I looked sidelong at her. “Huh?”
“Here,I’llshow you,” she said, signalling again for me to spin around.Icomplied this time, letting her take my hair from me and start to braid.
Chloe was gentle, pulling out the tangles with little half-tugs, not the rough, impatient ripsIgave myself.Ifelt her split the hair into three, and her knuckles brushed the base of my neck every time she looped the hair over.Istared ahead, trying to focus on the stock, but all my attention was zeroed in on her touch: the light scrape of her skin on mine, the warmth of her body behind me, the way her breath made the fine hairs at my nape stand up…
“If you don’t separate the bottom as you braid,” she explained in a low, soft voice, surprisingly close to my ear, “it’ll braid itself from the bottom up.Andwhen you meet in the middle, you just flip it through, and it’ll stay.”
“Wow,”Isaid dumbly.Thenshe finished, andIfelt the absence of her touch immediately, lurching forward as ifI’dbeen leaning into it.Ispun around to face her to find a soft smile on her rosy lips, the flush of her cheeks having spread to her neck.
“You’re good at that,”Isaid, a little hoarse all of a sudden.Maybeit was from flogging our wares so intently.
“I’m the designated hair braider of the friend group forRenFairesand the like,” she said. “Nowdo me?”
Those words sent a rush of something through me thatIdeterminedly ignored.Shespun around and gathered her hair, waiting for me to take it in my hands.
I worked my way down her long, soft tresses.Itwas thicker even than it looked, and the colour– impossible to pin down; auburn, but with flashes of gold in the light– shone in the sun that leaked through the fabric above us.Itried to be quick about it, butIfound myself caught up in the motion, the repetition, the feeling of her head bobbing slightly asIbraided.Iwas mesmerised by the way, like she’d said it would, the hair started to braid itself from the bottom.WhenIflipped it through,Iwent through and adjusted a few bumps so it looked nicer.Somethingin me didn’t want to be done– wanted to undo the whole thing and start from scratch– butIswallowed that feeling and stepped away.
As she turned around and pulled it over her shoulder to admire it, my mouth going dry as she ran her pale fingers over it,Irealised she easily could have done that herself.Itwas plenty long enough.But, no, she’d let me do it.Sheknew exactly what she was doing.
Whatwasshe doing?
She looked up at me and grinned. “See?You’rea natural.”
I nodded, aware that we were still standing just inches apart, butIdidn’t feel the heat around me anymore.Theonly heat was in the eye contact we held,Chloe’sexpression curious and kind.Icould only guess what my own face looked like–I’dlost all self-awareness.
Then another flat-capped man walked up and said hello, andIwas shaken out of my reverie– or whatever that had been– to sell some mead.
* * *
As the festivalwound to a close and the crowd thinned,Iran the numbers in my head.We’dnot quite sold out, but we’d made more thanI’dforecasted, having to tap into the reserve stock, and it was all thanks toChloe.Justlike when she’d figured out the soap labels, it was her ability to think on her feet that had saved the day.Iwas beginning to accept thatJenhad been right when she’d seen something inChloethe first time they met.Thather ideas were good, and the farm was better for having her around.Ijust wished my own first impression hadn’t been bad enough to have convinced me otherwise.
“Thank you,”Isaid toChloeas we were packing up the van, and she was shocked enough to stop what she was doing and turn her whole body toward me.
“For what?”
“All of this,”Isaid, waving my hand over the table. “Wewould have sold next to nothing if not for your ideas.”
She shrugged, but her eyes were wide with surprise.Waskindness from me really that rare?Isupposed it was.I’dhave to work on that.
“Thanks,Iguess,” she said, her gaze locked on her feet now.
I shook my head. “Noguessing about it.Yousaved the day.”
A smile spread across her face. “Nowwho’s being dramatic?”
I laughed. “Fine, well, you at least made us enough to call today a success.”
“We make a good team,”Chloesaid, then turned back around to the crate she’d been loading.
“SoIkeep hearing,”Imuttered, then got back to work myself.
It didn’t take us long to pack up, and by the time we were ready, the music headliners– a locally famous folk trio– had started on stage.Peoplewere dancing and laughing in the crowd, grilled cheese sandwiches and slices of pizza from the food trucks in their hands.Afew people even had bottles they’d bought from us, or cans of local beer and cider from other vendors.
“We should join them,”Chloesaid from behind me, andIjumped slightly at the sound of her voice so close again.Ashiver ran up my spine.
“Should we?”
She picked up a couple of bottles from one of the crates and held one out to me. “Whatdo you say?” she asked, finally looking up to meet my gaze from under her long lashes. “Havea bit of fun with me?”
