Page 53 of Keepsake
Checking Zach’s face as we began to roll down the driveway, I saw tension there. “Everything okay?” I hazarded.
“Yep,” he said, and it wasn’t entirely convincing. He was stressed out about something, and I wasn’t vain enough to assume it was me.
“I brought coffee and muffins.”
“Awesome.” His eyes didn’t leave the road, and he gave his head a little shake. “I could really use the coffee this morning.”
As soon as we turned onto the road, I handed him the travel cup, and he took a deep drink of it. “Thank you for this manna from heaven.”
“Didn’t sleep well? Because I slept great.” Maybe that was laying it on a little thick, but if he had any regrets about our kiss in the barn, I wanted him to know that everything was okay on my end. I valued his friendship far too much to let things get weird.
But, hey, if he wanted to try it again, I’d probably hurl myself into his arms. It had been a long time since anyone made me feel such hunger and optimism all rolled together.
“I’m glad you slept through the night,” he said softly. “I want that for you.”
I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. So I picked up my iPod and put on a playlist. Eddie Vedder began to sing “Black,” and I relaxed against the headrest. When the Chili Peppers inevitably came on, I smiled at the ceiling of the Shipley truck. “Thank you for requesting that music last night when I was feeling a little edgy. That was really nice of you.”
“No problem.”
More silence.
Hmm.
I watched the Vermont countryside roll by. There was corn still standing in the fields, unharvested. And fat rolls of hay in stacks, with white plastic covering them for winter. They looked like giant balls of fresh mozzarella cheese, making me wish for a giant tomato and a wheelbarrow full of balsamic vinegar…
The radio played on, and even a tense Zach was easier company than most anyone else. I always felt relaxed with him, because he already knew I was a wreck. I didn’t have to pretend. And he seemed to like me anyway.
He liked me a little more than he wished he did, I was pretty sure.
I opened the container of muffins and broke one carefully into quarters. It was still warm, filling the cab with the comfortable scent of pumpkin and nutmeg. “Open sesame,” I said, reaching over toward his side of the seat with a chunk of muffin. I raised it toward his mouth.
He opened up and I fed him the bite. Then he grabbed my hand and kissed the palm. It was just a quick gesture. But somehow there was more sweetness in it than should have been possible. My skin prickled with awareness where he’d touched me. And when I dropped my hand back into my lap, I found myself inspecting it, as if the explanation for the sudden change in the air between us might be written there.
Chemistry was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was even nicer than I remembered.
For once wewere going to have stunning market weather. Not only was the sun out, but the temperature climbed to a comfortable temperature and then kept right on rising. By noon it felt more like July than September. People lingered over their purchases and chatted up their neighbors, and I had to shed my sweatshirt even though we were in the shade.
I didn’t miss Zach’s appreciative glance at my tank top. Luckily we were too busy to talk or even think too much about our extracurricular activities last night.
In the center of the market square a little acoustic band was playing. I didn’t have a direct line of sight, but strains of a banjo and a fiddle punctuated all my transactions.
I was feeling quite relaxed for nearly the whole time until Leah popped by to ask Zach a question, “You have Maeve, right?”
Zach’s hands froze on the half-gallons of cider he’d pulled from the ice bin. “I haven’t seen her all morning.”
“Oh,” Leah whispered. She turned around fast, her eyes scanning. And Zach practically vaulted out of our booth to help her look.
“Maeve?” Leah called, her voice wavering. “Where’d you go, sweetie?”
Zach cupped his hands and called her name. Then he walked a couple of yards and did it again.
I had a customer to ring up, but my attention was shattered. I put her bag of apples on the scale and weighed it. But it took me three tries to multiply the weight by the price and charge the customer the right amount. My fingers were dumb on the calculator buttons until the customer finally just blurted out the correct amount.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, making change for a ten. I didn’t hear the response, though, because my pulse was pounding in my ears. And my eyes kept leaving my work to search the crowd for a little girl with chubby arms in an Apostate Farm T-shirt.
“Maeve!” Zach’s voice called from somewhere beyond my line of vision. It was echoed by Leah’s.
I shivered, even though there was sweat running down my back now. A prickly hot wave of fear consumed me.
