“You know you can’t out run me, right?” I say, keeping up with her. I catch a glimpse of fire in her for a second. As if she’s thinking,I can try.
Unreal.
“Fine. We can chat along the way,” I call through the passenger window. She flinches.
Finally, a way for me to needle at her the way she’s needled into me. Why was I lying awake last night pondering her robe? The fabric was some tropical print much like her bandannas. And her slippers were giant palm trees.
This from a girl who lives in a winter town? Summer here is usually mild and short. Not a palm tree to be found. Maybe she summers nearby somewhere on the coast, the Hamptons? Does she take Stuart? And what did she mean he’s not her dog? Why does she keep a dog she doesn’t want? Why does she run a bakery if she hates talking to people?
And why do I care?
Annoying.
“Tell me about your Easter Market Specials,” I say, eager to annoy her right back. She doesn’t respond. “I can help,” I press her.
“No thanks,” she pants. Her short legs are pedaling as fast as they can. On a leisure bike that probably has two gears. Again, I want to laugh.
“Listen, you are undercharging for all of your seasonal specials. And you’re giving too many different samples out at each event,” I say quickly. Her face transforms and her pace slows, like she’s listening. “They’re too large, as well. One tiny set of samples, only one sample per person. Quit letting the mayor’s little wanker son come back four times for samples.”
Her head snaps over to me. Her face gives her away again.How did you know about that?
I don’t answer her that I watched her like a creep during a good part of the day during the mud…fest? Bog something? The mud race day.
“You could even tell your regulars that samples are for tourists. No one from Juniper Falls should be sampling your goods,”I say, my voice going gruff and weird. After the words come out my hands tighten on the steering wheel.
What’s going on with me?
Maybe I am working out too hard in the evenings.
I clear my throat, “The aroma is enough to draw people to your booth. Where you should charge above usual cost for transport out of the storefront, booth set up and fees, additional to go cups and napkins and so on.”
She stops pedaling.
I brake my rental car.
“Why are you helping me?” She asks. Once again, I feel like doing a damn victory dance at the fact that I got more than ayesornoout of this woman.
Good question.
Why exactly am I helping her?
Annoyed all over again I snipe, “To give myself a more worthy opponent, you all don’t have a chance in hell without my help. It’s right bloody boring.”
At that, her face shudders closed. There was maybe a flash of anger, hurt even, but then she shut it off. It’s amazing to watch. It’s like she knows I’m desperate for her reactions—God knows why?—and so she’s gone completely blank.
Infuriating.
I don’t follow after her as she races away toward her shop.
And, for the first time in days, I don’t stop in for coffee.
_____
Ruff Grrrrrruff
Scratch
Scratch scratch scratch
