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“Oh, darlin’, let me pay you,” he says, pulling out his wallet.
“I won’t hear of it. Preston loved working on your farm this summer. Consider it my thank you.”
He looks hesitant but takes it with a grin. “Thanks, dear. Where is my favorite helper?”
“He’s out scoping the booths.” I reach over and shut off my stand mixer before it over whips the icing. “Hopefully, there’s something for him to do out there. I need him to stay busy for now. I’ll probably go around sometime later and check everything out too. But for now, I’m baking.”
“Oh, there’s plenty. I saw a soap carving booth and lots of samples of baked goods. I hope he stops by the woodworker’s booth. I hear he’s giving kids some lessons on drilling and carving or something of that nature.”
“Woodworker? I don’t remember there being a woodworker here.”
Mr. Wiley’s eyes light up, as they always do when he knows something someone else doesn’t. “Oh, you don’t know! That’s right. I think you missed the bazaar this time last year.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I was here, just not as a vendor… And I looked a little different back then.” I run my ringless hand across the new full curve of my cheek.
“You look happy now.” He lets out a cackle. “I’m sure you’ve seen him around. This man is extremely reserved and only comes down once a year to sell his work before disappearing back into the foothills. Don’t know too much about him. No one does. But he’s a part of Findlay’s fabric. You’ve been out of the loop for a while.”
More like forever.When I was in the throws of my marriage, keeping it together was all I had time to think about. “Hmm, seems like quite the mystery,” I say with a shrug. How many other things will I learn about my hometown now my eyes are open? “Other than that, are there any new booths?”
Mr. Wiley glances around. “Dunno. Haven’t been all the way around yet. So far, it’s mostly the same crowd, but you never know. There could be a budding young baker waiting for an old man to give her a hand taste-testing the cookies.”
I chuckle. “Are you teasing me?”
He raises the hand that isn’t perched on the handle of his cane in surrender. “I would never!”
“I do appreciate all your help, you know,” I tell him with a wink.
He waves me off. “Oh, you’re being modest. Anyway, I should be off. Lots of people to harass!”
I laugh and hand him a second bag of cookies. “For you, I have a feeling your wife won’t get hers.”
He returns my wink. “You’re right about that. Make sure to stop by the booth at some point. She would love to say hello. Say hi to Preston for me if I don’t see him.”
“Absolutely,” I tell him, and he walks away with the help of his cane.
As I expected, business picks up when it nears lunchtime. Preston checks in a couple of times, asking for money for lunch or a craft he thinks looks cool. I only say yes to the former, but he doesn’t put up much of a fuss.I’ve lucked out with that kid.
Halfway through my third batch of shortbread, Preston rushes over with a large plank of wood, smiling wider than I’ve ever seen despite his pink nose and rosy cheeks. “Look what I made for you!” He says, holding it up to show me.
From the looks of it, he’s crudely drilled his name into a slab of stained oak. His face is beaming with pride and he waves it around with such enthusiasm I worry he might hit someone. Still, it’s lovely, and I tell him so, wiping my hands on my apron and coming out to meet him. It’s much colder outside the food truck, but I don’t mind.
“Thanks. A man at a woodworking booth was letting a bunch of kids practice, but the line wassolong.” He sags his shoulders for emphasis. “So I took this one to use all by myself. It’s awesome, right?”
He hands me the wood, and I make a show of examining it. “Incredible. I hope you were careful with the power tools.”
I pause when my fingers feel something on the back.I flip it over to see a lovely carving of an intricate Christmas tree. At first, I marvel at the masterpiece. The detail is incredible. But then I catch a glimpse of the price tag on the bottom. My mouth drops open.
Oh no, oh no, oh no. No.My adrenaline picks up.
“Preston, this is—”
“Cool, right? Flip it back over. That’s the part I did. My name P-r-e-s—”
“Preston,” I cut him off, my tone panicked. “Where did you get this? This was for sale. The man was probably letting kids practice onblankpieces of wood. You stole this and ruined a very expensive piece of art. What were you thinking?”
Preston’s eyes tear up, and I take a breath to calm myself.There’s no way I can pay for this piece.
“Sorry! I thought you’d like it. I didn’t know they were different…” Preston rambles, his face flushing red.
