Maybe he should give up altogether.
“You’re new!”
Oliver glanced up from where he was setting his bottles at the woman standing in front of the table. She was petite, with dark hair that gleamed burgundy in the sun.
“Good morning.” He tried to smile, but barely managed a squint.
“What are you selling?”
Many of the vendors around him were still setting up, and for the first time since he’d started this business, Oliver struggled to be gracious. He could easily tell her he wasn’t open for business yet.
The market board had spies everywhere, though, and maybe this woman was one complaint away from his permanent blacklisting in the Seacroft business community.
“I’ve got a number of cold-pressed juices. The cold-pressing helps to maintain the nutrient value of the fruits and vegetables.”
“Like antioxidants and things? They look so good. Do you want one?” She pulled a bottle out of the ice and turned to a dark-haired teen standing behind her. How Oliver had missed him earlier, since he stood a full head and shoulders above her, was a mystery, but Oliver wasn’t really firing on all cylinders.
The boy grunted something noncommittal, and the woman put a patient hand on his arm, towing him forward. “It’s going to be hot this morning. You’ll get thirsty. Pick one.”
The boy pointed at one of the bottles ofMango Tornado.
“I haven’t made it down here yet this spring,” she said as she dug through her purse. “I usually work on Saturdays, but I always mean to do my shopping here instead of the grocery store during the spring and summer. So much better to buy things locally than fruits and vegetables shipped all the way from California. I mean, who knows what they put on those things to keep them fresh and—oh Hayden, there’s your dad. Go grab him. Nick! Hayden, go! He didn’t hear me. I don’t want him to leave without me.” She pushed at the teen’s shoulder, and he shuffled away at a pace completely at odds with the urgency on her face.
She handed Oliver some money and then waved at someone down the aisle. A dozen bracelets on her wrist jangled together. Oliver flinched away from the sound, but followed her gaze.
The hangover tightened around his brain like a vise.
Nick walked up the aisle next to the boy, making it impossible to doubt that they were related. The same dark hair and black eyes. The boy was nearly as tall, although he hadn’t grown into Nick’s frame yet. Where Nick was bulky, the kid was all gangly limbs, but they clearly shared DNA.
Every step they took made it harder for Oliver to breathe.
“There you are!” the woman said, oblivious to Oliver’s distress. “I was dropping Hayden off and saw this new stall here.” She leaned back and frowned at the sign. “Pulpability. That’s kind of cute, isn’t it? Sounds like ‘possibility.’ Anyway, we were buying some juice. Do you want one?”
Nick’s features were like granite. “I’m okay.”
“Suit yourself.” She turned back to Oliver. “Did you have my change?”
Oliver jumped and dropped the coins in his hand. They clattered on the table, and he apologized as he gathered them up and woodenly handed them to her.
“How long have you been here?” she asked. Oliver couldn’t look at her, not with Nick lurking like a silent mountain behind her.
It couldn’t be what Oliver thought. This couldn’t happen again. He’d been through it already with Cooper. The whole point of keeping things casual with Nick had been to protect himself, and now...
He hadn’t answered her question. “Not long. This is my first season at the market. I’ve got a shop open on Front Street during the weekdays.”
“Well, this looks delicious.” She smiled and reached over the bottles, bracelets rattling, to shake his hand. “I’m Anya. This is Nick, and that’s our son, Hayden.” She gave the teenager a squeeze, and his face said he wanted to be anywhere but there.
Oliver knew the feeling intimately.
He risked a glance at Nick, whose dark eyes met his. The guilt, panic, and fear there made Oliver’s stomach turn. He’d seen the same expression on Cooper’s face that morning in the boardroom.
Nick should be very afraid.The cheating bastard.He had no idea what Oliver was capable of when he was pissed. It would be meticulous, and it would be painful.
Oliver turned back to Anya and said, “I’d love to see you again.” He handed her a flyer. “We have weekly workshops on wellness and self-care. They’re totally free. You should come.”
She smiled, poor woman. Did she know the joke was on her too?
And yet, was it really? Oliver was the one who got to stand there, smiling blandly, while Anya looped her arms through Nick’s and the boy’s and wandered away. A happy family on a Saturday morning market tour. They were picture perfect.
