Thick fingers attached to the paw of a palm. With it, the smell of pine is so thick that it makes me feel like I’m standing in a forest.
River Pierce is right beside me, and he’s staring back with those deep blue eyes before he looks away, ready to fetch another octopus of a different color. Of course, he’s here. He just watched as, I assume, his girlfriend spilled her product all over the place.
Turning away, I help her collect her things. Piling them in my crate, I pretend the butterflies aren’t crashing around now, or that the back of my neck isn’t about to catch on fire.
She beams more at me than at him. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what happened. One minute, everything was fine, and the next, a cord suddenly appeared and—”
While she explains about tripping, the three of us work together to clean up a zoo of animals.
“Are you alright?” Next to me, River rumbles. He doesn’t think twice about checking up on her, scowling at the torn skin on her knees. “How many times do I need to tell you to watch where you’re walking?”
Surprised by his scolding, my mind drifts to what it might be like to have a man like him fussing over me. It’s a tempting thought, but I can’t dwell on it now. I’ll save that fantasy for when I’m alone, where I can fully indulge in it.
She swats her hand, ignoring him entirely, somehow. As we both stand, she accepts my crate. “Thank you so much. Seriously. Wait…” She looks me over before becoming impossibly brighter. “You’re the bee girl.”
“Daliah,” I correct, flushing beneath both of their gazes. Even River is coasting those ocean-colored eyes back in my direction. Does he know my name? Or do they both know me as that silly title? The same one I’ve heard other vendors nickname me as.
“Melanie,” she introduces, far too perky. “Have you met River? He’s—”
“Do you have time to stand around and chat? You’re barely set up.” He interrupts her, turning toward her stall. Her table is bare enough to look vacant.
I don’t think I’ve heard him speak so gruffly to someone before. Maybe I got something wrong?
She rolls her eyes, much to his dismay. “I’ll get this back to you soon, I swear.” Holding up the crate, she thanks me again. “I owe you, Daliah. Maybe I can make you something in between customers.”
Our exchange is short and simple. As Melanie shoots toward her table to race against time, River pauses long enough to shoot me one more glance.
He dips his chin in a curt nod. “Thanks… Daliah.”
Nodding slowly at his appreciation, I keep nodding even as he follows after her. Reduced to a state of shock, I don’t know what to do with myself now. My brain feels fried. All because he had to go and say my name.
Now I know what that rumble of a voice sounds like when he says it. How long will it run on a loop in my head before I grow tired of it?Never.
Blushing hot, it’s the sound of cars arriving that makes me realize the market is going to open soon and helps me snap back into place.
Not only did I miss my chance at snagging some goods, but now, I’m going to be distracted for the next few hours, letting my mind drift with his voice murmuring my name on repeat.
I can’t lie, I’m already looking forward to it.
2
River
Jars clink together as I carefully unload my truck, the sound cutting through the morning stillness. This early, the air still has that cool layer, crisp against my skin, carrying the mingled scents of damp earth and the coffee half of these people are addicted to from the shop a few blocks away.
It’s another Saturday, and it greets me with open arms. However, part of me still wishes I had stopped at Willow Perk, too.
By now, I should be used to the restlessness that comes with returning here once a week. Not because I’m worried about the sales that’ll come in, or won’t, but there’s something far bigger that keeps me up at night. Tossing and turning,grunting and groaning, responding in ways for a reason a man in my shoes should have no part in.
Around me, vendors move with that familiar rhythm—shoulders hunched, breath misting, shifting from foot to footjust enough to keep warm. Soon, once the sun gets high enough in the sky, it’ll heat up enough that everyone will start plucking at their clothes, missing the coolness the early mornings bring.
While I’m unloading, I get a few nods from familiar faces and return the same to them as I weave through the maze of tables and bodies. Tents are already being built, the mix of hammers thumping and soft curses slipping in between.
Frank, the organizer, is hunched over a pile of tangled cords belonging to a vendor who looks completely out of her depth.
Taking a moment to scan the open spots, deep down, I already know which one I want.
It’s a good thing Frank has that first-come, first-served mindset. He doesn’t care where we set up, as long as no one’s fighting over a table. But when I look around, I’m not hunting for the best spot like everyone else—the one with the most foot traffic or the most shade.
