“We’re getting your entire truck wet,” she commented as I turned the heat up to its maximum.
“It’s cool. This truck’s faced things way worse than water.”
“I wish I wasn’t soaking wet, I would ask you to stop somewhere. I’m starving.”
I took my eyes off the road for a quick second to see her shoveling the snacks from the 5k volunteers into her mouth. She looked so damn adorable and feminine. Like capable and independent, but simultaneously soft and needy at the same time. I pulled my eyes away from her. “What do you have a taste for, Bailey?”
She rattled off the desires of her taste buds. At the next stop light, I texted in an order toSTG Homestead. When I made a quick detour onto the lodge’s property, she was suspicious. “Brighton Eugene Strong, you ordered breakfast?”
I laughed aloud. “Eugene? Who is that? Ain’t nobody’s middle name Eugene.”
She laughed with me. “I can’t believe you ordered breakfast.”
I pulled a face. “What do you mean you can’t believe it? You sat in my truck basically shoveling that little granola bar down your throat. Then you inhaled that banana.”
“Shut up.” She waved me off, still sniggering.
“What are you used to, Bailey baby? Niggas who hear your stomach growling—who listen to you talk about being hungry and just go on about their business? Your ex wasn’t concerned about your hunger?”
“I wouldn’t say he wasn’t concerned, he just?—”
“Don’t defend him, ma. You being surprised that I would get you food after you stated that you were hungry tells me everything I need to know. My grandfather would say something like, your ex wasn’t minding the store. I’mma say that dude had butter-fingers and he fumbled the hell out of his prize.” I pulledto a stop in front of Perkins’s house. “I’ll see you later at the festival.”
She climbed out of my truck, leaving the bag with my food on the passenger’s seat. “See you later, Bright.”
Chapter
Seven
Bailey
The waythe sun sat in the sky shining so brightly, it was like the rainstorm during the 5k run had never even happened. The temperature was comfortable and the spring festival was as crowded as ever. Visitor after visitor approached Bright’s booth for a consultation. They talked about his work with reverence. Despite the fact that he mostly showed me his silly and mischievous sides, he was the consummate professional when it came to his work.
When he filled up every available slot on his appointment app, he decided to shut down the booth.
“Did you book all the way until the new year?” I questioned as I stood behind him peering at the computer screen.
“Through the first few weeks of November. Once the first big snow hits, I slow down. People don’t usually do construction during the holidays. They’re entertaining; they don’t want their houses destroyed or people walking through it possibly tracking in moisture and dirt. I usually give my guys a Christmas bonus, so they don’t miss the work during the month of December. Wepick back up a little mid-January.” He paused. “Let’s go see the other booths.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was curious to see what a spring festival was all about since I’d never been to one. We walked up Second Street taking in all of the booths. We stopped by the booth that was hosting the strawberry pie bake-off. The contestants gave both Bright and me a slice of all of their entries.
“I’ve never had strawberry pie before,” I told him as we stepped off to the side and tasted each of the four slivers of pie, “but I like number two. Which one do you like the best?”
“Number three.”
I bit into number three again. “I don’t know. It’s not sweet enough. I like my desserts sweet.”
“Yeah. I like my strawberry pie a little bit tart. It makes it taste . . . I don’t know, fresher or something.”
We filled out our ballots and dropped them in the box, then continued exploring.
We stopped at Brewer’s booth because I was obsessed with his Dungeness crab cakes and macaroni and cheese. We stopped by the lodge’s booth. While Bright made conversation with Bayliss, my mother sidled over to me.
“Uh, Bright must be good company. I can’t remember the last time I saw a smile on your face this big,” she teased.
I waved her off playfully. “Leave me alone, Ma. I’m a married woman. No man is putting smiles on my face.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”
