“Smart man.” I whistled, noticing how her entire face lit up when talking about her dad. “He must have been pretty proud when you got your degree.”
“He was.” Her fingers traced the edge of one of the ugliest scarfs I’d ever seen. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem real that he’s gone.”
Becca and I continued talking. I guided the conversation back to lighter topics.
The crowd was getting thin, and some of the vendors were already closing up their stands for the night, but neither one of us was in a hurry to leave.
She stopped at the next booth, and I followed her line of sight. It was a weird-looking painting that was bursting with color, but I had no idea what it was.
“That’s kind of cool?” She stepped closer to get a better look.
I squinted at it. “I don’t know. It looks like a little kid spilled paint cans and mixed them all together.”
She smacked my chest. “It’s an abstract painting.”
“It looks like an abstract mess to me.”
She glanced at me. “I take it art isn’t your thing.”
“I play football for a living. What do you think?”
She shook her head as we continued wandering through the tents. Some of this stuff was so cheap and hideous, we found ourselves laughing so hard our stomachs hurt.
She was in the middle of smelling some handmade soaps when I called her over. “Becca, get over here.”
She set the soap down and looked at the white coffee mug I held in my hands. “We are totally getting this.”
She snorted when she read what was on the mug.
Can I quote you on that?
I pulled my wallet out and handed it to the older woman watching us in amusement.
“That is so cute.” She smiled. “I’m pretty sure this is going to be my favorite morning coffee mug. Thank you.”
We wove our way through the crowd, where a few more people recognized me. Some approached and asked for a picture, while others just waved and gave me high-fives.
I worried that someone would see us, but then I remembered we weren’t doing anything wrong. We just had to keep things low-key until the article went to print.
“Oh, my God.” She stopped dead in her tracks.
I tilted my head to the side and stared at her in horror. “Absolutely, fucking not!”
In her hand, she held out a small keychain that read:Little Woodpecker Clubmolded in the shape of a woodpecker.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not carrying that keychain out in public.”
“Since when do you care what people think?”
“I don’t want people thinking I got a small pecker.”
She busted out laughing, reached inside her purse, and handed the lady her credit card. She turned to me with a triumphant smile. “Now we’re even.”
“We most certainly are not. I got you something cute, and you want to repay me by getting me something insulting.”
“Are you really that intimidated by a little keychain?”
“You realize if the guys in the locker room see this, I’m toast, right?”
