Page 23 of Keepsake
“You put on the money apron and fiddle with the signs. I’ll buy the donuts.”
“That’s an arrangement I can agree to.”
There were still ten minutes before the market would open, but I convinced the donut lady to do an illegal transaction. And when I returned to our stand, I handed the bag to Lark.
“Oh, God. They’re still warm!” She peeked in at the four donuts inside. “But where’s yours?” With a gleeful laugh she pulled one out and took a bite. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned.
And heck, the sound made my groin tighten. This girl made me feel like a guilty teenager again, the one who was always praying that nobody around him could read minds.
Lark handed me the bag. “These are exquisite. Have one—quick. It’s almost nine.” Oblivious to my suffering, she raised her arms overhead and stretched. Her top rode up a bit, exposing an inch of sleek skin over her hip. Then she bent over the Ginger Golds and straightened the sign.
It was going to be a long morning.
But then it wasn’t. Market time always flew by, and with the weather so nice we were busy. Since there was only one scale, Lark was our checkout girl, while I ran my ass off restocking the merchandise and selling sweet cider by the half gallon. Norwich was a rich town, and the people who shopped here knew their food. I was continually asked about the flavor differences between varieties, and I answered as well as I could.
Lark was a natural salesperson, though. “The Zestar has more perfume than the Paulas. And Ginger Golds are the sweetest. You don’t want to miss those, either.” She had an easy way about her, and people always listened closely to what she had to say. And when someone asked her whether the apples were organic—this was Vermont, after all, and we got that question all the time—Lark surprised me by launching into an explanation of Integrated Pest Management that was at least as thorough as I could have given.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed she was easy on the eyes, either. A bushel of lingering glances came her way from the men who stopped by our stand. And from women, too.
Lark didn’t seem to notice. She weighed and sold apples and made change without hesitation. And happily, too.
There was only one moment when I thought the crowds were getting to her. I’d stepped out of the booth for a second because the Abrahams’ daughter had run over to see me. Isaac and Leah’s stall was just a few yards away, so Maeve always paid me a visit. I scooped her up and spun her around for a minute until she giggled. Then I returned her to Leah, chatting with her for a minute before I went back to the Shipley stall.
But even that little breadth of time was enough to stack up the customers three deep. And some grouch with a handlebar mustache was barking at Lark, asking why he couldn’t buy the Cortlands his wife wanted.
“They’re not ripe yet,” she explained. Her voice was patient but her eyes were darting around the crowd. She looked nervous.
I ducked into the booth and stepped up beside her. “Next!” Then I gave her a little bump with my hip. “I have some bottles of water in the cooler. Can you grab ’em?”
She disappeared, and I dealt with the line. By the time she came back she looked calmer. “Thanks for the break,” she said, handing me a water bottle.
“Anytime.”
One o’clock arrived, and our bushels were mostly gone, and all the vendors around us were packing up their trucks. “Whew!” Lark said, pretending to sag against the table. “That was intense. But I think we did well.”
“Sure did. And the crowd didn’t bother you too much?”
Her eyes widened. “You noticed that about me, huh?”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“It was mostly fine.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling of our little market tent. “I guess the daylight helps. And we’re on this side of the table, and they stay on their own side. I don’t know, honestly. Some days are just easier than others.”
“Well, good.” I hefted the heaviest crate onto my shoulder before she could grab it. “Can you hold on tight to that cash box? I’ll have us out of here in just a few minutes.”
She gave me a narrow look. “Zach, this doesn’t look like a crime-ridden neighborhood. We could lock the cash in the cab and I could help you pack up.”
I was so busted. “Okay, missy. That sounds like a plan.”
6
Lark
“Ican’t believeyou pulled that off,” I said a half-hour later, after Zach managed to parallel park Griffin’s truck in an inadequate space.
He cleared his throat. “Well, someone threatened to expire if she wasn’t fed lunch.”
I had. But when I’d made this dramatic statement I hadn’t known how hard it would be to find a parking spot for the truck on the narrow streets around Dartmouth College. Hanover was right across the river from Norwich, and I was starving.
