Page 15 of A Christmas Bargain

“Did you get the apple flavor?” the little girl asked, pointing at the plate the boy knocked over. “I was in the crafts tent next to the jelly lady and saw you there shopping.”

“No, I didn’t get the apple one.” I frowned, stooping to pick up the plate and sit again. “I thought I did.”

“Too bad. The apple one is good.”

I shrugged, watching as another kid came up and politely asked to play with the instrument. She handed over the sticks and approached me. “Did you misplace your?—”

“Oh, for the love of— No. I didn’t lose my glasses. I don’t have glasses.”

The girl furrowed her brow as she sat next to me, peering up at me and dangling her feet as she swung them back and forth. “I was wondering because…” She shrugged. “You presented signs of presbyopia.”

I blinked. “What?”

She shrugged again. “That’s merely my observation.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, smiling because she was too cute. Weirdly dorky and smart. And not afraid to speak her mind. I liked that. “How old are you?”

“That’s personal information that I shouldn’t share with strangers,” she said primly.

“Well, you’re diagnosing my pres… something, so I’d say that’s more personal than your age.”

She smiled. “Presbyopia.”

I set my elbows on my knees, leaning forward as I tilted my head toward her. “Which means what, now?”

“It means you need reading glasses,” she explained, matter-of-factly.

“Ah.” I sighed. “I’ll make an appointment sometime.”

“I’m going to be seven in January,” she said.

“Hmm.” I nodded. “I’ll be twenty-eight in June.”

She smiled, seeming to appreciate how I’d share tit-for-tat with her.

“You seem pretty smart for your age.”

She nodded. “I should.”

I laughed, charmed by her personality. “Really? How come?”

“Because I read all the time. My daddy said my mommy was a librarian before she died. I think he assumes being a bookworm is hereditary, but I suspect that’s not true. I just like to read.”

“Well.” I sat up a bit and slapped my hands on my thighs. “It seems you’re spared from needing reading glasses for pre— what was it again?”

She giggled. “Presbyopia. How come you haven’t made an appointment for glasses yet? You would look smart with glasses.”

I laughed harder as I leaned my elbows on my knees again. “Youaresmart and you don’t have glasses.” Then I shook my head. “Wait. Are you implying I look dumb without glasses?”

“No. But doesn’t it feel awkward when people notice you can’t read well?”

Waving off that concern, I blew a raspberry. “Eh, what do I care what people think of me?” I did—when I had to make a deal. But I wasn’t worried about buying or selling property with her.

She smiled wider. “I like that perspective.”

I winked. “Good. Me too.”

“Why haven’t you gone to an optometrist yet?” she asked.

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