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But he makes it hard. Really hard.
“Come on. You’re gonna love the honey,” he says, walking around the stand and grabbing my hand. His fingers are strong against mine, and I feel my pulse in my fingertips.
He doesn’t seem to notice the fact that his hand is in mine as he pulls me through the milling crowd toward his mom’s stand. He’s left his stand to Ryan, who has been sneaking food off the table without any thought of selling it. I bet Ryan eats more than he actually sells. I bet they’re constantly in the red with him around.
My eyes land on our interlocked fingers, and I know that I shouldn’t be holding another man’s hand in this crowd, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I only seem to hold on tighter.
My neck swivels, and I look behind me to see Ryan wiggling his fingers in our general direction and blowing me a kiss. The smug bastard.
And then I’m right back at the stall I was avoiding.
Delilah. Jimbob’s mom.
She’s everything that makes me squirm—bright smiles and twinkling eyes. She grins when she sees us, but then again, it’s nothing special, right? She was already smiling at the customers. She’s just being all friendly and shit. It seems there’s no off switch with these people. I swear. She’s just happy.
I wonder what that’s like?
I haven’t been happy in ages.
No, I’m just so fucking tired. All the goddamn time.
Delilah is standing behind her little homemade stand, pouring espresso while chatting away with a few people. Like she’s actually enjoying this. Like this is her life’s calling.
“Nice weather, huh?” she asks the customers waiting in line. They just bob their heads, adding commentary about how nice it’ll be all week.
It’s this inane chatter that has my eyes starting to cross. Is this what people like to talk about? It seems so because they all seem perfectly content blathering on with this small talk. And it’s not even forced. No, they really seem pleased to talk abouthow there’s a chance of rain this evening, but how great it is because the crops need it.
Honestly. This talk is for losers.
Happy losers, but losers nonetheless.
It’s only when there’s a lull in the conversation that Delilah swings her attention to us and her smile widens. I don’t even know how that’s physically possible. She must be an alien. Being from another planet makes more sense than these genuine smiles.
“Well hello, boys. So nice to see you two together,” she says.
“Uh, we aren’t together,” I grumble just as Jimbob walks behind the booth and gives her a side squeeze. No one heard my comment, and if they did, they chose to ignore it. Seems no one cares, which is…nice. Usually out here, everyone is all up in everyone’s business. I can’t even go to the store without people talking about me.
“I brought him over to try some of your honey, Ma.” He grabs a couple of honey sticks from a little cup situated on the edge of her stand and waggles them around. “These have flavors added to them,” he explains to me. “Real fun ones, too. Doesn’t taste only like honey.” He holds them out in his big palm. The palm that gently gripped my hip the other night. Those fingers that squeezed me so softly, yet with such strength.
God, those hands.
Quickly, I take the packets from him and peer over at Delilah, who beams at her son like he’s hung the moon. I can tell she’s so proud of him. I mean, technically he just stole some honey from her, but yeah. Be proud, Mama Jimbob. Maybe she likes thieves.
Maybe her biggest accomplishment in life was raising a Robin Hood.
Before my mind can conjure up the Merry Men, Jimbob leans over and slaps down a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
She laughs and kisses his temple, “Well, thank you.” She turns to me, “How about some coffee, love? I have a really delicious snickerdoodle flavor today. And some honey and lavender that I can whip up. It’s no problem at all.”
I stare at her. Just blink and blink. Hm, seems she’s dead serious. Honey and lavender in my coffee? Snickerdoodle? How fucking sweet would that be? I’d probably have a heart attack. That can’t be healthy.
Jimbob lets out a soft chuckle. “You know Braxton likes his coffee black.”
Delilah winks at me and then strokes her son’s cheek. “I know.I know.But I’m determined to get him to try something a little sweeter. One day, I’ll get you good, Braxton. One day, you’re gonna be fluttering around like the bees.”
That sounds awful, I think, even though my heart flutters at the sentiment.
She pours some hot, black coffee into a cup and hands it to me. I take it, a smile pulling my lips up before I slam that frown back into place.
