Page 4 of Love and Pumpkins
If I can forget the occasions of competitiveness between us, vying for top of the class or first place in science fairs, speech team debates, or a thousand other races, I can focus on the early years when we were best friends.
“It’s been forever since I last saw you.” It was high school graduation. “What brings you back?” IthinkI sound sophisticated and nonchalant. Ifeelchildish and prattling.
“Helping my sister, Joy, out,” he says.
He is close enough now; he shakes my hand. I have a sudden urge to hold on, but I let go like a normal person.
“She committed to being a vendor this weekend,” he continues, “but she wanted to attend her friend’s last-minute wedding in Vegas. She asked me to cover.”
“Ah, that must be Megan White’s wedding. I heard she was eloping.”
“That’s the one. You look great, Phoebe! It’s been a while.”
It’s been over a decade; I guess that counts for a while.
“You missed the ten-year reunion. Planning to come to the fifteenth?”
I notice a particular glint in his eyes. Unbelievably, it looks like guilt. Is he upset about missing the reunion?
“I hope to be there.” He smiles, and I don’t like the fluttering sensation that zips up my spine. “How have you been?” he asks. “What are you doing now?”
Before I can answer, a powerful gust of hot wind causes his canopy tent to shake and tilt. At the same moment, we turn to look.
“Oh, no!” I shriek as I hurl myself to grab the closest pole.
Hunter is two steps ahead of me and grabs the tent frame at the top. Fortunately, we saved the tent from tipping over.
“Wow. That was close!” Hunter says, glancing around.
“Please…” I draw out the word. “Tell me you have weights to hold this thing down.”
“Weights?” he asks, and I try not to gloat at the chagrin on his face.
“It was in the rules. You need weights to anchor these tents, or they’ll blow over.”
“I didn’t read the rules. Know where I can get some weights?”
Mr. Curtis approaches. “Hey, you need some weights.”
I look at Hunter and raise my eyebrows.
“I’ve been informed,” Hunter says to Mr. Curtis. “Any suggestions? My sister didn’t tell me I needed them.”
Mr. Curtis laughs. “She must have forgotten about it in all the hustle and bustle. I’ve got some concrete blocks that you can use. I’ll be right back.”
Mr. Curtis hurries off. During their brief discussion, my eyes skimmed over the booth Hunter is managing for his sister. I smile to see her soap prices are a dollar more than mine. Hopefully, her high prices will boost my sales.
Three ladies approach my booth, and I mumble a quick “Gotta go!” to Hunter. I’ve seen the ladies around, but I don’t know them personally. As I answer their questions and share ‘free smells’, I watch Hunter out of the corner of my eye.
My brain is spinning with the incredulity that he’s here and in the booth next to mine. I hope the weekend is going to be busy, because I don’t want to have lengthy catch-up conversations with him. He’s probably dating a gorgeous, smart city girl. She’ll probably show up at some point and hang on his arm like she worships him.
Every time I glance in his direction, my heart jolts, as if I jammed my finger in an electrical socket.
In high school, most of the girls worshipped him. He was witty, smart, and outgoing.
I didn’t worship him. I’d seen through Hunter Young’s charming personality years before. He could be cold and calculating, looking for an edge. A win-at-all-costs kind of guy.
Not. My. Type.
