“He won’t put any plants anywhere, not in his office or anything,” Alfie told her.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Amy said. “He’s barely a human being.”
* * *
Her words had stung.I turned them over and over in my head.
Alfie had wanted to go to the Svenssons. They were having an after-festival party, because that was a thing in small towns. While he raced around with the other kids, I sat at the firepit.
“Someone’s broody and moody.”
“Why are you always here?” I asked in exasperation as Amy trotted up with what looked like half a bag of marshmallows skewered on a poker.
“Small town,” she reminded me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“You’d have more fun if you weren’t being so antisocial.”
“You’re being antisocial,” I retorted. “You’re over here roasting marshmallows all by yourself.”
She stuck her tongue out at me and shoved the skewer directly into the fire. I itched to take it from her before the whole thing went up like a matchbox.
“I just had to listen to the Rescue Bird Society demand that I include some of their rescue parrots in the wedding,” she said. “Then there was the foraging and urban farming committee that wanted all the wedding food to be locally picked or repurposed from dumpster diving, because that would send the proper message that Meg’s administration cares about food waste. Then the local bookstore society wanted us to make the wedding book themed, and then, for some reason, there is a group of people in the town who are all about Christmas twenty-four seven, and they wanted a Christmas in July wedding theme.”
“Are those the people who always have a Christmas stall at every single festival?”
“The one and only.”
The smell of burned sugar permeated the air. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You are supposed to keep it rotating,” I said, jumping up and grabbing her hand to take the skewer from her. “Otherwise, they burn.”
“No,” Amy said, shoving me with her hip and prying my hand off the skewer. “They turn into marshmallow chips.”
She pulled the flaming skewer out of the fire. The marshmallows at the end were black and crumbly, and the ones farther down were heading in that direction. Amy blew out the flames then pulled one of the crispy, gooey marshmallows off the end and stuffed it into her mouth.
I shuddered.
“Yummy! It tastes like fall.”
“It’s appalling,” I said, horrified.
She pulled off another one and held it out to me. “Eat it.”
“I’m not eating that. You’re going to make people sick,” I said flatly.
“More for me!” She put another into her mouth and made an intriguing moaning sound. “Mmm.” She licked her finger and bit the tip slightly. “So freaking good.Better than an orgasm.”
“You clearly just haven’t been with the right man,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
She froze, her mouth making a slightO.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
Shit.I turned and left, not waiting for her response.
13
