Page 38 of Just Business

It’s oddly mild for the end of July, only eighty-five degrees, which is practically cool for Alabama. The forecast predicts rain later tonight, but right now it’s sunny. Still, we drive there in case the rain starts earlier than expected.

The artisans are still setting up when we arrive, white tents lining both sides of Main Street, and in the parking lot beside Jackson’s diner a bouncy house already has a line of kids forming. Josie’s son, Jay, is in the line, his blond hair plastered to his head from sweat. I spot Josie and Abby and we head in their direction. When we reach them Josie leans over to whisper in my ear.

“Abby came fully prepared to meet Austin. She asked if she could wear my makeup. I haven’t had the heart to tell her she’s giving Effie Trinket vibes, though.”

Stifling a laugh, I glance over to where Abby is standing a few feet away. She’s looking down at her phone, a moody cloud of teen angst swirling around her. Two bright pink splotches of blush dot Abby’s cheeks, contrasting her tan complexion, and mascara is caked on her already long lashes. She’s wearing an Austin James t-shirt, and I nudge him in the ribs, rising on my toes to whisper in his ear.

“Just letting you know Josie’s daughter is obsessed with you. Big fan.”

His mouth quirks at the corner, but all he does is mouth “noted” to me.

Abby looks up from her phone, and I clock the moment she spots Austin. She goes white as a sheet, standing stock still and unblinking. After several seconds of staring, she seems to gain her composure, because she goes right back to staring at her phone, tapping furiously at the screen.

Austin steps closer to Abby, lowering his voice. “I can sign the back of your shirt if you want. Maybe Jackson has a Sharpie you can borrow?” She starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, excitement buzzing off her. Finally, she nods then runs off to find a Sharpie.

“That was sweet of you. You’re a big ol’ softie,” I whisper, nudging him with my elbow.

He chuckles, shaking his head. A few minutes later, Abby returns with the pen and he quickly signs her back.

To my #1 Fan, Abby, Thanks for listening.

-Austin James

Before long, Greg and Lisa, Liam, Ed and his wife, Carol, are here, and even Jackson runs out for a minute to see us. We chat with everyone for a few minutes, but then break off to make our way up and down the street, moving from one booth to another.

The handmade jewelry booth has always been my favorite and I stop to look at every necklace on the display. One catches my eye, but when I see the price, I put it back. In my periphery, Austin reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.

"We'll take it," Austin says, handing over his credit card.

"That's unnecessary," I protest. It might be beautiful, but I can't let him buy it for me. First our groceries, and now this?

The artisan raises an eyebrow, looking back and forth between us. After a few seconds’ hesitation, I give in. "Okay, but just this one thing. Nothing else today."

After swiping his card, I’m handed the necklace. I hold it up to admire how it catches the sunlight, flashing shades of blue and purple. I think it might be the most beautiful piece of jewelry I've ever owned.

“Will you help me?” I ask, holding the necklace out to Austin. He takes it and I turn, draping my hair over my shoulder. He secures the clasp, and right before I’m about to put my hair back in place, he trails his fingertip down my spine. Something hot and unrestrained coils tight in my belly, slowly traveling lower. Yep, it’s only a matter of time before I break.

“Do you wanna see it?” the artisan asks, interrupting my thoughts. She holds out a handheld mirror and I take it, admiring the pendant lying at the hollow of my throat.

“What kind of stone is this?” I ask.

“It’s a rainbow moonstone. It represents hope and new beginnings. And according to some people, love.” She hands me a flyer explaining the meaning of several stones.

My eyes swing up to Austin’s and he smiles, pulling me in for a side hug. His lips press to my temple and the flutter of a million tiny wings take flight in my belly.

We continue up the street stopping at every booth along the way. A new vendor is here this year, and I step closer to check it out. Behind a vintage typewriter sits a guy about my age, offering personalized poems for ten dollars.

I sit across from him to fill out the questionnaire for the poem and Austin leans over me, his hand resting on the back of the chair. The questions are simple: career, hobbies, and any specific themes I’d like him to explore. Once I complete the form, I slide it back to him, along with a ten-dollar bill. He smiles warmly and tells us he'll have it ready in ten minutes.

We pass the time browsing nearby booths, and when we make our way back around, I step up to the poet’s booth while Austin heads to the stage to listen to a group of teenagers covering ’90s rock songs. Taking the piece of paper that the poet offers me, I allow my eyes to skim over the uneven typed lines on the page.

Two hearts wait, in quiet disguise

With stolen glances and subtle sighs.

All their words stay trapped inside

Both afraid to cross that line.

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