AllFreeNovel
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Over the next few hours, we sell all sorts of things, from the honey his mom made to jars of milk, eggs, and vegetables. It’s almost noon when Peter and Ralph—Jimbob’s dad and grandpa—come up to the stall and take over, and we finally have a minute to walk around the market alone.
“Get outta here you criminals,” his grandpa says, lighting up a joint. “I don’t want to share.”
I stare at him, and he winks at me. Weird as fuck guy, but I kinda like that he gives zero shits. He sits down in his chair and grabs a carrot, munching on it while smoking his joint.
“Isn’t he gonna get in trouble?” I ask Jimbob as we start walking down the row of booths.
“I mean, I guess he could, but Hayes doesn’t care. No one around here really cares about it.”
I smile at that, just shaking my head. Only in this town, I swear.
Jimbob reaches out and grabs on to my hand, his fingers weaving through mine. “I know he shouldn’t be smoking it out in public though.”
“He definitely shouldn’t,” I say.
Jimbob grins. “I tried telling him that but he just kicked me in my shin.”
I snort a laugh, and Jimbob lights up at the sound. “You are turning into Abra-ham. It’s cute.”
“Shut up,” I grumble and then lean into him as we walk around. My stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud when we walk past a stand with all sorts of home-baked goods. I didn’t really eat breakfast, and it’s starting to show.
Jimbob notices too, so we stop, picking up a few samples of cookies and banana bread before grabbing an entire cherry pie and a loaf of homemade bread.
“You should have a nibble,” Jimbob says, breaking me off a piece of the bread and handing it to me.
“I don’t need it.”
“Your stomach is rumbling even louder than Abra-ham’s when he’s hangry. Just have a bite. You’ll love it.”
Reluctantly, I take it and shove some in my mouth.
Goddamn, I want to hate it out of principle, but it’s so damn good. I can’t fight the groan that comes out of my mouth, and Jimbob looks real fucking proud.
“Told you it was good.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” I say with a grumble as I shove more into my mouth. I’m halfway through the loaf when we walk over to the next stand featuring hand-carved signs. An old man is sitting behind the table in a reclining chair, his gangly beardhanging down to his waist, his worn ball cap pulled down over his forehead.
“Hi, Mr. Grange.”
“Hey there, Jimbob. How’s life treating you?”
“Mighty fine,” he says and then wraps an arm around my shoulder. “This here is Braxton.”
He doesn’t call me his boyfriend, but that’s okay. I know what he is to me.
“Hm, well, just no kissing around me, and I’ll be just fine. Makes me miss my woman too much.”
Jimbob bobs his head as we peruse the signs. One of them sayswelcome homein fancy script, and for a brief moment, I wonder where I could hang that sign. My mom and I have moved around so much that nowhere ever really felt like home.
Even after Jimbob and I cleaned that double-wide up and he made those cute window boxes filled with flowers, it still doesn’t feel much like home. But his house though, with the firepit and chairs in the backyard and rogue animals roaming all around, that does.
Somehow that really feels like home to me.
“What are you thinking about?” Jimbob asks, his head cocked adorably to the side. I want to tell him I’m thinking about buying this sign on a crazy whim just because of how he makes me feel.
How being at his house with his mini pig and cute cat makes me feel all sorts of things.
“Nothing,” I say instead, smiling and cuddling up to his side, nodding at Mr. Grange. “Nice sign.”
