“She likes you.”
Charlie shrugs, his hostile expression replaced with a carefully blank one. “So?”
“So she’s really pretty,” Gretchen concedes. “Likereallypretty. The big eyes, the silky gold hair. I mean, her skin practicallyglows.”
“If you think she’s so pretty, maybe you should ask her out.”
“I don’t date,” Gretchen says, which for some reason feels safer than admitting that Hannah rubs her the wrong way. Because she’s fairly sure the only reason for that is the blonde bee lady’s blatant interest in the man sitting beside her. Maybe it isn’t so strange that she feels... protective over Charlie, though. It’s part of her job to save him from his family’s curse, after all. She mightas well have his other best interests at heart. A good person would probably throw that in for free.
He glances at her. She assumes he’s noticed that Gretchen said she doesn’t date, and not that she doesn’t date women. And she doesn’t, but only because she doesn’t date anyone. Gretchen is an equal opportunity not-dater. Sex? Sure. Once or twice a year, if the opportunity arises. Dating? Never. Too much trouble, too much risk. But if Charlie has any questions about the people she does or doesn’t not-date, he doesn’t ask them.
Customers finally reach their booth, which Gretchen appreciates since it means the end of this conversation. It’s two men in their early forties, a chubby baby strapped to each of their chests. One baby is wearing a yellow sun hat, the other an identical one in orange.
“Oh my, look at you,” Gretchen coos to the one nearest her. She isn’t particularly interested in babies, but parents are always more likely to warm to you if you fawn over their children. “I love the little hats.”
“Probably didn’t need them today,” one of the men jokes, gently bouncing back and forth as if afraid to cease movement for even a second. “Supposed to start pouring any minute.”
“Fingers crossed it holds off,” Gretchen says, crossing the fingers of both hands emphatically.
The baby in the orange hat has a bumpy red drool rash on its chin, and Gretchen sees her opening. “Have you ever tried goat’s milk soap with them? It’s extremely gentle and so, so moisturizing. All natural ingredients. Great for sensitive baby skin. A ton of our customers with young children swear by it.”
“Hm, no, we haven’t tried that yet,” the other man says, hisattention moving from the cheese display to the small stacks of soap. He picks up a deep purple-red bar—blackberry vanilla, Gretchen remembers from arranging them—and sniffs it. The face he makes says he either doesn’t like the scent or finds it overpowering.
Gretchen picks up a bar of the oatmeal soap, which is made with Johnny Bee Goods honey, apparently, and hands it to him. “This one’s our bestseller,” she says, having absolutely no clue if that’s true or not. “The oatmeal is a natural soothing agent, and we use local honey.”
He gives it a sniff. “Oh, that’s lovely. Subtle and clean. Maybe we’ll swing back by to get some on our way out?” He directs this question to his partner.
“Oh, you certainly could, but we don’t have too many of that one left,” Gretchen says, glancing down at the two bars she arranged on the table. “Like I said, it’s our bestseller. I would hate for it to be gone by the time you come back around.”
“Ah.” The man looks at his partner again and they have one of those brief eye-contact-only conversations. “Okay, let’s get it now.” He holds out his credit card, which Charlie runs through the reader attached to his cell phone.
Gretchen finds the stack of small brown paper bags under the table, and slips the bar of soap inside one. “I hope you love it,” she says as she hands it over. “And that we’ll see you again soon.”
“We actually live in Frederick, just here visiting family,” the other one says. His bouncing has transitioned into a sort of cha-cha movement. “Are you at any of the markets up that way?”
Charlie shakes his head. “Only this one at the moment.”
“Well, your mom is always saying we should visit more often...”One man nudges the other affectionately, as his partner rolls his eyes.
They each hold up one of the babies’ chubby hands to have them “wave” goodbye, and Gretchen waves goodbye back (although it feels kind of ridiculous).
“You only do one farmers market?” Gretchen asks. “I thought this was the main way you sell your products.”
“It is.” Charlie takes off his cap and pushes his hair back again before replacing it. “But I’m only one person, and I can’t be everywhere at once.”
“What about Lori?”
“She already works as many hours as I can pay her to work, and I need her help back at the farm a lot more than I need it here. Besides, Lori is an excellent cheesemaker, but she isn’t exactly customer-service oriented.”
Gretchen snorts. “That’s true.” Her limited interactions with the older woman so far have been what she can only describe as brusque.
She wonders how Charlie makes any money at all without doing more than he currently is. But she senses he’s not especially inclined to talk about the whys and hows of his business decisions at the moment.
“How did your grandparents manage it all?” she asks instead.
Charlie hesitates before answering. “I imagine it was a lot easier with the two of them, plus they had a few seasonal employees and me during summers and long weekends. Grandpa managed the farm, and Grandma made the products with some help from Lori and took care of all the markets. Three or four a week, spring through fall, and one in the winter. Plus she knew all of the peopleat the local mom-and-pop stores and got them to carry Gilded Creek products. I think they even had relationships with a few restaurants.” He stares into the distance for a moment, lost in thought or maybe a memory, then brings himself back. “They were such a good team. I don’t... can’t... do it all half as well as they did.”
A genuinely good person, Gretchen presumes, would feel sympathetic. Instead, she feels a tiny jolt of excitement hearing the undercurrent of emotion flowing in Charlie’s voice. It rises to a nice steady buzz when she sees something in his eyes that makes him look young and vulnerable. His feelings of failure, of not being able to carry on his grandparents’ legacy.This is my way in. But it all evaporates as quickly as it arrived, like a few raindrops falling in the desert on a hot day.
