Page 81 of Love in Mission City
Pivoting back to the pumpkin, I returned his smile. “Okay, this is supposed to be easy.” I quickly added, “But everyone learns at a different pace. I struggled with French classes for years.” I mimicked cutting a hole around the handle.
“French?” He cocked his head. “I only did the mandatory one year.”
I laughed. “I thought I might want to be a teacher, and French Immersion teachers are always in demand. In the end, a marketing class caught my attention and sucked me in. I was hooked.” Today, just in case, I’d brought a Sharpie. I drew simple eyes, nose, and mouth with random teeth.
He nodded. “Okay, that makes sense.”
Did he mean my crappy design—I used the computer for all drawings—or that I’d chosen business studies over French?
A gentleman caught my attention.
My sort-of companion noticed as well and stepped back.
The gentleman handed me cash, grabbed two jars, and headed off.
“He wasn’t very chatty.” Gorgeous guy moved back toward the pumpkin.
“Many customers aren’t. If they want to buy and then take off, I don’t have a problem with that. I’m happy to talk or to let my display and product do the selling for me.”
He glanced at several women approaching. “I think word’s getting out.”
I grinned. “I hope so.”
“I’ll buy the pumpkin and leave you to it.”
“You really should head over to Wyatt’s booth. He’s got a much better selection.”
He pointed to the one with my crude drawing. “I want that one.”
I handed it to him.
He pulled out his wallet.
I tried to wave him off.
He retrieved the same amount of cash as yesterday, shoved it into my hand, then took off like his ass was on fire.
Chapter Four
Clay
Wyatt reluctantly took my money Friday morning as I bought two more pumpkins.
“What?” I eyed the farmer.
“Just...” He shrugged.
“Several people came over here after buying your pumpkin spice,” Tate supplied. He shoulder bumped his husband. Lightly. His dark-brown hair was even longer than when I’d first met him and contrasted with Wyatt’s dark blond.
“Really?” I glanced at the massive pile of pumpkins. “That’s awesome.”
“And we sent a few people your way.” Tate winked. “Next year, we should have booths next to each other.”
“Or for Christmas.” Wyatt cocked his head. “Mom does pumpkin pies for Christmas.”
“Do you think—”
“Oh, Wyatt.” Tate vibrated with so much enthusiasm that I didn’t mind him cutting me off. “Your mom needs to try baking with Clay’s spice mix.”
