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“That’s impossible,” Dream said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she considered his words. “I got an email from them a few hours ago, the confirmation they send out to everyone who reserves a spot.”
One of the men stopped what he was doing, giving Dream a narrow- eyed, hostile glance.
I didn’t like it. The way he looked at her made my blood boil, but I did my best to keep myself in check.
“You calling me a liar?” he asked her.
Dream squared her shoulders and stood up straight.
“Maybe I am,” she said. “Because there’s no way they would promise me the spot and then give it up to you a couple of hours later without informing me. If you ask me, it looks like you guys only reserved the one spot, and then when you realized you’d need two, you just moved on over into mine and acted like it’d be no big deal to take it.”
One of the men shrugged. “Either way, looks like you’re out of a booth.”
The other, a sneer on his face, flicked his eyes up and down Dream’s body. “How about this – come share some whiskey with me in the tent and maybe we can work something out.” He winked, letting out a laugh that the other guy joined in on right away.
That was about all I could stand.
“Or” I said, stepping up to the booths. “You two can move your little whiskey table over into your spot before I move it myself. And maybe a bottle or two ends up in your ass in the process.”
I put my hands on the table, moving a few bottles of whiskey aside as I glared down at both of them. The cockiness they’d shown to Dream just a few moments ago vanished in a heartbeat, cowed fear replacing it.
The guys shared a glance, one that suggested they were thinking the matter over, changing their tune on the spot.
“Whatever,” one said. “We can do the tables front to back.”
“Yeah,” the other added. “Whatever.”
I grinned; my eyes still narrowed. “Glad we could work something out, boys.”
One of them scoffed as they stepped over to the table that was in Dream’s spot. They lifted it up and hurriedly put it back in their spot. Once that was done, they didn’t waste a second getting the barrier put up between the booths, cutting us off from view.
“Pricks.” The word came out dripping with venom as Dream began unpacking her things.
“Common type,” I said. “Act like they’re tough when they think they can pick on someone smaller than themselves. But as soon as somebody their own size, or in my case, a bit bigger, gets toe-to-toe with them, they wilt like lilies in the sun.”
Dream pursed her lips. “You didn’t have to jump in like that. I would’ve been able to handle them.”
I stepped over to the tent and began taking it out of its pack. “Of that, Dream Stokes, I have no doubt. But I figured I’d be a gentleman and save you the time.” I flashed her a smile and a wink, and she grinned right back.
Dream went to work unpacking her art supply boxes. “I had to admit that I was worried when you got in those guys’ faces.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. I remember how hotheaded you can be. Back in the day you’d throw a punch at anyone who looked at you the wrong way.”
I chuckled. “Teenage me was a pain in the ass. Military got most of that sorted out.”
She kept on grinning. “You know, now that I think about it, it wasn’t just guys looking at you the wrong way – it was any dude that looked at me the wrong way. One can’t help but wonder how many guys back then didn’t ask me out because they were afraid of what you might do to them if they did.”
“I guess you’ll never know,” I said with a wink. “And trust me, I might’ve been all piss and vinegar back then, but I’ve always had a good douchebag radar. If I scared anyone off, it was in your best interest.”
I laughed as the two of us finished setting up. When we were done, Dream had her painting station out in front of the tent, which held the supplies. A handmade sign that read “Body Painting by Dream” adorned with colorful flourishes that she’d made herself was stuck out in front.
The farmer’s market had started to fill out, dozens of people streaming in through the entrances and milling around the stalls. Already I could see more than a few kids grabbing their parents’ hands and pointing to Dream’s booth, eager to get some face painting done.
“Alright,” I said. “You’re set up. Time for me to get going. I’ll see you in a bit when they close up, OK?”
As soon as I finished my words, however, the whiskey boys next door began to laugh in a loud, obnoxious way. I had a mental image of how rowdy they might be in a few hours, after one too many tastings.
