CHAPTER FOUR
“Are you kidding me?” I ask as we make our way into the fairground parking lot. “Magnolias and Moonshine Fair? This sounds fun.”
“I hope so.”
I let him pay the parking and our way in. He seems to have money. He’s probably a saver. One of those prepared people. But that may be prepared for the tangible things. I don’t think he was prepared for his lack of passion or his firing.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Hey, this was your idea. I’m going to be a good follower.”
He looks around. “The smell of the food here is a bit better than at my mom’s house earlier. I’m hungry. Let’s start there.”
“Fine by me. As long as you aren’t the hurling type if we go on the rides.”
“No, I’m not. You?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been at a fair, but I think you’re safe.”
We work our way through the throngs of people. This place is crowded for a Monday night, but it is the summer and folks just want to be outside. That and the fact that’s it’s not burning hot out.
We find our way to the food area. Apparently, so do half the other fairgoers. Lines are long for each vendor.
“Look.” Grant points to the left. “Turkey legs. A must have.”
“Sure.”
We stand in line, the conversation din around us hovering. Music is also playing from somewhere not far off, the song unrecognizable from where I’m standing, but the beat is good. Grant orders when it’s our turn and hands me a steaming, hot turkey leg.
“Thanks,” I say as we walk away.
“This is delicious. Savor every bite.” Grant smiles then takes another bite. “What next? Fried corn? Or fried Oreos?”
I shake my head. “I can’t fathom fried Oreos. But look, there’s cotton candy.”
This time he shakes his head. “Uh, no. Cotton candy is pure sugar.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll share cotton candy with you if you share a fried Oreo with me.”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What is wrong with you eating your Oreo and me eating cotton candy?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“It’s all used up trying to find a caterer.”
I regret my remark as soon as I say it. The sense of relaxation that was in Grant disappears as an edge of hardness comes across his face.
“I’m sorry. We’re here to forget about all that.”
He tosses his turkey leg into a trash can. “I don’t think you understand that I can’t forget about it. Just trying to push it back for a while is hard enough.”
“I know. Me, too. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain. Again, I’m sorry.”
He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. One that breaks my heart. “Don’t ever apologize for telling the truth, Eden.”
We walk in silence. He stops at the cotton candy vendor. “One cotton candy.”
“What flavor?”
Grant turn to me. “Which one? Pink, blue?”
“Pink of course.”
Grant exchanges money for the pink puff in the plastic bag.
“Here’s your bag of sugar,” he says, handing me the bag.
“We’re going to share, right? And hey, where’s your Oreo?”
“We’ll get that later. Let’s head to the music. Speaking of music, what kind of music are you having at the party?”
“I’ve hired a jazz band.”
We head the way the music is calling us. At one point we have to maneuver around a crowd. One guy in the group started pushing another guy, and he pushed him into me. I start to fall, but Grant catches me, cotton candy bag and all.
“Hey,” Grant says, looking at the big guy wearing a Georgia Bulldog T-shirt. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“Sorry, dude. Just messing around with my friend here. You okay?” he asks looking at me.
“I’m fine.” Except for the feel of Grant’s arms around me. He still has his arm over my shoulder like I need steadying.
And I did need steadying.
But not from the fall. From his touch.
“’K. Again, sorry.”
The group starts walking in the opposite direction of us, but Grant keeps his arm around me. I don’t say anything. It feels natural in a way.
As we approach the area where the stage is, I look at my cotton candy which looks like my brain feels. Squished. Like it’s trying to cram a bunch of stuff into a small area.
“Wanna try some?” I slip out of his grasp and hold up the bag, eager to let my mind think of other things. I open the bag, the sugary scent filling my senses. “Ooh. This is going to be great.” I pull some sticky sweetness out of the bag and pop it into my mouth. The sugary mess melts and makes me smile. “Come on. It’ll be good for you.”
I grab some more intending to hand it to Grant, but my fingers had other ideas as I find myself holding it in front of his mouth. “Open.”
To my surprise he does, and I gently put the cotton candy in his mouth. He shuts his mouth and I look away.
What am I doing?
“Better than I remembered.”
His voice sounds wistful and I look at him. “Not bad, huh?”
“It’s not something I would want an abundance of, but yeah, it’s okay.”
“Well, here’s some more.”
I feed him another bite of the delicious goo and in about ten minutes the bag is empty. “That’s a sugar rush I’m sure I don’t need,” I say.
“I’m in agreement. But sometimes things we don’t need are good for us.”
People around us start clapping as the band finishes a song. I clap along with the crowd, even though I’m more focused on Grant than the band.
I can’t erase the feel of his arm around me. His face as I made that crazy remark earlier. I’m not sure why he’s affecting me so much.
He’s just Grant.
Sonya’s son.
Who lives in New York City.
Who’s unemployed and without passion.
Yet, I’m drawn to him.
The band starts playing a popular love song.
His arm slips around me again, and I nestle into him.
The crowd grows as this is a song most people are familiar with. For a few minutes I can forget my troubles.
And for that I’m thankful to Grant.
I also have to admit I like the feel of his arm around me. Like we’re a team.
Like we’re together.
It feels good not to feel alone.
The song ends, the crowd claps. Except Grant. He keeps his arm draped across my shoulder. For a moment we can pretend, I guess.
The band announces they are taking a break and the crowd starts to disperse.
“So, how do you like the fair so far?” Grant asks.
“At this moment I’m liking it.”
He gently squeezes my shoulder. I look up at him.
Mistake.
Or maybe not.
Our gazes meet and nothing else logically can happen except a kiss.
His lips are soft. His kiss is warm.
I turn into him, my arms snaking around his waist, letting him know I belong here. The weight of my troubles drifts away as his kiss deepens.
Grant may not be able to cook right now, but he can kiss.
Our lips part. “Eden. I don’t know. . .”
I put my finger on his lips. “We don’t need to know. Not now. Not tonight.” Pulling my finger away I lean forward into another amazing kiss.
A kiss that blows away the one on the playground years ago.
The next morning I still feel the press of Grant’s lips on mine. I would say that they still tingle, but that only happens in novels and movies. I’ll take the memory of last night. We didn’t say much on the way home. He kissed me again before I got in my car, like a date would.
But I’m not sure we were on a date.
It was more like a let’s-forget-the-real-world interlude. And his kiss certainly made that happen. Because kissing Grant isn’t real world.
Having no food for a party is real world.
Grant losing his job is real world.
I pull my hair into a ponytail, ready to tackle the day. I have to figure this food thing out. Every time I think about it I become flushed and hot. Nervous is not a strong enough word. I know Grant wants to help, and it might be good medicine for him, but I need food that people will eat.
Not food that is destined for the garbage disposal.
I promised to go over this afternoon for another trial run. Today is Tuesday. He said he’d have it figured out by now. I want to be hopeful, but everything is pointing the opposite direction.
I spend the next two hours scouring the local catering services.
Again.
I actually set up two appointments for tomorrow, although I did that just to make me feel better. I will still have to borrow money if I hire a caterer.
At two o’clock I arrive at Sonya’s like I promised Grant I would. I brace my nose for a decent smell as I walk into the house.
And it does smell good.
Smells familiar.
Smells appetizing.
Smiling I make my way toward the kitchen. “Knock, knock. I’m here.”
Walking into the kitchen I find Grant at the stove. The back door is open slightly, and I see smoke coming from the grill.
He turns. “Hi. I think I’ve hit on something. Look.”
He motions to the counters which are filled with silver trays. I walk over. One tray is filled with hot dogs, another with hamburgers. The next tray boasts chicken legs, the one next to that french fries. “What is this?”
“Fair food. And it’s good. Have a dog.” He pulls a bun out from a plastic bag next to the stove and tosses it to me.
“A hot dog? What has gotten into you? I know we had a great time last night, but I’m not sure how this food fits into my picture.”
“I thought we could do this for your parents’ party. Cool, huh?”
I make a fist, squishing the bun. “No. Not cool. I’m having a swanky party. At the club. With a band and champagne. And class. Not hotdogs.”
His eyes widen and my heart hurts, until I follow his gaze. The grill has flames shooting from it. He rushes outside and grabs a glass of water sitting on the table and douses the flames with water.
As he saves the burgers, I take a good look around the kitchen. There’s a note hanging on the refrigerator that says ‘Cotton Candy Machine for Rent’ and a phone number. Has Grant lost his mind?
The only obvious answer I can come up with is yes. He has lost his mind.
I throw away the squished bun and wash my sticky hands in the sink. Grant comes back into the kitchen carrying a tray of hamburgers. “I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “I’ve got quite a variety of food here. All edible I believe.”
“What is this?” I ask pointing to the cotton candy note.
“I thought about renting a cotton candy machine if you were interested. But after your speech, I would say you aren’t interested.”
I call on all the kind words that are in my repertoire. “I can’t change the theme this far in. The tables will be set with china and crystal. There will be a jazz band. Ladies will be wearing cocktail dresses, not overalls. You do fine dining for a living. I don’t need to explain the atmosphere to you.”
Grant squeezes the tray he’s carrying into a space on the counter. He walks over to me and I remember our kiss.
Like I forgot.
But he’s not approaching me for a kiss.
“I had such a good time last night. I think I was trying to create that again. You are absolutely right about your party. This wouldn’t work at all.”
Relief that he understands flows through me.
But my heart is sad that he still hasn’t shown me a meal for the dinner. I look around him. “Why did you make all this food? Even if it was right for the party, we couldn’t save it. You have enough here to feed many people.”
He nods. “I thought we could take what we don’t eat to the shelter downtown. You know the one that houses the homeless men. They would love this, I’m sure.”
And now my heart hurts again. Hurts because Grant has such a big heart. And I think my actions are going to break it.
Well, maybe not break. I may be giving myself too much credit. But if he finds out I’m checking out other caterers, I’m sure it will have an effect on him.
It’s had an effect on me.
He places his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s eat, then take the food. Mom already ate. Some ladies from the church brought a couple of casseroles.”
Before I can answer he leans in, kissing me full on the mouth.
I practically moan at the unexpected kiss but manage to keep silent.
“Grant! Eden? What’s going on?”
He steps back, our kiss breaking at a very untimely moment. “Mom?”
“I asked what is going on? Why are you kissing Eden? Aren’t you practically engaged to Peony?”
I close my eyes, thankful the shelter won’t mind if they have to heat up the food.