I felt my cheeks warm slightly. I wasn't used to people taking my abruptness in stride.
"How much?" he asked, still holding the jam.
"Four dollars. Or trade for something useful." I told him as I flicked my eyes over him before looking back down.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change. Consider it an investment in neighborly relations."
I took the money, careful not to let our fingers brush. "Being neighbors doesn't require investment."
"Maybe not," he said, tucking the jam into a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. "But being good ones might."
Before I could respond, he glanced over my display again. "Any recommendations for someone who burns water when cooking?"
The unexpected question caught me off guard. "Parsley," I said after a moment. "Hard to mess up. Just chop it fine and throw it on at the end."
Garrett nodded solemnly, as if I'd shared profound wisdom. "Parsley. Got it." He selected a bundle, adding it to his purchase. I rang him up quickly, hoping he'd move on to the next stall. But he lingered, glancing around the market with apparent interest.
"First time here?" I asked, immediately regretting the question. I didn't want to encourage conversation.
"At this market, yeah. Seems like a good community." His gaze returned to me, a little too perceptive. "You been coming long?"
"Five years." I busied myself rearranging a display that didn't need rearranging.
"Every weekend?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded, wondering why he cared about my market schedule.
"Dedication," he said, sounding impressed. "Must be worth the drive."
I shrugged. "It's income."
"And social connection," he added, gesturing toward the bustling market. "Even if it's just transactions."
The observation hit uncomfortably close to something I didn't want to acknowledge. I looked up sharply, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd approached my stall.
"I'm not here for social connection," I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended.
Garrett tilted his head slightly, studying me with that same unsettling perceptiveness from yesterday. "No? Then what are you here for?" The question hung between us, and I realized I'd walked myself into a conversation I didn't want to have. Myjaw tightened as I searched for a response that would end this exchange without revealing more about myself.
"Business," I said finally. "Just business."
"Right." His tone remained neutral, but something in his expression shifted. Not hurt, exactly, but perhaps a recognition that he'd pushed too far. "Well, thanks for the recommendations." He started to turn away, and I felt an unexpected flutter of something that might have been regret. Before I could examine the feeling too closely, he paused and looked back.
"By the way," he said, his voice casual again, "I'll be working on clearing some brush this week. Might be a bit noisy during the day. Hope that won't bother you." The Henderson property. So he really was staying. My stomach did something complicated that I chose to ignore.
"It's your land," I said, though the words came out stiffer than I'd meant them to.
"Good to know." That easy smile returned, though it seemed more cautious now. "See you around, Daphne."
He walked away before I could respond, his long stride carrying him quickly through the crowd. I watched him stop at another vendor's stall, that same effortless charm emerging as he struck up a conversation with the older man selling wood carvings. Within minutes, they were laughing like old friends.
I turned back to my display, irritation prickling under my skin. How did he do that? How did he make it look so simple, connecting with people like it was the most natural thing in the world? And why did I care?
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of familiar transactions. I sold most of my herbs and half the preserves, which was better than average for an early spring market. But I found myself distracted, my gaze drifting across the square towhere Garrett continued his leisurely tour of the vendors. He seemed to be making friends everywhere he stopped.
By the time I packed up my remaining goods, the sun had climbed high enough to burn off the morning mist. I loaded my crates with the same methodical care I'd used to arrange them, but my movements felt less settled than usual. The routine that normally grounded me felt hollow today, like I was going through the motions without really being present.
It was another day…and things would go back to normal soon with no more surprises.
Chapter Three
