The moon casts a shaft of light blue onto the patio and the Adirondack chairs encircling a cinderblock fire pit. I set my whiskey glass down long enough to grab a couple of logs and get a small fire going before snatching the drink back up and dropping into one of the chairs. For a flash, I envision a beauty with brown hair and hazel eyes that reflect the firelight settling into one of the empty chairs next to me. But if she were there, what would I say? What would I do?
Tipping my head back, I take in one of my favorite views: the silhouetted treetops etched around the starlit sky like a frame. The picture reminds me of something from a children’s book, and the amount of stars out here in the wilderness—it’s like you’re sitting in the middle of a galaxy. You won’t find this view in a city, and I often feel that it’s all I need in this life.
I let out a long exhale, releasing the toxic thoughts along with it. Giving in to the tranquility, my body relaxes as I sip my whiskey and enjoy the dancing orange flames. My mind drifts, floating back to the river, to a pair of blazing hazel eyes with an owner who bitched me out. Without meaning to, the corner of my mouth tips up in a smile, something I rarely do, as I shake my head at the recent memory. It was just an unusual meeting on an otherwise typical day, so move past it. But twenty seconds later, I’m right back there again.
Damn. I forget most women until the next time I see them, but this one has been invading my thoughts all night. What I don’t expect is how I welcome the visions, letting them take part in my peaceful reverie.
4
MOLLY
Farmers Market Fridays are my one day to be around people—my job doesn’t count as social time seeing as how my patients don’t speak. And don’t get me wrong, I find animals far more superior to humans, but living alone can definitely take its toll at times.
On spring Friday afternoons, the town’s small business owners set up tents in the library parking lot. Once in a blue moon, whenever Dr. Voss feels like running a vaccine clinic, I’m required to host one of them. Lucky for me, he also keeps short hours on Fridays so I can come out here and stock up on low-priced items most of the vendors put on special. In particular, George’s Gourmet meats and Jeanine’s bakery. George has the best cuts of wild game, and Jeanine makes the most heavenly breads that I store in my freezer and use for toast and sandwiches. Sometimes she’ll give me a discount if I bring her muffins or cookies to sell. My run-in with the friendly neighborhood game warden had me stress baking the next day, and I have to get rid of the finished product as I’m also a stresseater. Just ask the three chocolate oat cookies already sitting at the bottom of my belly.
I’m still wound up about the run-in and annoyed with myself for thinking he was good looking at first glance, especially when he turned out to be a hard ass. Getting a ticket is never fun, but getting issued one from someone I found attractive stung in a new way. Not in a big or deep way, but like he’d hit a nerve in a part of me I didn’t know existed until then. And maybe my ego is a little bruised knowing the physical attraction clearly wasn’t mutual.
After lingering at Helen’s sewing creations, I arrive at George’s tent.
“Molly girl!” He offers his loving smile to me. His face wears the signs of aging in the sun, but man, do his blue eyes still twinkle, especially with his friendly wink.
“Hey, George.” I smile back, tug the insulated pouch from my large tote, and set it down on his table.
“How’s my favorite smartass? You staying out of trouble?” he asks, having no idea that his words ping off that aforementioned nerve.
“Well, I’m sure trying, George, but no. I actually got a ticket the other day.”
“Let me guess,” he straightens his station of parchment papers and takeaway bags, “they finally figured out what you’ve been growing in that suspicious vegetable garden of yours.”
My face crinkles and my belly bubbles out a laugh at the straight face George manages to keep whenever he teases people. “No, some game warden with a stick up his ass got me for overfishing. I didn’t know what the limit was.” I hold my hands out, demonstrating my innocence.
“That’s because your grampa always took care of the permits, and your pampered little ass didn’t have to worry about them.” “What can I get you, kiddo?”
I offer him my best deadpan glare but let the comment slide because he’s not wrong. Despite being an orphan of sorts, Iwaspampered. And even though I’m twenty-four, I welcome the endearment. Just because I don’t have much of a social life doesn’t mean it’s all by choice. I like feeling like someone’s fond of me, even if it’s because he knew my grandparents. I ask George for a couple of elk steaks and venison burgers and get them stowed away in my cooler bag before moving along to Jeanine’s tent, where a blonde woman is perusing the racks of loaves.
“Oh my god, blueberry lemon?” She gasps at the many selections.
“You should try the cinnamon swirl,” I holler to her from Jeanine’s register as I fish the container of cookies out of my tote.
More frantic exclamations erupt out of this new face as she peruses all the flavors, grabbing at several loaves.
“Damn, Molly.” Jeanine gives an amused snicker, blowing a grey strand of hair that’s come loose from her bun out of her face. “You should come work for me in the shop. Sales would skyrocket.”
“If I didn’t already have a job and a house with land to maintain, I’d consider it,” I assure her. That would be one way for me to meet more than the handful of people my grandparents introduced into my orbit. “But I do have these for you.”
I hand over the clear, square Tupperware container carefully packed with cookies I baked between layers of parchment paper.
“Oh!” She takes the container from me. “Your Mima’s famous chocolate oat cookies! These always go flying off the table. Help yourself to a free loaf, dear.”
“Deal.” I grin, turning to make my selection.
“Careful,” George warns, his voice carrying from his side of the tent divider. “Word on the street is she puts hash in them.”
The blonde customer turns, her mouth open, to look at me, and I widen my eyes and vigorously shake my head.
Jeanine gives an eyeroll and then assures the new customer. “Don’t listen to him,” she advises before turning back to me. “So how did these come about?” She raises a smart eyebrow.
My shoulders drop, and my mouth flattens into a line. Jeanine knows what gets me in the baking mood. “Those are courtesy of an annoyingly handsomedickof a game warden that decided to cite me for overfishing on the Garnet the other day,” I regale without turning around.
