Mariah Duval’s booth was halfway down on the left.
Greta spotted it because it was the only display that looked like someone had actually thought about what they were doing. White linen draped over the table. Copper vessels holding tight arrangements of late-season dahlias and dried grasses, everything measured and centered. A hand-lettered chalkboard sign propped on an easel readPine & Bloom, Solace MTin script so perfect it looked printed.
Mariah stood behind the table in a cream blouse with her hair pinned up, not a strand out of place. She was adjusting a copper vessel by increments so small Greta couldn’t actually see the difference. Her face had the set of a woman who knew exactly how things should be and would accept nothing less.
X was draped over the corner of her display table like he’d been poured there. Both forearms on the white linen. Grin at full wattage.
He was saying something Greta couldn’t hear from this distance, but she could read the posture — the lean, the eye contact, the way he’d angled his whole body toward Mariah like she was the only person in the tent.
Mariah set the copper vessel down and picked up a small spray bottle.
X kept talking. He gestured at one of the dahlia arrangements, then at Mariah, then back at the flowers, his grin never faltering. He looked like a man who had never been told no in his life and wouldn’t recognize it if he heard it.
Mariah raised the spray bottle two inches and squirted him directly in the face. He jerked back, sputtering, one hand comingup to wipe his eyes, but the grin didn’t die— if anything, it got wider. He straightened up off the table, still wiping water off his face with the back of his hand, and said something that made Mariah’s mouth tighten at the corners. She set the spray bottle down with the care of someone holstering a weapon, smoothed the front of her blouse, and turned to help a woman who’d been hovering at the edge of the display. She spoke to the customer with perfect composure, gesturing at the arrangements like she hadn’t just assaulted a man with a spray bottle ten seconds earlier.
X stood there a beat, staring longingly at Mariah’s back, and then he shook his head and walked away, still grinning.
Greta put both hands over her mouth, but the laugh came out anyway. Loud enough that Bear turned to look at her. It kept coming. Full-body, uncontrollable. She bent forward, one hand on Bear’s arm to keep herself upright, and laughed until she snorted.
Bear was staring at her.
Oh, God. How embarrassing.
She tried to pull herself together and failed. Every time she thought she had it under control, she remembered the spray bottle, the way X’s face had done that full-body surprise reaction, the way Mariah had just turned away like spraying people was a normal part of customer service, and the laughter came back.
Bear brought his other hand up to her back, steadying her, and she leaned into it.
When she finally got enough air to speak, her voice came out rough and unsteady. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah.”
“She sprayed him in the face.”
“I saw.”
“Just—” She made a gesture that was supposed to indicate the spray bottle, but mostly just flailed. “Right in the face. And then she just?—”
Another wave of laughter cut her off.
Bear watched her, a slow smile breaking across his face. She caught the look and tried to rein it in, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m fine. I’m good.”
“You’re crying. And… snorting.”
“I don’t snort.”
“You sure? I thought we were by the pigpen for a minute there.”
She straightened and smacked his arm. “You didnotjust call me a pig.”
He was all-out grinning now, and he was so handsome when he did that. It crinkled his eyes and softened the hard lines of his face.
“Oink,” he said.
“This is revenge for calling you Honey Bear in front of the guys, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Little bit.”
She turned to look back at Mariah’s booth. Mariah was still helping the customer, pointing out different arrangements like she hadn’t just committed assault with a spray bottle. X was nowhere in sight.
