Page 1 of Mountain Man's Corn Maze Cutie
1
CECELIA
Ispotted the gorgeous mountain man immediately, towering above the sea of ten-year-olds gathered in front of my booth.
I tried to ignore him and focus on the task at hand, but it was almost impossible. Even when I wasn’t looking at him, he was there in my periphery, all tall and broad-shouldered and muscular.
He was beyond handsome. He was hot. He was the stuff fantasies were made of.
Not that I had time to fantasize. I was too busy building a business.
“Can I have two bags?” a slightly older kid asked as he pushed his way through the younger kids.
“No,” the Greek god of a man said.
Very succinct and overly assertive. I would assume this guy was in charge of these kids, but their leader—a woman in her early thirties named Taylor— had introduced all of them when they first arrived. They were a church group on a trip, so the guy behind them must be a chaperone. Probably this boy’s father.
Everyone turned and looked at him. A few of the kids leaned away from him. He definitely seemed intimidating. Drop-dead gorgeous or not, that scowl wasn’t doing him any favors.
“No,” Taylor said. “Get one bag, and then we’re going to the corn maze.”
They’d all turned back to me by then, like I had any say in this matter. I smiled at Taylor as I scooped my harvest mix into the paper popcorn bag—candy corn, pretzels, and kettle corn. An odd combination, but it worked. The salty-sweet contrast made it addictive.
The man said nothing else. I expected him to introduce himself or somehow show how he was involved with this group. He just stood there, glowering at me over the heads of excited, smiling fourth graders. It was like a rain cloud moving over a sunshine-soaked field.
“I’ll be back for a few bags of popcorn before we leave today,” Taylor said as I handed over her credit card after tapping it on my phone.
My gaze had somehow drifted to the scary gorgeous guy, and now we were locked in a stare. “I’ll be here tomorrow too,” I somehow managed to force out.
“We’re heading back tonight,” Taylor said. “But I’ll swing by on our way out. Come on, kids.”
As the crowd between us drifted off to the left toward the corn maze, I suddenly felt exposed. There was nothing between me and the Greek god but a table full of bagged popcorn. He didn’t step closer, though. He seemed determined to keep a comfortable distance.
“You’re going to get someone killed with that stuff,” he said.
My polite smile vanished. It was only then that I was aware my face had been frozen in a smile—old habit. I managed a clothing store in an outlet mall for a living while I built my popcorn empire on the side. These days it was more like a villagethan an empire, but I had determination and a good assistant manager who could cover for me at the store while I traveled around to various farmers’ markets.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “It’s just candy corn, pretzels, and kettle corn. I have the potential allergens listed there.”
I pointed to the sign with the allergy warning. I’d learned after my first local fall festival that peanuts weren’t an option, so I’d experimented with pretzels and found my mix tasted even better.
“Someone just lost her footing in a pile of that crap,” he said, pointing to the retro popcorn popper I’d set up to hold my harvest mix.
“My ‘crap’ seems to be doing pretty well here today,” I said, immediately taking offense at his description of my pride and joy. “And it’s not exactly slippery—well, maybe the candy corn is, but the kettle corn will just crunch beneath their feet. I think a customer is trying to make some money off this festival.”
He looked toward the corn maze. “She didn’t threaten to sue. But someone will. And I can’t spend my day chasing groups of kids around, cleaning up after them.”
I shifted in my seat, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes at him behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses. “So, what exactly are you suggesting I do about it? Follow every customer around with a dustpan?”
His jaw tightened. “You could stop selling the messy stuff.”
“The messy stuff?” I stood up, my chair scraping noisily against the ground. “The messy stuff is what makes me unique. It’s what brings people back.”
“It’s what’s going to bring lawsuits.”
“One person slipped—allegedly—and suddenly I’m a public menace?” I gestured toward my setup. “I’ve been selling at vendor events for two years. I’ve never had a single complaint.”
“Well, you’ve got one now.”
