by Tia Louise
“It’s definitely going to draw a crowd.”
I carry the lip scrubs to the counter by the register. “I think you should keep these close in case people try to steal them.”
She pauses on the ladder. “I hate thinking people would steal from me. They wouldn’t do that, would they?”
“Oh, yes they would. Dove, you make sure nobody slips one of these little guys in their pockets without paying for it.”
Her blue eyes go wide, and she nods seriously. “Pastor Sinclair said stealing is a sin.”
“Don’t tell her that.” Noel walks over and gives me an elbow to the ribs. “Don’t you do anything, Dove. If you see that happen, you come tell me or your daddy or Leon.”
I lean down to her ear. “Or me.” I give her a wink, and she smiles, doing two little fingers from her eyes to mine.
I can only imagine who taught her that.
“I have to hand it to Tom Grady.” Noel returns to the ladder. “Debbie Turner and Olivia Wilson battling for Ms. Silver Peach is the talk of the festival.”
“It gives them something to fight over that’s not Jimmy Hebert.”
Like he deserves it. Although, ever since the incident in the storage closet, Mr. Hebert has stuck pretty close to his own room. Ramona said she heard him one night in bed yell, “I’ll stay away from your grandma!” We both got a big laugh out of that. I’m sure that means I’m going to hell.
“Who had him first?” Noel digs peach and sage candles out of her box and arranges them on a shelf.
“Good question… let me think.” I grab the peach and coconut scented candles and carry them to the opposite corner. “I’m pretty sure Ms. Turner had him first. She was with him last Valentine’s day at the banquet. It was the first night his doctor approved his Viagra prescription.”
“I can’t believe they give those old men Viagra. Doesn’t it increase their risk of heart attack?”
“I don’t think so. And the way Jimmy Hebert acts, he’d probably choose boinking over a heart attack anyway.”
“What’s boinking?” Dove frowns up at me, and Noel cuts me a look.
“Oh, shoot, I’d better get going.” I scoop up my keys and the box for my mother. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I kiss the top of her little head and blow kisses in the direction of my bestie. “Love you. See you at the ball.”
“You’re going to the ball?” Shit… I freeze in the doorway, biting my bottom lip. “Is William coming for a visit? I haven’t seen him since Christmas.”
“No… He’s still in Dallas.”
“So who are you going to the ball with? Deacon?” She waits expectantly from where she’s kneeling by a box of bath salts.
Dammit, Sawyer! I guess I can’t entirely blame him. I did sort of put my foot in it. “It’s a surprise!” I exhale, not doing a very convincing job of acting excited.
“A surprise?” Noel frowns. “Since when do you do surprise dates?”
“Since right now. And I’ve got to get this box to Ma because I’ve got an appointment for a mani-pedi.”
It’s a total lie, but I figure I should get my hands and feet done if I’m going to the ball with Sawyer. Just because we’ve known each other all our lives doesn’t mean I won’t dress up for our official coming-out dance. He is the man of my dreams, after all.
I bought a dress last week after work. I drove to Belk all by myself and spent an hour finding just the right knee-length, light green chiffon strapless. I almost got peach, but I know Sawyer’s kind of peached out.
So I’m going all out, and my stomach is tied up in knots and flying away with butterflies. He might be wrestling with something he refuses to share with me, but we both agreed tomorrow is special.
I’ve got the perfect dress, I’m having my hair freshly blown out, and now I’m getting a mani-pedi… Just as soon as I drop Noel’s stock with my ma.
Saturday kicks off with a 5K and fun run followed by a day-long farmer’s market. I agreed to take a shift at Ma’s Honey Farms table during the lunch hours.
“Where have you been?” Ma gathers her shawl and the money bag, stuffing both into her oversized knapsack.
“I got caught up in the parade.” I drop my purse on the chair.
“A Peach in Time,” she mutters. “That’s the silliest theme for a parade I’ve ever heard. What does it even mean?”
“Be nice. It’s part of Andre’s ‘Love in the Groves’ theme.” I’m a bit protective, considering he based the whole thing on a watercolor I almost didn’t finish in time.
Maybe I’m the peach in time?
“I have to call Noel. I’m completely out of her lip scrub and mask, and I’m almost out of the hand lotion. I like your hair.”
“Thanks.” I slide a large wave off my cheek behind my ear.
Hallie blows it out then styles it with a curling iron so it hangs in large, silky waves—perfectly glamorous for the ball. I just have to do my makeup.
“I’ll be back after lunch.” She gives me a rough hug then holds my shoulder, pointing to her table of inventory. “I’m doing a special on the candles. Buy two, get a cinnamon honey stick for free.”
“I want a cinnamon honey stick.” I pull one of the dark brown straws from the glass jar.
“Those are not for you.” She snatches it out of my hand and puts it right back in place. “You can have whatever’s leftover tomorrow. Love you.”
She says it more like an order, but I know my ma loves me. Standing around with my arms crossed, I see Noel’s dwindling stock. I pick up one of Ma’s handwritten cards to read what she’s charging for everything.
Raw honey for fourteen dollars, fresh spun honey for ten. Royal honey soap for five dollars, beeswax candles for five, and… propolis?
“Interesting…” I mutter, tilting the small bottle to the side. “Anti-inflammatory, anti-infection, immune boosting, anti-cancer?” Sounds like voodoo to me.
“None of that has been proven by the FDA.” Deacon is on the other side of the table.
I point at him. “This is all on you, you know.”
“We just wrote it—”
“I know, you just wrote it down.” Turning the small bottle over, I read the ingredient label, which is very short. “I’m pretty sure this stuff is bee barf.”
“Can I get the special?” A small lady in a straw hat scoots up beside Deacon and holds out a ten.
“Of course!” I quickly grab tissue paper and one of the brown bags with a white Honey Farms sticker on the front.
I put two of the small votives and a stick of cinnamon honey in the bag and her ten in the metal money box.
“That’s good stuff.” I point to the stick. “You know you can get the economy size for seven dollars if you want it.”
The old lady’s face scrunches up as she thinks about my suggestion. “How much?”
“Seven dollars.”
“I’ll take it.” She passes me a ten, and I give her back three.
Once she’s gone, I wave the ten at Deacon and do a little jig. “I made my first sale!”
“You’re a natural.” Deacon digs in his pocket. “I want to try that cinnamon honey. It sounds good.”
“You should get the bundle for fourteen.” I hold up the two-pack, and he cocks a brow at me then hands me a twenty. “Woo hoo! I’m a natural born saleslady.”
“I’d give your mom credit for coming up with the idea. Sweet heat,” he reads from the label. “Interesting.”
“I’m sure her wealth advisor made it possible by writing it down on paper. Not typing on a computer screen.”
He shakes his head. “I’m heading to Dallas tomorrow. Anything you need me to tell William or take to him… for your business?”
“Not yet.” I reach below the table and pull out a few handfuls of the candles along with more honey sticks. When I look up, I see Deacon inspecting me. “What?”
“We wrote it down, but you still have to take the first step.”
“I know!” I give him a wa
ve. “I’ll start stepping. I’ve just got more important fish to fry right now.”
“A fish called Sawyer?”
“And the pageant tomorrow… I’m a busy lady.”
“Speaking of, I have something for you.” He hands over the small bag he’s holding. “Thought you should celebrate the creation of your plan.”
“For me?” I bat my eyes and move the tissue aside, pulling out a clear glass bottle of… “Teremana tequila, holy shit! How did you get this?”
“Wealth management has its perks.”
My eyes go round. “You met Dwayne Johnson?”
He laughs. “No, but I have a friend who works with Ken Austin, and he gave me a couple of promo packs.”
I turn the bottle in my hands. “It’s too nice to open.”
“Open it, and celebrate responsibly.” He takes the bag of honey and continues down the row. “See you tonight.”
I’m gazing at the bottle of Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson tequila, and when I look up, Deacon’s gone. Who the heck is he taking to the ball tonight?
I scan the area trying to find him when my eyes land on Sawyer on the other side of the tent. My chest clenches, and I have to catch my breath. He’s walking with Dutch Hayes and Ed Daniels along the perimeter of the market.
His hands are in his back pockets, and his expression is so serious. Square jaw set, dark hair swept to the side, silent and serious. He’s so handsome.
The two older men are chatting, but Sawyer is a step behind them. His eyes roam from table to table, and I wonder if he’s looking for me. I haven’t heard his voice since Thursday at the pond—two whole days ago—and when I did, he kept kissing me.
Longing tingles in my skin at the memory. His hazel eyes heated, wanting me, and as much as I try to shake it away, I can’t.
“Ugh,” I sigh. He keeps me so tied up…
“Do you have pure beeswax?” A man in overalls and a Stetson breaks me out of my frustration.
“Pure beeswax… Yes… I think we do. Hang on.” Looking around the table, I pass over stacks of bee pollen, ear candles, honeycomb, royal jelly, until I find the golden blocks of wax.
“How much do you need?” My eyes drift as if drawn by a magnet to where Sawyer is standing on the other side of the tent.
Our eyes connect, and electricity flashes from my chest through my body. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze is so focused, my pulse races faster.
“Miss? Did you hear me?” The man is scowling, and I blink back to him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t. How much?”
“A half-pound.” He repeats, and I take the small cleaver Ma keeps by the super soft wax and cut off a block, weighing it for him before I wrap it in paper and drop it in a brown bag.
“Eight dollars.” He passes me the money, and I give him change.
When I look around again, Sawyer’s gone. I step out from around the table looking right and left, but I can’t find him. A band warms up at the other end of the tent, and a guy with an accordion kicks them off singing “Don’t Mess with My Toot Toot.” People start to dance, and as the crowd forms, I know I won’t find him.
My chest sinks, and I don’t know what to think.
Hours later I’m sitting alone in the living room at Ma’s house, waiting for my date to appear.
My hair is down in rippling waves over my shoulders. I did a dramatic cat eye with my makeup and nude lips. My green dress is spread around me… I feel like a princess, and when I look up at the clock, it’s seven-thirty.
He said he’d be here at seven.
Ma is at the ball helping with concessions. She doesn’t even know I have a date. Last I told her, I was planning to curl up on the couch in my PJs and watch a movie. I didn’t want her asking a million questions, or worse, having to explain why some fictitious date never arrived.
“Don’t do this to me, Sawyer.” Pulling out my phone, I study the face.
No text, no missed calls. I could call him, but dammit. How many times can I go after that man? I’m not doing it. If he doesn’t show up, that’s it. It’s over…
And I hiccup a breath at the thought.
My heart is breaking in my chest, and I can’t cry. If I cry, I’ll ruin my perfect cat-eye.
Standing, I walk slowly around the living room, tracing my fingers in the floaty chiffon of my skirt. I bought silver strappy heels, because I wanted to feel like a princess. Instead I feel like a loser.
The bottle of Teremana is sitting on the edge of the bookshelf where I left it when I got home this afternoon. Strolling over, I trace my fingers along the wood studying the clear bottle, the white label with gray lettering. I read what it says. Teremana is richly flavored, gluten free, small-batch, hand crafted.
“Groovy.” Tracing my gelled nail over the paper seal, I break it.
Lifting the heavy bottle, I twist the corked cap out of the top and sniff. My eyes squeeze shut at the strong odor of alcohol.
“Here’s mud in your eye,” I whisper, lifting it to no one and taking a sip. “Oh!”
It burns like fire going down, but once that passes, I wait… until I get the smokey oak flavor on my tongue.
“Not bad,” I whisper, tilting the bottle and taking another sip.
I’m not shooting it. I’m only tasting. Dwayne Johnson says on the other side of the pain, there’s something better. I can drink to that. Holding up the bottle, I take another sip to something better. Whatever that means.
20
Sawyer
Lockdown.
Ever since the incident outside Noel’s store, I’ve been making up excuses for why I need to be alone, why I need to sit with my thoughts.
I’ve passed two restless nights since Taron found me in the brush, long nights in my room, searching the internet for clues, reading anything I can find to give me insight, a way to control it. The trigger seems to be small, dark spaces.
Noel complained I never told her I’d checked her shop. Why didn’t Taron tell her? I apologized and left early to help prepare for the Peach Festival like I do every year. Tourists come from all over the country and even Canada and Mexico for the three-day event, and as the owner of the largest peach orchard in Taylor Parish, I have to be there. It’s a tradition.
It’s also a minefield of dark rooms and storage closets.
“We’ve got more high-top tables in the back room.” Digger Hayes is at the front of the civic center ballroom setting up lattice and fake pillars for the Peach Ball.
I roll the flat top of a table out to its waiting base in the center of the room. I’ve assembled nine so far. We arrange the framework and set out the tables and chairs, and the ladies auxiliary comes after us with decorations. They’ll hang drapes, foliage, and twinkle lights everywhere to make the space look less utilitarian and more romantic.
My insides are tense, and I’m on guard for any bit of stress that might set me off. Knowing I promised to take Mindy to the ball weighs heavy on my mind. The last thing I feel like doing is partying.
“Would you mind checking for me?” Digger stops where I’m tightening screws under the table.
“What’s that?” I pause.
“The storage room. More high tops.”
I swallow the knot in my throat and shake my head. “Sorry, Digger, I’ve got to take off once I finish this. If you still need me, I’ll help as soon as I get back.”
I’ll make a point of staying away until I’m sure he won’t need me. I’m doing everything I can to help them, but I can’t risk it. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to breathe fresh air, see the sun. Pushing through the crash door, I’m caught by Ed Daniels.
“Sawyer, would you help me do a perimeter check?” Ed is this year’s festival chairman.
“Sure.” I shake his hand, and he returns to his conversation with Dutch Hayes, Digger’s dad.
They’re having some issue with parking and buses being able to get in and out. I was chairman last year, so I know the logistical nightmares. Following them into the
tent, I scan every inch of the farmer’s market.
A perimeter check is basically walking the perimeter of the grounds, making sure all the electrical wiring is properly taped, making sure people are using safety precautions, making sure no one is obviously drunk or disorderly.
My mouth goes dry when I spot Mindy across the room at her mother’s table. She’s leaning to the side, holding a jar of honey. My eyes take in her appearance, and hunger is in my stomach. She’s wearing a light blue dress with skinny straps. Her hair is smooth and wavy and swept over one shoulder. She’s so beautiful. She looks like a supermodel or a Bond girl. She looks like she’s looking for someone.
Our eyes catch, and I’m momentarily frozen. I need to talk to her, but if I do, I’ll make some excuse for why I can’t go tonight. Mindy doesn’t deserve that. She especially doesn’t deserve a broken man, too weak to take care of her… if that’s what’s happening. Fuck, I’ve got to figure out my shit.
A man distracts her, and she turns away to help him.
“We’ve got a situation out by the railroad tent.” Ed catches my arm. “Would you head over and see what’s happening?”
“Sure.” I look once more to where Mindy’s still helping the old man.
I’ll call her when I get a break and talk to her about tonight.
The situation is at the Cobbler Gobbler competition. An enormous man has passed out from what they think is heat, but it could also be he gobbled too much peach cobbler.
Personally, I avoid competitive eating contests. They make me nauseated. Still, these guys are supposed to be professionals. We call EMS, and hours later, I never called Mindy.
By the time I’m back at the house, Noel is waiting in the kitchen with Leon’s birthday cake.
“I told you I’m too old for a party.” Leon is in a tux, tugging on the collar. “I’m late to pick up Rachelle.”
“You’re never too old to celebrate your birthday.” My sister is fussing, lighting candles. “Why didn’t you bring Rachelle with you?”
Noel is dressed in a floor-length blue silk gown, and her dark hair is styled up on one side and down on the other. I don’t remember when the peach ball became such a formal event. Not too long ago, it was just jeans, blazers, and cocktail dresses.
