Page 18 of Fix Me Up

But oh yes, she does it in front of the kid. The woman in the sundress arches an eyebrow at Owen and says, “One of these is too much for a small person like me. But they look so delicious, I just can’t get enough of them.”

She strokes her fingers down the shiny length of the eggplant. Slowly. I want to crawl into a hole but can’t look away.

“Um, well, the nice thing about those is they freeze great. You can, um, save them for all kinds of recipes,” Owen tries.

She brings the eggplant to her nose and sniffs, then makes an uncalled-for humming noise, as if smelling a flower. Eggplants don’t have a smell, you dumb-dumb.

I tell myself, Just shut up, drink your chai, and walk away.

I drink my chai, but I do not walk away.

“Is that so? Maybe you should come over sometime and show me how to use it,” she asks.

My choking noise is so loud that Owen and the woman in the sundress turn to look at me. Embarrassed, I spin 180 degrees and bolt in the opposite direction.

“Are you okay, Doc?” asks someone nearby.

“I’m fine!” I shout hoarsely as I make a beeline for the local honey stand at the far end of the tent.

But one thing is for certain. The doctor is most definitely not okay.

chapter

eight

Owen

“People sure are acting strange today, Graham.”

My son looks up at me curiously from his upturned bushel basket, his face covered in peach juice.

Oh well. A few ruined peaches are better than him grabbing at my customers’ change.

I pick up the salvageable peaches and mark the price down. I need to pay more attention, but it’s tough to do when I’m distracted.

Judy from the yoga studio at the inn is a nice lady and all, but I’m not interested in her. I know she meant no harm, but it made me uncomfortable when she made all those eggplant jokes. Well, at least she bought some lettuce, which she usually does when she visits my stall on Saturdays. That lady really must love a salad.

I take away Graham’s peach before he puts himself in danger of choking on the pit. He screams in protest until I hand him his sippy cup of juice, cut with water. He takes the sippy cup and chugs it with gusto.

“There you go, buddy,” I laugh, strapping him into the carrier that harnesses to my chest. He’s almost too big for it now, but the stroller is a pain at the farmers market.

I turn toward the tailgate of my pickup and grab some ears of corn to add to my table. “Nice, um, zucchini.”

Graham’s legs kick excitedly at the familiar voice.

I turn, and am greeted with that gorgeous smile that turns me upside down.

Daisy.

My heart might burst through my sternum, I’m so happy to see her.

“Please don’t start making penis jokes. I’m chock full,” I beg.

“Fair enough. Nice carrier,” Daisy says, gesturing to the wrap that holds Graham against my chest.

“Thanks,” I say. “One of my coworkers at the feed store gave it to me after her daughter grew out of it.”

“Denim, too. Completes the whole dynamic duo thing you’ve got going on.” She waves her hand in a circle and smiles down at Graham, who tries to hand over his sippy cup of juice.

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