Page 26 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“What did I say?” My neck is uncomfortably hot.
“Where are we going?” she shouts while waving her arms for emphasis.
“I did not wave my arms in the air.”
“Come on, you said we could go to the farmer’s market today.”
My skin shrinks around my bones.
How many people go to a farmer’s market? It can’t be that many. There are only three thousand people in the entire town. If ten percent of them show up, that’s three hundred people crammed into a quarter acre, but that doesn’t account for tables, booths, and?—
“Thane.” Kara stomps her foot like the cartoon bear for frustration did in the YouTube video Lottie sent me.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
“Tone—”
“Kara, don’t push me. A farmer’s market is my version of hell, but I’m trying.”
“Fine, I’ll say thank you instead. Maybe if you try whispering when you’re frustrated, we wouldn’t have to say ‘tone’ so much.”
I bite my tongue. If I identified the frustration before opening my mouth, that might work.
“Headed out?” Boone asks when I reach the doorway. The man must not have much of a life either because he’s here every day now.
“Did you need something?”
“Nope, I’m going to start taking down some walls as soon as we clear out the rest of the furniture. You’ll be coming into a construction zone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were prepared. The kitchen will be functional, but not convenient.”
Kara groans, but I wave Boone off. “It’s fine. We’ll make do.”
“I’ve got a rental if you?—”
“We’re fine.” I study him a second longer, daring him to say the word “tone” to me. But it appears I amuse the man. He chuckles and goes back to his work.
People are exhausting.
* * *
“The farmer’smarket is in a field?” Staring down at my Italian leather shoes, I shake my head. I’ll need to order hiking boots if I’m going to survive this town.
“It’s the fairgrounds.” The snark tugging at the corners of Kara’s lips has me reaching into my pocket for an antacid.
If she’s happy, I’ll make it work.
“What do we do here?” I scan the surroundings, immediately mapping out the route we’ll take, which avoids all the interior booths—people are far too close for my liking there.
I’m beginning to miss the days of social distancing.
“Shop. Can I have some money?” She holds out her hand.
“Why can’t I pay at the booth?”
Her pretty little face morphs into something that would have a lesser man backing up a step. How can teenagers be so fucking frightening?
“I’m not shopping with you,Brad. How am I supposed to meet any kids my own age if you’re hovering?”
“How am I supposed to keep an eye on you if I’m not?”
