Page 17 of Where It All Began
He laughed. “I have no intention of marrying you. I do have every intention of minding my own business and getting my farm up and running. I have no room for anything else.”
They started walking again. “I still think it’s weird,” Phoebe grumbled.
“Yeah, well, it won’t be the weirdest thing you witness here,” he predicted.
They walked on in silence passing storefronts—Phoebe wondering how such an insane little town could exist—until she spotted the florist shop. Phoebe paused to study the riotous display of flowers in the window.
“Sunflowers are my favorite,” she sighed. “They should be ugly because they’re so different, so weird, but instead they’re just so happy. How can anyone not think they’re beautiful?”
Not expecting an answer, she was surprised when John opened his mouth. “Don’t you think that’s their appeal? Theyareso different, proud about it, too. Why wouldn’t we like them?”
Well, the farmer had some depth to him.
“So, what’s the story with you and Michael?” she asked, pulling his cone toward her to catch the vanilla drip with her tongue.
A cloud passed over his face. He closed his eyes. “Why do you haveso many questions? Jesus, it’s like a walking interrogation.”
“I’m just curious. I’m not like taking notes and keeping a dossier on you.”
“We’re friends. Cardona and I grew up together.”
“You didn’t look very friendly in the store,” she countered.
“I didn’t like him hitting on you.”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows, but before she could jump on him with a dozen questions, John knocked her shoulder companionably. “Shut up.”
“There’s no way I’m shutting up on that one,” she warned him.
“I had a feeling.”
“So, you’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you. But you’re still not going to act on it because of some sense of responsibility for my well-being, but you also don’t want me attracting anyone else,” she recounted.
“Exactly,” he said, sounding relieved.
She laughed. “You’re an odd kind of guy, John Pierce.”
“I like to think I’m a sunflower.”
She choked. “A legitimate jokeandan apology from you in the same day? I think I need to sit down.”
“I have just the place for you to recuperate.” John nudged her toward the movie theater.
“What’s Town Meeting?” she asked, reading the marquis.
“It’s not a movie. There’s a town meeting tonight. I have to go, but you’re welcome to join me.”
“Yes!” Bouncing on her toes, she barely let him get the words out. “I want to meet everyone here and see you all in action together. It’s like getting into a secret society! How many people will be there tonight? Can I ask questions? What’s the age range of residents who attend town meetings?”
“You have a curious mind.”
“Sociology minor,” she explained. “People fascinate me.” They moved out of the way of a young couple decked out as if they were from competing decades. She wore her bangs in two-stories high Aqua Net glory, acting as a frame to her turquoise eyeshadow. Her pink satin dress looked like something Molly Ringwald would party in. Her partner was a skinny man in a Jerry Garcia t-shirt that was two sizes too small. His jeans rode low on his nonexistent hips and flared out over platform boots. His curly hair was somewhat tamed under a bandana.
“Hi, John.” The girl waved a friendly greeting, cracking her bubble gum.
“Peace, man,” the guy said, flashing two fingers.
“Hey Rainbow, Gordon.” John nodded. They parted as the ’80s and ’60s walked between them holding hands.
