WILLA
The morning blurred togetherwith barely a breath between customers. Every time I looked up, the line had doubled. Through it all, my husband was selling the shit out of everything we had while I tried very hard not to stare at his ass.
Everything was going great…except for the fact that he’d been right. We were sold out of jam before noon.
“Well, well, well,” he said, smugness oozing from his tone as he handed a bag to a customer. “I do believe that was ourlastjar of jam, hellcat. You know, the jam without any edible gold that you didn’t think would sell.”
I rolled my eyes as I exchanged cash for a pint of strawberries. “Probably had something to do with the novelty of a hot guy in an apron saying how delicious everything tastes.”
A slow grin spread across his mouth. “You think I’m hot?”
“I think all this heat is getting to you.”
“Whatever you say, wife.”
The crowd never waned as the sun climbed higher, and Lincoln somehow got smugger with every sale, though I had no idea that was possible. Not only had we sold out of jam, but three-quarters of our strawberries were gone, we were down toless than half a dozen jars of honey, and even the cheeky mini honey sticks were running dangerously low.
One thing was clear—Lincoln was having the time of his life.
He was in his element and loving every minute of it. Flashing his dimples, charming anyone who walked by, and flexing those obnoxious biceps just enough to make the older ladies fan themselves and the younger ones linger a bit too long.
And then there was the one who just wouldn’t go away.
Blond and sun-kissed and wearing a dress so thin I could make out her lacy bra beneath it, she held a to-go cup of strawberry sangria in one hand and touched my husband with the other. Just a light stroke against his wrist as she leaned in, laughing like the two of them were sharing an inside joke.
I hated it.
Which was ridiculous. First of all, it was her fingertips she was brushing all over him, not her tits. And second of all, what Lincoln and I had wasfake.
So why the hell did this unwanted sensation crackling in my chest feel incredibly real?
The line was stacking up as Sangria Barbie asked about everything we had available, wanting to sample each and every good.
My husband included.
But what surprised the hell out of me was the way Lincoln didn’t lean into flirting back. Didn’t give her even half the wattage of the smiles he’d handed out to the rest of the crowd. Wasn’t even a flicker of light compared to the ones he sentme.
But he didn’t shut her down either.
He stepped back every time she leaned in closer, his expression polite but bland as he pointed to each item she asked about with his left hand. As if purposely flashing his wedding ring.
Still, the woman didn’t get the hint.
If anything, Lincoln’s disinterest only made her bolder. More determined. She dragged her cup, slick with condensation, across her collarbone like she was oh-so very hot. Then she placed one hand on the table and leaned over to give him a not-so-subtle view straight down her dress like she was starring in a porno no one else knew was being produced.
His placid smile stayed in place, but I also clocked the way his mouth tightened just a bit and a tiny tic of irritation in his jaw. His response should’ve soothed this wild, unwanted thrum beneath my skin.
Instead, that weird twist in my gut only pulled tighter.
It wasn’t jealousy. Obviously.
It was just irritation.
This woman was holding up the line. Interfering with our sales. Wasting Lincoln’s and my and everyone else’s time.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Give me just one second,” I said to the older man who was next in line before stomping over to Chatty Cathy and my husband who was too nice to tell her to fuck off.
