Page 37 of A Love So Sweet
She looked at Max as though she’d lost her mind. “Honey, you aren’t gonna find a clear road anywhere this weekend. This is Oyster Fest weekend. We’ve got more people in the area this weekend than we do space. It’ll be like this through Sunday.”
A heavyset woman squeezed in beside Max and asked about transportation to the festival. A man nudged his way in front of Max, and she stepped back, wondering what in the world she was going to do until she heard from Treat. She grabbed a flyer about the festival and a Cape Cod map from a table in the lobby, then went out to her car and stared at the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“Not exactly the romantic surprise I had in mind,” she mumbled, vowing not to let this bring her mood down. She’d find Treat one way or another.
She climbed into her car and studied the map on the festival flyer, then flipped it over and scanned the event information. It was obvious that she would never get her car anywhere near the festival, but according to the flyer, she was only a few miles from White Crest Beach, where she could catch a shuttle to the festival. She might as well make the most of waiting for Treat’s call, and enjoy the scenery.
When she finally made it to the beach, she wondered what kind of a fool set out across the country to a place she’d never been without a plan.
The same kind that left in the middle of the night and drove to Colorado without a plan.
She debated leaving another message for Treat saying she was there, but she wanted to hear the excitement in his voice when she told him. Besides, she knew her man. He’d call as soon as he was able. As she got out of the car she told herself this was just a little delay to what would be a fantastic weekend. Fate had brought them together before; it would happen again.
Twenty minutes later she climbed out of the shuttle in front of the Wellfleet Town Center. The narrow streets and sidewalks were crowded with people moving between stores and vendors. Without even realizing what she was doing, she began studying every dark head of hair that rose above the crowd, despite knowing he was working.
Large white tents lined the parking lot across the street. Max’s eyes lit up at the mass of people packed in as tight as a school of fish, leaving barely enough room to step between. She moved with the crowd across the street and into the first tent, where handmade baskets and driftwood painted with beach scenes, boats, and gulls lined long tables.
Max went from one tent to the next, tasting oysters made fifty different ways, while local artisans smiled and chatted about their crafts and the festival, and soon looking for Treat fell by the wayside.
“Shuck this!” a man yelled, handing Max an oyster shell.
“Thank you, but I’ve eaten so many that I think I might explode.”
He leaned over the table and said, “That’s what your husband is counting on.” A wink and a nod later, Max finally got the joke—and it brought her mind right back to Treat.
She already felt like one big, uncontrollable hormone when she was with him. She needed help like she needed a hole in her head. She grinned at the thought as she moved to the next tent.
Time passed swiftly and, as the sun began to set, Max made her way back toward the shuttle bus. She took a window seat, and an elderly man with a shock of white hair sat beside her. She smiled and then faced the window, not in the mood to talk. As the rest of the passengers boarded the shuttle, the disappointment of not hearing from Treat settled in, putting her hopeful energy through a sharp reality check. What if Treat had to work late into the evening? What if he didn’t call? She pressed her hands to her chest, trying to quell the doubt blooming there. She glanced behind her at another stream of people getting off a shuttle bus and began to shake from the cold, her confidence about finding Treat coming down a notch.
“Are you okay?” the man beside her asked in a sympathetic voice.
Max nodded. “Mm-hm.”
“Are you sure? Because you look a might bit upset.”
“I am a little upset,” she admitted.
“I thought you might be. You’re too pretty of a gal to let anything make you so upset. Wanna talk about it?”
Max smiled. “No, thank you. It’s a little embarrassing.”
The old man scratched his head. “All righty, then. Did you enjoy the festival?”
“Yes. It was nice,” she answered as the shuttle ambled along the busy road.
“Are you from around here?” he asked. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just say this for me. Park the car in the Harvard yard and party hearty.” Every “ar” came out as “ah.”
Max laughed. “I know this one.” She feigned a New England accent. “Pahk the cah in the Hahvahd yahd and pahty hahty.”
“So, youarefrom around here,” he teased.
“Colorado, actually. Well, that’s where I live now. I’m originally from Virginia.”
“Either way, you’re a long way from home. I’ve lived here all my life.”
He told her the history of the festival and about how it had changed through the years, but Max was too lost in her own thoughts to retain any of the details. She listened instead to the calming cadence of his voice. By the time the shuttle stopped at White Crest Beach she felt less anxious, and she thanked him for making her feel better.
“If you just got in today, you probably don’t have any dinner plans,” he said. “You’re welcome to have dinner with me and the missus, if you’d like. I’m sure Vicky would enjoy having company, and I promise, no oysters.”
