knows how to fake it,” I inform her.
“So, if you open an animal hospital, who is going to attend to it?”
I shrug. “I know people, and then there are the kids I’m putting through vet school. They are obligated to work for me. The scholarship doesn’t say where exactly.”
“Just buy one of the houses Easton is building,” she suggests. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I do. At least for a while why I do a necessary Pierce detox.”
She arches an eyebrow, and I say, “Don’t ask.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leyla
The average small town has three things in common: the people know everybody else’s business, there are less than ten thousand citizens, and there’s almost nothing to do. Baker’s Creek isn’t as average as many places in the world. Our population is about six thousand people. Everybody knows everyone’s business. Well, not ours, though. We try to be discreet.
It’s a good thing and a not so great thing to do. The people of the town think we’re just like all the Aldridges, stuck up and not willing to be a part of them. We are anything but, and we want to be a part, but we can only handle so much at a time. Trying to get along with strangers, learning to live with a small farm, and making sure everyone follows the rules is exhausting. It’s like taking care of feral kittens.
Adding to the town gossip will just push us into the abyss. This will end up like a sequel of The Hunger Games.
Now, the biggest quirk of this town is its famous festivals. They are, at times, ridiculous. Well, the Hair Braiding Festival was kind of cute. I loved how one of the vendors braided my hair and put tiny flowers in between the strands. I wish she were the local esthetician because if she had more time, she could’ve dyed my hair with different shades of reds and browns.
Last week’s festival was partially disgusting. The town smelled like onions because certainly, every booth at the Onion Festival had something cooked where the ingredient overpowered everything else. This week is the Beads and Handmade Jewelry Festival.
I’m in heaven.
Pierce keeps paying for all the bracelets, anklets, and charms I keep buying. That’s something I remember well about Mom. She had a lot of jewelry. I wish I knew what happened to everything my parents owned. I don’t have anything to remember her or my sister. After my aunt picked me up from the hospital, I was taken to Colorado, where she bought me new clothes. When I asked about my toys, she said they were gone. I never knew what happened to my parents’ belongings or the house.
I should look for my aunt and demand a few pictures of Mom. Maybe she has something of hers I can save. I’d pay good money for just a memory.
“You okay?” Pierce asks.
I nod and smile.
“What’s happening?” he asks again.
I wave a hand as if saying it doesn’t matter.
“Today isn’t as bad. It could be the Garlic Festival,” he mumbles, scrunching his nose.
So far, I love it, except it reminds me too much of Mardi Gras. When I say it out loud, Pierce’s eyes brighten because when we visited New Orleans during Carnival, it was a weekend of debauchery. Up until now, we’ve behaved. Four weeks without fights or sex is a record that I’m hoping we can keep.
Right?
To make sure neither one of us falls into temptation, I drag Sophia to the next booth.
“Well, look at that,” I say as we step into the tent, and there’s a hot, shirtless man with nice abs and a lot of tattoos on his body.
“Great marketing,” I joke. “Everyone is going to come over and buy at least a bead.”
The guy winks at us and says, “Loose beads are here, kits are on the bottom of that shelf, and handmade jewelry is here.” He waves his hand right where the expensive merchandise is, close to his very well delineated abdominal muscles.
“Gorgeous,” Sophia agrees. “Whoever thought of this setting is a genius. I bet you’re just the pretty face behind the artist.”
He nods and points at a petite woman with orange-red hair. I like the blond highlights she has. “My wife.”
“Nice,” I confirm. “You guys aren’t from around here, are you?”
He shakes his head and tells us that they are from Idaho. His wife sells jewelry online. They travel to other cities or states for artisanal festivals when possible. They come twice a year to Baker’s Creek, once in February