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His brows go up in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was a crime to wear business clothes to the Farmer’s Market. I’ll have to remember for next time.” He bobs his head once and moves to step past me.
“You’ll have to remember that for a while, though,” I say. “Because I heard this is the last Farmer’s Market of the season. You’ll have tonotwear your business clothes next year.”
He scowls and it looks totally natural on him. It’s unfair that he still looks good. “I’ll try to remember.”
“Not that it’s a problem.”
His look reads,you sure?
I throw both hands up. “Sorry! It’s none of my business what you do and don’t wear.”
“Clearly.” He presses his lips together, and I catch a zip of his eyes as he takes me in.
“But maybe I’m the teensiest bit curious about why you’re wearing this on a Saturday morning,” I say.
“I wanted to buy a book from Sophie, so I took a quick break from work.”
“Too bad you have to work on a Saturday.”
He gives me a look of confusion. “It’s fine. It’s good.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So have you eaten frog’s legs before?”
Everything about him is dripping with masculinity. His toned largeness, the tapered nose, the capable hands.
“I’ve eaten a grasshopper. Does that count?”
“No.” He says it without a hint of a smile.
“Alrighty then. Ihavealways wondered what frog legs taste like.”
“Well, I hope you get to find out someday.” But he doesn’t move to leave.
“But then the poor frog, though, right? I’ve decided it wouldn’t be worth it. Never mind! Save all the frogs!” I offer a laugh because this is the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had.
His jaw hardens and I see the wildness in his eyes. I don’t have to worry about warding off this handsome man because he clearly has zero interest in crazy me. He’s probably panicking, like he wants to be rid of me but doesn’t know how.
Why, social norm gods? Why am I acting like this? I could have at least acted my age and been polite, yet distant. Or I could have been adorably quirky. Even ignoring him would have been better than this.
“Well, I better go back to work. It was nice meeting you—” He pauses, waiting for me to fill in my name.
All the social norm gods get together and decide I’ll be their sacrifice of the day, so I open my mouth again.
“Let’s do that thing where we don’t tell each other our names and we’ll always wonder about it.” I giggle. “And then we’ll know if we ever cross paths again, it’s meant to be and we can share our names then.”
His eyes widen and he glances at the cashier of the pumpkin stand, his expression saying all kinds ofhelp me!
I wave him away. “Sorry. That was just weird. Never mind.” I smack my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
I don’t look over at the cashier—I can’t—instead I just giggle again. “Have a nice day!”
His cheeks and neck redden. “You too.”
“And may you dream of large, juicy frog legs!” I shout after him. It was a performance my high school theater director would have loved. A one-act play entitled “Woman Loses it at the City Park.”
Except that sounds more like an ominous headline.
He half turns to glance back at me with a slight smile affixed. But he doesn’t rotate around enough to meet my gaze. No. He doesn’t need to see me again. I’ll only live on in his nightmares.
I get my debit card out before I can even process what just happened. “I’ll take a couple of pumpkins,” I tell the cashier. It’s the least I can do after the spectacle she was forced to observe.
