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I feel his gaze linger on me, light as the touch of a moth’s wing, and I look up at him. His eyes are gentler than before. Liquid silvery blue. They’re the eyes of the friend I once had.
“Chicken coops, huh?” I say.
His mouth crooks into a half smile. But before he can reply, Mrs. Greerson wedges her way in between us.
“Don’t these look wonderful,” she says. “Caden, I’ve told the mayor you’ll be helping with the festival?—”
“You’re helping with Magnolia Day?” I ask.
“No, I’m just giving Cody a hand with the booths,” Caden says.
“Psh,” Mrs. Greerson interjects. “The mayor is thrilled you’re on board.” She says this in her usual manner that brooks no disagreement. She turns to me expectantly. “Isla, will you be contributing this year?”
Caden cocks his head, looking at me curiously.
“Oh, um…” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Well, Dev asked me to help with the Grater Good’s booth. You know how popular it always is.” I look at the pieces laid out in front of me. “It looks like it’s going to be extra special this year.”
“Yeah, Caden’s a real—” Cody begins eagerly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Greerson interrupts. “Dev has a husband for that. You need to have your own booth, dearie. Haven’t I been telling you for ages?”
“No,” I say, bemused, but Mrs. Greerson ignores me.
“You must showcase your skills! You’ve been hidden away at the Thorn for far too long. The world needs to taste your food, Isla. My god, that cake you made for my birthday last year was extraordinary! No more of this skulking in the shadows.”
Sometimes I wonder if Mrs. Greerson is slightly psychic.
“That’s a great idea,” Caden says quietly. I feel a wriggle in my stomach, and the back of my neck goes hot.
“I don’t have a shop to promote,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “I don’t sell my pastries anywhere. I just love baking food that people enjoy. And you know, things are busy right now with the wedding coming up…”
I glance at Caden but there’s no reaction, except maybe a slight clench of his jaw.
“Wedding schmedding, this is Magnolia Day! I’m sure Lucille Richards is pulling all the strings anyway. Doesn’t she have a hundred servants putting that thing together? I heard it’s going to be at Everton now.”
Caden’s whole body seems to freeze. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t so aware of him, every twitch of muscle or the tempo of his breath. The brush clatters into the tin and he pushes past us.
“Excuse me,” he says tersely.
He didn’t know. How could he not know? Helivesthere! Didn’t Daisy tell him?
Mrs. Greerson is watching him go with a strange expression on her face.
“He’s quite touchy now, isn’t he,” she says.
I shrug again.
“Go see if he’s all right,” Mrs. Greerson says.
“What? No,” I say.
Mrs. Greerson gives me a little shove toward the door. “Go on,” she says. “Don’t think I can’t see that look on your face. You’re worried about him, same as all of us. You two were friends, weren’t you?”
“Well, yeah but?—”
She gives me another push. “Scoot.”
There’s no point in arguing with her. No one ever wins an argument with Martha Greerson. I half hope Caden has vanished when I get outside. He’s good at that.