“Sorry.” I wasn't, really. The way her eyes went wide made something warm unfurl in my chest.
“Has it been thirty minutes already?”
“More like twenty.” I moved closer, reaching up to unhook the lavender bundle she'd been struggling with.
“Show-off.” But she was smiling when she took the bundle from me. “Not all of us are six feet tall.”
“Five eleven.”
“Oh, excuse me.” She set the lavender in a basket with exaggerated care. “That extra inch makesallthe difference.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I didn't mean?—”
“Relax.” Her eyes sparkled. “I'm teasing you.”
I knew that. Obviously, I knew that. But standing this close to her, watching the way afternoon light caught in her hair, my brain wasn't processing information correctly.
“What needs to come down next?” I cleared my throat, scanning her booth.
“The sign.” She pointed at the wooden board hanging from the canopy. “Then the tablecloth, then we can start collapsing the table.”
I reached for the sign, unhooking it easily. The painted letters readSullivan Farmin cheerful yellow, surrounded by small chicken illustrations.
“You made this?”
“Before the first market, yeah.” She folded the tablecloth, movements quick and efficient. “Wanted something more professional than the cardboard one Walt used.”
“It's very...you.”
She glanced up from the tablecloth. “Thanks?”
The uncertainty in her voice stopped me cold.
I set the sign down carefully and turned to face her. She was watching me with that particular expression she got when she wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended, chin tilted, eyes searching mine.
Say it. Say what you mean.
“I just meant—” I stopped. Started again. “When I say something's veryyou, that's always going to be good.”
Her hands stilled on the tablecloth.
“The colors. The way you draw things. How everything you touch ends up bright and warm and...” I gestured vaguely at the booth, at her, struggling to find words that didn't sound ridiculous. “Alive. That's what I mean.”
She set down the tablecloth slowly, eyes locked on mine.
“You make everything better just by existing in it.” The words tumbled out faster now. “The market. The adoption event. My whole—” I caught myself. “Everything's better when you're around.”
“Cal.”
“I'm not good at this.” My hands flexed at my sides. “At saying what I mean. But when I look at you, when I'm near you, nothing else feels as important. Not work. Not the rescue. Just... you.”
The distance between us felt impossibly small and still too far.
“I don't know what I'm doing.” My gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “I haven't done this in years. Haven't wanted to. But with you, I?—”
“Cal.” She reached up, fingers curling into my shirt. “Stop talking.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Okay.”
