Page 8 of Love in Mission City

“And I saw what you did for that young boy. That was…special.”

He pursed his lips, continuing to face forward. Then another grunt and more sipping of cider.

Ah, I’d said too much. Bad habit of mine.

The silence enveloped us as people packed up and headed out.

Finally, Henry stood. He placed the bottle of cider on the table and carefully folded the empty bag of popcorn. “Thank you.”

Realizing this might be the last time I saw him until the next market, I rose quickly. “Do you want to come over some time? To see my operations?”Because somehow that’s better than offering to show him your bedroom, which is where you really want him?I tried to silence my inner monologue, but it wasn’t going well.

He scratched his beard. “Sure.”

Before he could change his mind, I grabbed a business card and handed it to him.

Our hands brushed.

His gaze clashed with mine. Then he pulled his hand away, pocketed the card in his flannel shirt pocket, and ambled over to his table. He grabbed his rolling cart, and without a backward glance, headed out.

I sipped my cider.What the hell just happened?

A throat cleared behind me.

I turned toward the quilting table.

Beverly and Mary stood, both eyeing me.

I tilted my head in question.

Beverly spoke first. “I think you might be a little sweet on him.”

“Uh—”

“And he might be a little sweet on you,” Mary chimed in. She folded one of the smaller quilts. “Wonderful young man.”

“Yes.”

“Very loyal.” Beverly scrutinized me with her gray eyes, which matched her gray hair. “Took care of his grandad and his ma. Tragic.”

I cocked my head.

Mary nodded. “His grandfather fought in the Second World War. My mama used to say that kind of stuff changes a man. Then his youngest daughter died of cancer, and his son died in a car wreck. Left Anna—Henry’s mother—as an only child. Poor dear was just eight. Lot of pressure to put on one so young.”

“Right. Then Charlie’s wife died—Henry’s grandmother,” Beverly clarified. “Left Charlie alone raising Anna.” She chuffed. “Then that no-good salesman came to town. Got Anna knocked up. Charlie insisted they marry, but the asshole abandoned her and Henry when the boy was, what, four?”

“Language,” Mary tisked.

Beverly rolled her eyes. “I don’t see any kids around here. Anyway, children are exposed to way worse than that before they’re knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“Still.” Mary’s brown eyes narrowed. “You promised.”

Beverly laid a hand on her friend’s arm. Then stroked it up and down.

Ah. Like that, is it? Well, good for them.

“Henry’s father?”

Mary scowled. “Moved to Vancouver with some hussy. They had a parcel of kids, but I don’t reckon the asshole ever gave Henry the time of day.”