Page 139 of Miami Ice

“I HATE YOU!”

I glance over at the table to the right. The happy couple is apparently about to get a whole lot happier.

“Well, then it’s a match made in heaven, Brittany, because I HATE YOU, TOO!” the husband snaps back.

Right on cue, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” begins playing.

I bite my lip to keep from going into hysterical laughter.

It’s going to be an interesting day.

* * *

By lunchtime, I can’t believe the kind of day I’m having.

Sales have beenfantastic. The bazaar is crammed full of shoppers—I haven’t seen foot traffic like this in … practically forever. Everyone is in a festive mood, sipping coffee and listening to Christmas music as they shop, and for once, these shoppers want my jars. I’ve even taken some custom orders for jars that I don’t have in stock, and one woman bought fifteen! She’s going to give them away to all her friends as Christmas gifts.

I’ve had a steady stream of traffic to my table, and if people weren’t buying, they were taking my card. Or taking pictures of my table so they could look up my items later. I’m hopeful that will lead to more sales online.

Adam and Brittany—the very unhappy couple next to me—have shut up since the show opened and are now oh-so-happy together. My neighbor behind me is sweet and cheerful to everyone who comes up to her booth, which makes me want to roll my eyes.

Things finally start to slow down at my table, and I’m about to sneak in a few bites of one of the snacks I’ve brought, as it’s too hard to work and eat a lunch when you’re one person working a booth. I retrieve a packet of nuts from my tote bag and am tossing some into my mouth when suddenly I see Beckham walking through the crowd.

Happiness surges through me as I watch him. He’s got his backward baseball cap on again, and he’s wearing athletic shorts, flip-flops, and a heather-gray Miami Manatees T-shirt. I furrow my brow. Why is he wearing that? That T-shirt is like a big arrow pointing attention to himself. Like,Hey, it’s me, Beckham Bailey of the Miami Manatees!

His eyes are scanning the crowd, looking for me. I stick my hand up in a wave, and when he spots me, a big smile lights up his face. Beckham makes his way toward my table, but when he’s a few feet from it, he stops and takes in my display. I cansee his eyes moving over everything, from the tablecloths that have a wood print on them, to my logo, to the carefully arranged displays of Mason jars.

Only after he has looked at everything does he come closer. “Georgie, I know I’ve seen this on your Connectivity page, but what you have here is amazing. Photos don’t do it justice. This looks so good.”

Pride swells within my chest, but before I can thank him, he leans across the table, cradles the back of my head with his hand, and drops a sweet kiss on my lips.

“Are you eating cashews?” he asks.

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Sorry, yes, that’s my lunch. I should have warned you before you kissed me.”

He smiles mischievously at me. “That wouldn’t have stopped me.” Then his expression goes serious. “That’s not much of a lunch.”

“It’s too hard to eat when you have people coming up to your booth. And I don’t want to be found eating when someone asks questions.”

He makes a face. I can tell protective Beckham doesn’t like this strategy.

“I’ll eat a big dinner tonight,” I assure him.

He still doesn’t look happy.

“Beckham, it’s one afternoon, I’m fine, I promise.”

That elicits a scowl.

“Stop it,” I say, laughing. “I’m fine. And thank you for what you said about my jars. That means a lot to me.”

“I mean it. It’s incredible. Not only the jars you paint, but all of this,” he says, waving his hand in front of the table. “The display, the branding, everything. It’s on point.”

I can’t contain the smile that is spreading across my face. Beckham is proud of me, just as proud of me as I was of him last night at his game.

“How have sales been?” he asks.

“Good,” I say happily. “I even had one woman purchase fifteen jars!”

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