Page 22 of Love and Pumpkins
I glance over at Hunter and see him stretched out in his chair with his feet up on the cooler again. A pond of water pools under the cooler. Maybe he’s keeping his feet on it so it doesn’t float away.
“Hunter? You all right?” I ask, making my way over.
I step under the edge of my tent, and a large drip of water lands on top of my head.
“Dandy,” he says, standing. “Wish I’d brought rain boots.”
“I know.” I step closer. “It’s a muddy mess.”
“Stay over there and out of the mud. I got this.”
“I don’t know what you’ve got, but it’s not pretty. Here, I have towels.”
At my wagon, I pull several large dish towels out of a tote. I always bring them, just in case.
“Use these,” I say, taking a few to Hunter.
His hand brushes mine as he takes the towel, and I feel a shot of electricity zip through my body. My eyes widen, and I gasp. A grin splits Hunter’s face. Did he feel it, too? I glance at the ground. Was there an exposed electrical circuit activated by the water?
He chuckles. “Thanks for the towels.”
If he says nothing about the electrical shock, maybe it was my imagination. Or just me. Likely just me.
I pull my tables further apart, and wipe up the puddles of water I find. I check the weather application on my phone and think the rest of the afternoon will be clear, but will the shoppers come back?
Chapter Ten
The answer is no, they don’t. We see maybe twenty more people milling around over the next four hours. Several vendors pack up before the end of the festival because it’s so slow.
I refuse. There’s a chance shoppers will reappear, and I’m going to be ready.
No such luck.
Hunter is one vendor who breaks down early. I have to say I don’t mind, because it is less competition. But what’s the meaning of competition if no shoppers come in?
Hunter returns from taking his last load to his car and asks if I want help packing.
“No, I’ve got this.” This is my responsibility. Just like the furnace bill is my responsibility. My opportunity. My desperation. My downfall.
Don’t think like that.
I feel the tears well in my eyes.Don’t cry! Not in front of Hunter!
Too late. A stream of water overflows from my right eye. I can’t even blame the rain. I look at his shoes. Maybe he won’t notice.
Hunter steps closer and gently lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. Worry lines crease his forehead.
“Nothing,” I blather.
“Those tears are not nothing.”
A sob shakes my shoulders. “It wasn’t enough. The rain ruined it.”
“What do you mean? What’s ruined?”
“Sales!” I yell in frustration. I look away. “There weren’t enough sales.”
