Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,267

was distracted as hell, too, moving slowly or standing still staring off into space when I was supposed to be getting shit done. “What the hell is with you?” Pete had asked me an hour ago when he found me standing like a statue in the barn, a length of rope in my hand. Oh nothing, just thinking about tying up the nice lady who’s working for us, maybe blindfolding her too. Fucking her mouth. The usual.

Then when I saw her in the kitchen, my heart had knocked fast and hard against my ribs—a feeling I hadn’t counted on. How long had it been since I’d felt so happy to see someone? She’d looked so pretty sitting there, with her hair off her face and no makeup, a simple white t-shirt. It would be filthy by day’s end, but I didn’t think she’d care.

“Wow,” she said, coming up for air. “Is this because I said I’d help you with the eggs?”

“Nope. It’s because I’m glad to see you. And also for the sleep I got last night.”

Her face lit up. “I was going to ask you. You told me you don’t sleep well the other night.”

“I don’t, not usually. But last night I did.” I was trying not to think too much about it and simply enjoy the feeling of being well-rested. If I let my mind dwell on the why behind the what, I’d have to ask myself some questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

“That makes me happy.” She bounced on her toes.

I kissed her again, slow and soft this time, wanting to stretch out this moment in time as far as it would go. But when my hands started to wander and the crotch of my pants grew tight, I figured we’d better stop. “I’d much rather do this than work today, but I should probably get some things done before we have to leave.”

She smiled. “I’m all yours. Put me to work.”

Margot was still hopeless at gathering eggs (“I can’t take that one under the hen…it seems personal, like she really wants to keep it.”), but she remembered lessons from the other day and definitely worked faster. After that, Pete and I went out to check the fences and Margot stayed with Georgia to get things ready for the market. I hadn’t done one in years, and when I had, Steph had been there to make everything look nice. Hopefully Margot would remember everything Georgia told her.

Just before noon, we loaded everything in the truck—including a picnic basket Georgia had packed for our lunch—and set off for Frankenmuth. “What kind of music do you like?” I asked her as we headed west. The sun was just starting to shine through the clouds, and it looked like we’d have good weather, which always meant a better turnout.

“Oh, I like whatever.”

“Whatever, huh?” I played with the radio to see what stations would come in. “We’ll see what we can find, but this truck is old and completely lacking in frills, like, say, a Mercedes.”

She poked me in the ribs. “My Mercedes is from 1972. Frills as we know it weren’t really an option then.”

“True. And who needs ’em, anyway?” I turned up the radio and rolled down the windows, since the A/C didn’t work. “Scratchy Hank Williams in a beat-up Chevy truck, driving down a back road, wind in your hair…” I thumped her on the leg and drawled, “It don’t get more country than that, sweetheart.”

She laughed and threw her head back. “Yeehaw!”

I laughed too. I hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

We arrived at the pavilion around one-thirty, located our vendor spot, and unloaded the truck. Margot gamely did a bunch of the heavy lifting, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the crook of her elbow, and began setting up once we had everything ready.

“I can do that,” I told her as she struggled to get a stubborn table leg unfolded.

She straightened up, blew a wayward piece of hair out of her face, and gave me a dirty look. “I’m not totally helpless, Jack. I can handle a folding table.”

“OK, OK.” I turned away from her to hide a smile as I unpacked the scale.

When the tablecloths were on and the displays done exactly how Georgia had specified, Margot stood back and eyed it critically. “I wish we had some different levels on the table. And more depth.”

I frowned. “Depth?”

“Yes. I love the different-sized baskets on the ground and the old barrels. But on