Page 64 of Freak
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The day continued onas most any festival day did. The crowd was sizeable and, for most of the day, on reliably good behavior. Even the Horde, despite the trouble between Mel and that Montana patch, and the general strangeness hanging over the whole club like a smoky film, had been little more than rowdy. Abigail did notice that the different charters were mostly keeping to themselves, but she didn’t know the inner workings of the Horde well enough to know if that was unusual. Her intuition said yes, it was. Still, though, the whole day passed without obvious incident.
Otherwise, the Harvest Festival was the Harvest Festival: games and rides, music and dancing, food and drink, arts and crafts, and, of course, community. Signal Bend really showed out for these events, and Abigail was proud to be considered part of the town.
By the end of the day, she had sold, given, or traded with all of her baked goods and jams, most of her scented products, and a few of her art pieces. She considered it an honor anytime someone selected one of her little artsy bits, and she gave them away as a bonus with larger purchases. Her art was a hobby, made for her own enjoyment. They were created almost exclusively from repurposed items that cost little beyond her time, and she enjoyed that time. It didn’t matter to her at all how much money they were worth, but it mattered a great deal if someone else also enjoyed the fruits of her labors.
For multiple-day festivals like this one, obviously vendors didn’t do a complete breakdown at the end of each day. Instead, they packed up the valuables in lockable chests, and the town collected the chests and stored them overnight in the church basement. Tents and tables stayed up, with the walls cabled and locked up snugly. Kiosks dropped their awnings and locked up as well.
Abigail had just handed off her mostly empty chest—making a note of stock to bring for tomorrow—to Brody Howard, one of the teenagers the town council was paying to do support work at the festival, and was beginning to wrestle with the stiff vinyl walls of her tent when Mel came up behind her and took over.
She’d hardly seen him since earlier, when Trick and Lucie had been there as well. Just two more stops by, and otherwise only glances and waves between them as he passed by while on some job or another. If Badger truly had been trying to punish Mel by keeping him away from her, mission accomplished.
“Hey, stranger,” she said as she ducked out of his way and let him finish locking her booth up. “I was starting to wonder if we’d get to spend any time real together today.”
Mel stopped threading the cable through the grommets and turned to her, one eyebrow cocked like she’d said something ridiculous. “Baby, there was no fuckin’wayI’d let that happen. Worst case, we’re spending the night together—because I got a taste, and now I’m hooked.”
Abigail’s cheeks went hot—and her belly, too. No one had ever spoken to her that way, full of sexual innuendo—no, not innuendo, butpromise. She liked it.
“Me too,” she said quietly.
He grinned. “Good. Now, let’s get you locked up, because I am off the clock for the rest of the night, and I am not letting you out of my sight until I go to sleep with you in my arms. And that’s a long time from now. You hungry?”
She hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, in fact. Sometimes she hired a local teenager to help her out at her booth, but this time she hadn’t, and she’d been too busy to leave her post longer than a quick run to a Port-A-Potty about midday. Kim Felton, one of the Crafty Nanas running their needlework booth next door, had brought her a small bag of kettle corn and a cup of apple cider at some point, but that had been it for about ... twelve hours.
“Yes, I could eat,” she answered as her stomach realized how long it had been and lodged its first complaint.
Though the fairway was closing and everyone was locking up their booths, the festival wasn’t over quite yet. Each night ended with a bonfire and a shared meal. No act was scheduled to perform, but traditionally the acts from earlier in the day hung around for the free meal, and eventually they all started to play together, in the soft, casual way a communal fire seemed to inspire music.
When he had the last wall locked for the night, Mel turned and pulled Abigail into his arms.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, holding her snugly, gazing deeply into her eyes. Though he’d said only two words, she had the sense that they held a great deal more than seven letters. That word,baby—it meant something, especially on Mel’s tongue. It was an endearment. It was love language.
She smiled and set her hand on his cheek, delighting at the soft rasp of his beard on her palm. “Hi, hon.” She slid her hand around to the back of his neck and urged him to bend.
This kiss was a new thing yet again. It was the kiss of a couple, she thought, two people who knew they belonged together. Two people falling in love with each other. Though it had a new comfort, a security, it was no less exciting for that. In fact, it was exhilarating. This was love, romantic love, literally in her grasp. Decades had passed since she’d yearned for such a thing, but now she understood there always had been an empty spot in its shape.
Yes. To be kissed by Mel Lind, with love, and to kiss him back with the same, wasexhilarating.
Eventually, the world pressed into their little bubble again. Mel eased back. “God, I love kissin’ you. I could do that every day for the rest of my life.”
Still reeling from both the kiss itself and her deepening understanding of what this bond with Mel meant in her life, Abigail could form no words. She could only gaze up into his dark, beautiful eyes.
“Let’s get some food in you,” he said with a last, lingering kiss to her forehead. Why didthatfeel doubly romantic?
His smile gleaming, he took her hand, laced their fingers, and led her onto the fairway. Hand-in-hand, they strolled with other stragglers, exchanging occasional pleasantries, toward the bonfire, which already glowed above the rows of tent roofs. Country night sounds rolled under the nearer rumble of mingled conversations and laughter. The scents of grilling meats and frying potatoes, all well-seasoned, wafted through the growing autumn chill in the air.
As they walked, Mel lifted her hand to his mouth and held it there, resting his head on the kiss.
She looked up at him, his strong profile lit by moonlight and firelight. He was hers. Rather than wonder how that could possibly be true, she marveled at its rightness. Love would come where it would. And when. She’d always known that, she’d simply forgotten that there had still been time for her. Now it was her time. And his.
Abigail always enjoyed bonfire nights, but this one was perfect.
This one was magical.
