Page 12 of Mountain Man's Corn Maze Cutie
“Cecelia.” His voice was firm. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I met his gaze, and the concern I saw there nearly undid me.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
I glanced around nervously. A couple of vendors were still watching us, not even pretending to be subtle about it. “People are staring,” I whispered.
“So?”
“So?” I stared at him in disbelief. “Marc, they know. About last night. About us getting caught in the maze. They’re all talking about it.”
He was quiet for a moment, following my gaze to see what I was seeing. Then he grabbed the empty chair next to mine—theone the festival had provided for helpers I didn’t have—and sat down.
“You’re worried about what people think,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I’m worried.” I kept my voice low. “This is my business, Marc. My reputation. If word gets out that I’m sleeping with festival staff?—”
“Festival staff?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think I am?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m a construction worker who built a maze. I don’t work for the festival.” His voice was patient, like he was explaining something to a child. “And even if I did, so what?”
“So what?” I turned to stare at him. “So my reputation could be ruined. People might think I’m getting special treatment, or that I’m unprofessional, or?—”
“Cecelia.” He reached over and took my hand, completely ignoring the fact that we were in full view of everyone. “Look around. Really look.”
Reluctantly, I did. Mrs. Henderson from the apple butter stand waved when she caught my eye. Melanie at the pottery booth gave me a thumbs-up. Even Calliope was grinning at me from behind her display of Halloween jewelry, making exaggerated heart shapes with her hands.
“Your booth has been busy all morning,” Marc continued. “You’ve been selling more than anyone else here. People are being nice to you, not avoiding you. Nobody’s treating you differently.”
I blinked, realizing he was right. I’d been so caught up in my own paranoia that I’d completely misread the situation.
“And Luca?” I asked weakly.
Marc snorted. “Luca doesn’t talk to anyone. He barely grunts at us guys on the construction crew, and we work with him everyday. Trust me, he’s not running his mouth about what he saw last night.”
As if to prove his point, Luca walked past my booth at that moment, nodded once at Marc, and kept walking without saying a word to anyone.
“See?” Marc squeezed my hand. “The only person making this a big deal is you.”
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. “I just…I’ve worked so hard to build this business. I can’t afford to mess it up over?—”
“Over what? Over being happy?” His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. “Over finding someone who makes you laugh until you cry? Someone who thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?”
My heart did a little flip. “Marc?—”
“I don’t give a damn what people think, Cecelia. And neither should you.” His gray eyes were intense, serious. “What we have—what happened last night—that’s real. That’s good. Don’t let fear ruin it.”
I looked down at our joined hands, then back up at his face. He was right. I was letting my own insecurities create problems that didn’t exist.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly.
“Of what?”
“Of how much I feel for you. It’s only been two days, but I?—”
I stopped, afraid to say the words.
