Taking in a deep breath, she owned that she’d grown into her skin. It felt good. She was just her, and being just her was enough. She wished Carolyn could have that feeling. As long as she was married to Trent and he continued to mess with her head, she’d be stuck as a giraffe. With a prayer for her sister in her heart, Rubi doubled her attention on the next group—four twenty-ish guys pushing each other to be first to say hi. With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she motioned them closer. “Y’all are acting like a bunch of sissies. Get on over here.”
They laughed and obliged, holding out new hats for her to sign. With a smirk, she drew a fishing pole and a long line—after all, she’d had to reel them in.
Cash came through the curtain carrying a large box. He looked to her before he took in the number of people in his booth, before he checked on sales, before he even set down the box.
Their eyes met, and Rubi had the odd sensation that she was the one being reeled in.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cash wiped the perspiration off his forehead. He’d never hustled so hard in his life. By the time he came back with a box of T-shirts, the line had wrapped all the way around the east side of the convention center and there was no end in sight. The second best part was that people weren’t just getting an autograph and taking off, they lingered. They asked questions. They tried on his packs. And they were buying.
“Excuse me. Excuse me!” A man with a Tony Stark goatee shouldered his way into the booth. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked.
Cash stepped forward. “I am. Cash Lowell.”
“Ben Grammar.” They shook hands. “I’m in charge of the Expo. Mr. Lowell, you’ve created quite the disturbance back here.”
Cash couldn’t help but smile. “Call me Cash.”
Ben wasn’t smiling. “Cash. We’ve had a complaint from another vendor about the line to your booth and how it’s clogging the aisle.”
“I bet I can guess which vendor logged the complaint,” said Dad from over Cash’s shoulder.
Cash would make the same bet. If Lady Luck tipped her hat Cash’s way, Brett would take it personal and do all he could to level the playing field. His little fish tank was no match for Rubi and her winning smile.
Of course, this wasn’t what Cash had planned either. Dad had been at the register all morning, taking money hand over fist. If sales continued at this rate, Sweet Birch Outfitters would sell out of merchandise. The representative from Cabela’s had just left and a woman from Scheels left her card with Dad while Cash was running back and forth between the truck and the booth. Cash had called a couple workers to load up whatever they had left at the warehouse and bring it down. They were set to arrive shortly after one.
Cash shrugged. “What do you suggest we do, Mr. Grammar?”
“How long is she supposed to be here?”
Cash glanced towards Rubi. He didn’t want to take advantage of hergift. And it was a gift. She had put herself out there for him, for his company, and he had nothing to repay her with except making sure she got in contact with Trent. His paltry connections, which had seemed so large that morning, now looked like a fly next to a German shepherd. “A while, why?”
“If we can get a break, we can set up some barriers and redirect the line.”
Cash noted the ever-so-slight slump to Rubi’s shoulders and the way she brushed her fingers over her right eye, but her smile never faltered. A need to take care of her built inside his trunk. “Let’s do a lunch break at 12:30. Will an hour give you enough time?”
“You bet.” Mr. Grammar held out his hand. “Really, Cash, had we known Rubi Walsh was going to be here, we would have upgraded your rental to free and we would have loved to put her in the advertising.”
Cash shook his head. “We didn’t know until the last minute.”
“Well, keep us in the know for next year’s expo, will you?”
“Yes sir—will do.”
Mr. Grammar disappeared in the throng. Cash did a fist pump. “Did you hear that?” he asked his dad. “He’s already planning on us for next year. What do you want to bet we get a booth up front or one of those primo ones by the barbecue guys?”
“That’s fantastic son.” Dad slapped him on the back. “Now, you’d better get some of that barbecue for your little lady over there before she faints dead away.”
“I’m on my way.” Cash rushed towards the area where all the good smells came from. He didn’t even balk at his dad calling Rubihislittle lady. She may drive him nuts, but she was doing him a huge favor. One he didn’t deserve. He was fast becoming the world’s biggest Rubi Walsh fan.
The closer he got to the food vendors, the easier it was to make out the individual scents. There was spice and tang, Applewood and cedar chip smoke, and French fries and gravy. He loaded up with a variety of foods, water bottles, sodas, and napkins. When he got back to the booth, Mr. Grammar and several people in dark green polo shirts and tan pants were waiting for him to break up the I-Heart-Rubi festival. He set the food on a chair behind the booth and went back out.
Approaching Rubi from behind, he placed a hand on her back. Her muscles were tense. She probably wasn’t used to standing on concrete floors for four hours at a time. He should have brought her a chair! Feeling like a jerk, he held up a palm. “Hey there, y’all having a good time today?”
Rubi leaned into his hold, relaxing. He stepped even closer, wanting to shield her with his body. Heck, he’d pick her up and run with her if he needed to.
“I’ve got to take Miss Walsh for lunch, but she’ll be back at 1:30. Mr. Grammar and his crew are going to redirect the linewhile we’re away. Y’all are welcome to wait, or you can go enjoy some of the other booths, and we’ll see you in about an hour.”
