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“I want to,” he says, leaning back and happily placing a peck on my lips as we slowly step away from one another.
“Fine. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Oh, it floats it, alright,” he replies with a wink, and I feel my cheeks warming.
I’m still smiling as I try to stack a couple of the honey jars we knocked over during our brief embrace.
“So, what the hell is a street dance?” I ask.
Jimbob chuckles at my question. “It’s just like it sounds. It’s dancing in the street. Main Street gets all crowded and we just vibe.”
“You all just dance in the middle of the street? Main Street that goes through town?” I ask because surely that sounds crazy to him too. It has to.
“Of course. It’s a whole lot of fun. You’ll see.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say because I’m not entirely sure I’ll like it, but then Jimbob reaches out and gently touches my cheek, and I know that as long as he’s there with me, I’ll have the best time.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Can I have your attention?”
The man over the speaker is rolling his vowels and making the entire market come to a complete standstill.
“What is this?” I whisper to Jimbob, who looks absolutely delighted.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about this, kind of. But now I’m just gonna let this be a surprise.”
People start whistling and clapping, and the man over the speaker is goaded into his next reveal. “The goat races and hay stacking competitions will begin in ten minutes. Those wanting to compete need to make their way over to the main lawn.”
Jimbob’s grandpa snorts awake and blinks over at us. “What’s happening?”
“Gramps, can you manage the booth while I go compete?” Jimbob asks him.
“Compete for what?”
“For fun.”
His grandpa snorts once more and then waves his hand. “Go on. I’ve got this.”
I don’t know if he really does, but Jimbob seems determined.
He grabs my hand and drags me forward. I hesitate because I’m pretty sure his grandpa is back asleep at this very moment.
“Jimbob, I don’t think we should leave him alone with the stuff. I don’t think hecanmanage.”
“It’s fine. I trust these people. They won’t make off with our stuff.”
“Oh, but they so could. They could steal the honey while he’s snoozing.”
“They won’t.” He sounds so sure, so I let it go. I guess it’s not the end of the world if people take some stuff. It’s not like it’s worth a ton. But still. I worry about them now. I like them all. I want them to succeed.
I should ask him about a website design when we get back to his place, maybe see if I can get something up and running for him soon.
“You want to compete too? I think you’d do good with the goats,” Jimbob says, not understanding where my mind has run to.
“I think you overestimate me,” I reply, and Jimbob chuckles as we stop in a line that is forming in front of two people with clipboards.
“I’m gonna do the hay stacking and you can do the goat race, and we can both bring home a ribbon. Hang it on the fridge.”
“I can’t race with goats.”
