Page 71 of Things I Overshared
“If you can find us, it’s a wee booth in comparison, ’bout the size of one of your boxes.” His eyes twinkle, and I laugh again.
“Yeah, yeah, shut it or I won’t come by,” I tease. He pretends to zip his lips, then looks past me and gives a small wave that looks like a salute. I turn to find Emerson a few feet away, glaring in my direction. I glare back and give him a bitter, sarcastic smile before looking past him at Nicole, who is giving me two thumbs up.
I turn away quickly, refusing to blush. Emerson can glare all he wants. I’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to feel embarrassed about. Ass Leggings included. I hope he’ll come say something, maybe along the lines of “I don’t want you talking to other men because I want you to be mine.”
But he doesn’t.
_________
The workout gear was not a terrible idea, because work, we did. By late afternoon, every muscle in my body is aching from all the weird bending, lifting, pulling, and pushing required to get our booth set up. All of us are spent, including Emerson, who I’ve barely seen all day.
It’s been worth it, though, because our space looks glorious. One side is set up like an actual retail store, complete with an awning, a front door with a doorbell, and window displays. But as you walk through the space, the walls of the faux store branch off, allowing for more display sections.
In one area, we have an artist exhibition space, for live demonstrations by the painters, sculptors, illustrators, and other crafters who contribute to our signature lines. We have an entire section dedicated to Canton Publishing, comprised of many authors and titles, but really it’s a display just for Sadie. She signs books, takes selfies, and sells tons of her novels and novel-related merchandise. There’s also a small section for Skye’s line of painted products, PaintedSkye, though she decided not to come do a demonstration this year.
It makes me both extremely proud and a little bit sad. It’s basically their grand opuses on display in front of my face. Not only that, but it’s my job over the next two days to sell their goods. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. My job is to sell everyone, on all of Canton, but after my brutally honest conversation with Emerson the other night, it feels a lot like my sisters create and I sell their creations.Life calling, indeed.
“All right, I take back all my teasing.” Thomas is in genuine awe of our exhibit as he sidles up to me in the center of a walkway. I’m giving everything one last look, and I’m pretty pleased.
“Right?” I pant. “I don’t think I’ll be able to lift my arms ever again, but . . . worth it.”
“Guess you really were too busy to come by.” He turns from the booth to look at me.
“Sorry! I totally forgot! I barely stopped to eat today. But I’ll come by for sure tomorrow. I’ll make the rounds all day long.”
“No worries, I brought it to you.” He holds out a fist, waiting for my palm underneath. I oblige. “It should come from one of the little rascals, of course, but I think I can safely assume this is you to a tee,” he says, and I look at what I’m holding. It’s like a beaded letter bracelet I would’ve made as a girl, except with solid-gold-letter block beads surrounded by gleaming glass-blown baubles. The letters readThe•Fun•Aunt. My head jerks up.
“Thomas! It’s gorgeous! Thank you!” The gift is so thoughtful and unexpected, I don’t think twice before giving him a hug. I let go before he does, feeling a bit weird. “You have a whole line of these? They’re beautiful.”
He gently puts it on my wrist, an intimate move that should give me butterflies but doesn’t. “Yes, well, the line is blown glass, gorgeous stuff. You’ll have to take a look tomorrow.”
“I will, I definitely will. Thank you. I can’t wait to pretend this was from my nephews and rub it in my sisters’ faces.” I laugh, and he laughs too.
His laugh fades and he shifts on his feet when he makes eye contact with me. “Do you have dinner plans?”
“I do, actually, and it’s not as fun as whatever you’re doing, I assure you, but there’s prep for tomorrow I have to do, while at some point, hopefully also stuffing my face.”
“Until tomorrow then.” He backs up a step, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“Thanks again. I love it,” I say as I turn to go.
“You bet. Good night, Samantha.”
“Good night.” I play with the gorgeous beads on my wrist as I turn around. I feel that my cheeks are a bit pink, but that was just so unexpected. And a tiny bit awkward. And it truly is a beautiful piece. I make a mental note to dig and see if we can connect with the artist, maybe commission our own line.
I feel him before I look up. Just as I hit the outskirts of our booth, I feel tingling down my spine. A tingling only Emerson evokes. But I don’t see him anywhere. Still, I realize suddenly that my sweatshirt has been long gone for hours, including the split second during my hug with Thomas. Did Emerson see? Do I hope he saw? Only if it helps with Operation Melt, which, surely, it would. Wouldn’t it?
If his stares and words and touches have been as real as they’ve felt to me, then Thomas’s arms around me should definitely inspire an inferno inside Emerson’s head. Just as I would explode inside if I saw him hugging some woman, no matter what she was wearing. I shudder at the thought. But it must be my fatigue playing mind tricks on me, as there’s no Snow King anywhere in sight.
Chapter 22
“How was round one, rock star?” Nicole asks as I step behind the counter within our exhibit to grab a water.
“Great, but it’s only been an hour. I hope these wedges hold up their end of the deal.”
“Deal?”
“Yes, I wear them, even though they’re not the cutest, and they keep my feet from hurting so badly. We had a serious conversation when I bought them.” I look down and give my shoes the stank eye, and Nicole laughs. “All right, be back later.”
