Page 5 of Love in Mission City

Ugh, did you just saychill? What’s he going to think?

Another grunt.

We sat in silence. Not an uncomfortable silence—just an all-encompassing one.

“Well, you boys enjoy your night.” Beverly waved as she and her quilting partner headed out.

Mary? Marissa? Mabel?

Damn, I couldn’t remember. “Goodnight Beverly, thanks for your help today. See you tomorrow.” I waved. After she departed, I leaned over toward Henry. “Do you know the other woman’s name?” My nose twitched. Woodsy? Maybe pine?

Yum.

“Mary.”

“Ah, thanks. Still new in town, you know?”

Another grunt. Then, “Good conversing with you. Later.”

Before I could react, the big man was out of his chair and heading down the aisle toward the door. He’d put all his figurines into boxes before he’d come over. To keep them safe, I assumed.

Wearily, I rose.

Yeah. Later.

Chapter Two

Johnson

Sunday morning came early, and the stunning dawn sky awed me as I headed over to the community center. Pink, purple, and red streaks on the eastern horizon bounced off the white, puffy clouds as I pulled my pickup truck into the vendor parking area. We’d had snow in early November—it hadn’t lasted long—but there hadn’t been much frost either. In all, it’d been a mild fall, and now, as we headed into the first week of December, I was grateful for the warmish temperatures. Weather in southwestern British Columbia could be unpredictable at best. One of the reasons I’d encouraged Mark to move here from Edmonton with me had been the mild winters.

Now he was back in Alberta with way-below-freezing temperatures and several feet of snow.

Well, he was welcome to it. I grew up there and had seen enough snow to last a lifetime. Sure, Mission City would get some—but not several feet at a time. And, here, it wouldn’t stay on the ground for months on end.

The air nipped at my nose when I stepped out of the truck. I pulled my dolly from the backseat and loaded up the first few boxes.

The security guard stood at the door, waiting to hold it open for me, which was gratifying. I thanked the young woman as I stepped into the hall, then I made a beeline for my booth and began hoisting the boxes onto the table.

To my surprise, Henry stepped over. He pointed to a spot behind the chairs.

Oh, was that where I wanted the boxes?

I nodded.

He nodded in return.

Convinced he had everything in hand, I headed back to the truck. I needed to do six loads to bring in all the cider but, when I returned from the last trip where I’d put the dolly away, I found Henry had organized all the boxes behind the chair as well as set up a display of the jars in a way I hadn’t conceived of. Very artistic.

He’d also placed a carved wooden apple next to the pile of jars.

I picked it up and held it out. “Where did you find this? At one of the other tables?”

He met my gaze, and just as his mouth opened, the organizer announced they were opening the doors. Before I could speak, Henry headed back to his table. He grabbed a soft cloth and dusted one of the delicate figurines.

Honestly, I didn’t figure there was any dust on it—but I understood his need to put distance between us. It might’ve hurt, just a touch, yet his quietness settled me and helped me prepare for the hordes.

And thereweremasses.