3. Piper

Piper

Guilt ate at me while I tried not to let my gaze drift to the booth right in front of mine.

Two days ago, Hugo had tried to extend an olive branch with my favorite drink, and I offended him. I didn’t mean to. I’d been sorta joking around, being too sassy for my own good and, well, he hadn’t even wanted me to touch him.

He really hated me. I was sure of it.

Thankfully, today was busier than the day before.

“Thank you for your business.” I smiled and waved goodbye at the couple who had just bought a blanket. I stood and stretched. My lower back screamed at me. It was tight from sitting on what felt like the world’s most uncomfortable chair. Like any time I had a moment to myself, even though I knew I shouldn’t, my eyes drifted over to the busy booth with the bright yellow- and deep black-striped décor.

Bees. It still didn’t make sense.

I mean, the guy was the definition of tall, dark, and rugged. I would have assumed Hugo was more of a guy who liked to work with engines than farming bees. But then again, you knew what happened when you assumed.

Maybe my people reader is off? I chewed on my bottom lip, and my eyes widened when our gazes connected. For a flash moment, like whenever we looked at one another over the last two days, I saw something that looked like heat and interest. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving me more than confused.

Today, though, instead of looking away, I mouthed hi with a dorky little wave. Something flashed in his eyes before he simply turned, ignoring me and the customer at his table.

Oh well, I tried, I thought to myself before taking a seat. The rest of the day flew by, and I couldn’t believe I sold out of all my beanies, including the ones in the questionable color choices I’d made. Not only that, but all my little amigurumis, crocheted figurines, in veggie and fruit shapes holding positive notes, along with a couple of bigger zoo animals and pink strawberry cows had been sold. I took out the little notebook I kept in the pocket of my cream-colored chunky knit cardigan and opened it to the open page to note down what I should pack up for the next day when I got home.

“Did you make that?” a deep voice asked. A deep voice that felt like a warm touch. I turned around to face a wide chest. My gaze roamed upward and connected with the deepest, most soulful eyes I had ever seen in my life.

Eyes I had a feeling had seen a lot of things. Good and bad. Why do I want to know all about them? I wondered quietly.

“Excuse me?” I asked, shaking my head, trying to focus on the man in front of me and snap out of the crazy thoughts that were floating in my head.

“Did you make that sweater?” Hugo asked again, pointing. I glanced down at it and felt my face heat as I glanced back up.

“Yes,” I answered. “But it’s not a sweater, it’s a cardigan,” I corrected and could have sworn his lips twitched.

“Cardigan. Like the song,” he noted.

“Song?”

“Taylor Swift.” My brows rose, and I pressed my lips together to stop myself from giggling.

“You listen to Taylor Swift?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged but didn’t look anywhere but me. “So… you made that.” He tugged at my cardi, and I nodded.

“I did.” I found myself whispering even though it wasn’t like there were a whole lot of people around. It was Sunday, and the market would be closed for a couple of days and reopen Wednesday.

“You don’t keep them in stock? I mean, you don’t sell them?” The smile and hope I had growing inside me started to wither away slowly. To be fair, I doubted he was asking for himself, which could only mean…

“Are you looking for one for your girlfriend?” I blurted but then made a face. “Or wife?” He shook his head, and I chewed on my bottom lip. “Is that because they’re not cardigan people?”

“It’s because I don’t have one. Of either,” he clarified, and just like that, a sliver of hope started to bubble back to life. Why, I had no idea. I was twenty-seven and anti-relationships. Not that he was asking for one. Or that he can even stand me. I winced at the thought.

“I was thinking about buying one for my sister. For Christmas.”

“You have a sister?” I repeated. His lips twitched, like he thought I was cute, or maybe that was hopeful thinking on my end?

“Yeah.” He pointed toward his booth. “That’s her stand. She has a bee farm about thirty minutes east from here,” he shared, and for some reason, what he was saying left me stunned. Stunned and hopeful when I really should know better.

“Your sister has a bee farm.” Jesus! Why was I repeating everything like a dang parrot?

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets, making my eyes dip to his biceps. Wow! The definition in the muscle made my hands itch to reach and touch him to see what they felt like. “She broke her arm in two spots and needed help for the holidays,” he started to explain. “She and her best friend run it, and they make all the stuff together.”

“Oh, wow, that’s really cool.” My lips quirked up softly.

“They had just decided to commit to two different markets this year. One here and the one out in Beech Grove. Merry something.”

“Merry Snowflakes Market,” I chimed in softly.

“Right. Well, my sister broke her arm and couldn’t get the fee refunded, so they needed someone to help pitch in.”

“Yeah, organizers are big on being non-refundable,” I shared, and his eyes softened. “So… you stepped in? That’s why you’re here?” I asked, trying not to be too nosy, but there was something about him that made me want to know as much as I could.

“That’s why I’m here,” he confirmed.

“That’s makes more sense,” I mumbled under my breath. “And it’s really sweet.” The sentiment tumbled past my lips. When I realized I’d complimented him, heat hit my face. “I just—“ The words died on my tongue. I blushed when he leaned in, dipping his ridiculously handsome face closer to mine.

“Don’t go tellin’ anyone I’m sweet, baby. It might ruin my rep.”

“Rep?” I repeated, my eyes laser-focused on his mouth. Why was his mouth so perfect? Pouty and full lips, almost so symmetrical, I couldn’t tell which was bigger, the bottom or the top.

“With my buddies,” he rumbled. His hand touched my arm. I could feel the heat of his touch seeping through the crocheted material of my cardigan, and I was tempted to take it off to feel him skin to skin. “I’ll never hear the end of working this place to start with.” His hand slipped from my arm down to my waist, and my breath hitched.

“This place?” I repeated, as my brain quickly recovered from whatever lust-filled haze he’d put me in. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I stood straighter.

“I just mean, this whole thing… let’s just say it’s not my usual spot to hang.”

“Spot to… Wait, what does that mean? There is nothing wrong with a craft market.” I had no idea why I felt defensive.

Liar, a voice whispered in my head. My parents had all but disowned me after I chose crafts over law.

“There isn’t but?—“

“What would you rather be doing?” I cut him off. “Hang out in some garage working with tools and cars?”

“Yes,” he answered keenly. “Bikes mostly.”

“Actually? I was being?—“

“Bratty?” he cut me off. Now my face really heated up, probably making me match the color of my hair. Why did I think Hugo calling me bratty was kinda hot? Suddenly, I liked the idea of him putting me over his lap and spanking me. I shivered and stepped back.

“Anyhow, umm, what kind of bikes? Five speeds? Mountain or––“

“Harleys,” he cut in, and I could tell he was having a tough time not smiling. Instead, those dark, beautiful eyes of his seemed to do it for him. It was crazy captivating. “Yamahas. Indians,” he added. Motorcycles. That really made sense! He had an air of bad boy to him.

“Of course.” My eyes fluttered shut, and I wished a huge black hole would suck me up. “Well… that’s cool. I’m sorry about your sister. I hope she feels better soon.”

“Thanks.” He gifted me a soft smile and stepped forward. “Now you’re the one being sweet,” he complimented. I really had to get away from him before I did something stupid, like roll up on the tips of my toes and kiss him.

“Umm…” I stepped back from his touch completely. And I hated it. “I don’t usually sell cardigans,” I started to explain. “It’s too hard to keep a variety of sizes in stock, but…” I walked around the table. Every step away from him felt wrong. I opened one of my stock bins and dug around.

“Here it is!” I pulled out the yellow- and black-striped cardigan. “Maybe this is something she would like?” I handed it to him.

When our fingers brushed, I felt my body react. His eyes dipped down to my front, but I didn’t dare look down. I didn’t need to confirm that my nipples were pebbled and standing at attention against the white shirt I had stupidly worn today. His gaze eyes dipped lower, and I was almost positive they darkened. They roamed up, and I swore I felt his gaze leave a trail of heat on my suddenly overly sensitive skin before they met mine.

“What do you think?” I asked breathily.

“Looks great.” His voice sounded scratchy. I bit the inside of my cheek. Is he talking about the cardigan or my tits? He frowned and ran his fingers through his wavy milk chocolate hair. “I mean, I’ll buy it.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh!” For some reason, I hated the disappointment he had been talking about the sweater and not me. Before I could think about what to say, the gorgeous vendor next to his called his name.

“Hugo!” Her bright red-lipped smile shined in our direction, and just like that, his attention on me was gone. “Could you help me?” She pointed at one of the many fake Christmas trees she had surrounding her Christmas ornament stand.

“Sure,” he called and turned toward me. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and for some reason, no matter how hard I tried not to hear it, it sounded like a promise.

“Right,” I whispered. I felt like a nerd while I stood where he left me. I watched him talk to the tall, lithe blonde who walked around in heels like she was barefoot.

I really thought I could avoid whatever I had been fighting to feel since I had laid eyes on the big, bad, older, grouchy-looking biker. I’d felt excitement inside of me when we met. Something familiar but new. Something I had no idea how to describe.

But it didn’t matter.

I had been wrong.

There was no way I could feel what I felt when it was obvious he wasn’t interested in me. Not when he talked and laughed so easily with his booth mate, Nicole of Nicole’s Ornaments.

I was obviously not his type. I shouldn’t have been disappointed. I wasn’t anyone’s type. When I was, I wasn’t their type for long.