years ago when the canning operation outgrew the back room of the farm stand.Was she here for safety? Did she need to be far away from someone?Nice spaces but they needed complete overhauls to convert into commercial kitchens. In the end, it had been cheaper to update the old cider house already standing on the orchard property.Did that someone have a name and could I spend the rest of my life hitting him with frivolous lawsuits for the singular purpose of driving him insane?
“Shay!” Gennie called, snapping me out of my forced distraction.
“Hello, my friend.” Shay waved and Gennie wasted no time dashing out from behind the table. She threw her arms around Shay’s waist and immediately launched into a recap of her visit with the knife guy.
“And he had one that was all jagged like knife teeth.” Gennie clenched her jack-o’-lantern teeth to illustrate.
“That is incredible,” Shay replied. She glanced up at me, her smile wide and bright. “Hi. Thanks for the tip about the food truck.”
