Page 6 of Love and Pumpkins
He walks to the back of his booth, where he settles into a chair and pulls out a bottle of water from the cooler.
Glancing around and seeing no customers approaching, I sit and pull the aluminum foil off the sandwich. The wafting smell makes my stomach grumble. Loudly. I’m glad Hunter is over eight feet away.
“I heard that,” he says.
“No way!”
“Yep. Good thing I brought the sandwich when I did.”
“Thanks again. I’ll get dessert later.”
I eat quickly and rise to meet a lady and her daughter as they enter the booth. The young girl oohs and ahs at the colorful soaps. She picks up my newest creation, Pumpkin Pot Pie. No, it’s not edible, but it was made in a pot, and it smells like pumpkin pie. I used a sparkling, copper-colored mica in this batch of soap, which gives it a fancy glow. The pumpkin puree and pumpkin spice fragrance take this soap to another level—it’s the perfect fall soap.
“Mommy, can I eat this?” the girl asks.
“No, it’s soap,” the mother replies.
I laugh as I approach. “If you’re hungry for pumpkin pie, Mrs. Johnson has the best.” I point towards Mrs. Johnson’s booth. “But if you want to be clean and smell yummy like pie, this soap is for you.”
“I bet this is a bestseller!” the mother says.
“It is. Luckily, I made plenty, though I may be out of stock by Sunday.”
Although Chloe had to take a day off from work, she is covering my store today and tomorrow. It means a lot tome she was willing to jump in and help. With most of the town here at the festival, it should be a light day for her at the boutique.
The lady continues browsing as she adds soaps, one bar at a time, to one of the small shopping baskets I provide for customers.
She asks about the ingredients in several bars, saying she is sensitive to palm oil, so I steer her towards the ones that are palm-oil free and skin-friendly.
Once she pays and they exit the booth, Hunter approaches. “You’re fantastic with people, Pheebs.”
“Thanks. Good to know, as I interact with people all the time.”
“We were interrupted before.” He glances around, possibly looking for potential interruptions. “What do you do now?”
“I own a home decor, personal accessories, and bath goods boutique downtown.”
“Oh, yeah? Which building?”
“It’s at the corner of Main and Peoria streets. It’s the building my grandparents owned when we were kids.”
“Oh, the one that used to be a design-your-own T-shirt shop a few years back?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ll have to stop by sometime.”
“How long are you staying?”
No way he’ll be here past Sunday. He’s never been one to linger, as far as I’ve heard. He blows in for family obligations and then quickly retreats.
His eyes drop to the ground, and he shrugs. “Undetermined.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to figure out what’s going on with Hunter. “Well, stop by if you get a chance. I sell a lot of stuff. Not your sister’s soaps though.”
That gets a laugh out of him. His eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head. “You’re as funny as I remembered.”
“That’s me—the life of the party.”
