Page 80 of Salty Pickle

He averts his gaze at that, and I realize I probably won’t be going back to the yurt. Not once he realizes the baby is his.

Will I live in his fancy apartment? I can’t do that to Matilda. The balcony is fine for a while but not long term. Besides, he’s sure to get caught with her there.

I refuse to think about it. Today is for fun. Court is giving me everything I want.

We park with a cluster of other golf carts at the end of the tent. I untether Matilda again.

“I’ll take her,” Court says. “You roam the stalls.”

The first woman sits behind her tables piled high with shopping bags woven from recycled plastic. “Carry things with confidence,” she says as she holds up one of her bags. “I like to start things off because you can then fill up your bag as you go!”

“That’s so smart! How much are they?” I could use at least one.

I reach into my pocket, but Court’s there. “We’ll get four for starters.” He passes her a credit card, then guides Matilda away from the tablecloth she’s about to chomp.

The woman waves at her stacks. “Pick any four you like.”

I pick one made mostly of pink and white bags with a pink braided handle.

“Are you having a girl?” the woman asks.

“We’re finding out in a few days.”

“How lovely.” She finds a similar bag in tones of blue. “Better cover your bases!”

I’m not much for color coding humans, but the blue bags are pretty, so I choose one. Then a couple of wildly mixed colors. “Thank you. These look sturdy.”

“They’ll last forever!” She passes me the credit card. “For your husband.”

I almost tell her he’s not but then decide there’s no reason to do so. “Thank you.” I string the four bags on one arm as I head to the open side to return the card.

“Keep that,” Court says. “We’re going to walk outside of the tent to avoid getting into trouble.”

I laugh. “Good idea.”

It’s nice having him watch Matilda as I peruse the booths. I buy practical things, mostly. Two jugs for her milk. New cheese cloths for squeezing the curds. I fill the first bag.

“I’ll take that,” Court says, and I walk the six or so steps to hand him the full one.

Matilda sniffs at it, then resumes eating the grass around one of the poles.

I arrive at a fudge booth, and the smell of chocolate is so sweet and tempting, I have to pick up a sample. The creamy smoothness makes me want to swoon.” You should try this!” I tell Court.

He ties Matilda to the pole and comes closer. “What have we got here?”

“Made with cream from our own herd,” the woman says proudly, cutting a few more samples to put on the tray. “Try the chocolate caramel.”

Court holds up his hand. “I’m hay and goat hair covered.”

I pick up the tiny square sample. “I’ve got you.”

He opens his mouth, and I feed him the bit of fudge. My fingers brush his lips, and everything in me ignites.

Our eyes meet, and his expression shifts from easy to intense, sending another flash of heat through my body.

So much time passes that the woman clears her throat. “Is it okay?”

We shake loose of whatever we might be feeling.

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