I sigh. Maybe Hank’s right. Maybe I have absolutely no chance with Blake, and the sooner I get over this crush the better. Damn that Blake and his irresistible personality, body, face, voice, smile…
***
After lunch, the sky begins to darken, and I can just barely hear some far away rumblings of thunder. No, no, no! No rain during fair week! It just can’t! The county fair is the highlight of the summer social season in Liberty, such as it is. Everyone goes to the fair, both to be seen and to see everyone they ever knew. Rain really puts a damper on attendance and everyone’s spirits, not to mention costing the vendors (like the paper) traffic at their booths.
“Oh, great. Our tent is going to be demolished after this downpour,” I say grumpily to Julia as I watch the rain pounding against the window.
“Did anyone bother to fix it after it broke last year?” she asks.
“Well, sort of. There was not really a lot we could do when the frame bent under the weight of the water that pooled on the top, so it’s probably just going to happen all over again this year.”
“Weren’t you the one who got that water dumped on her head last year?”
“Yes,” I pout. “Last year I was trying to help steady the tent and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was soaking wet the rest of the night.”
“Rain also means parking will be a nightmare. Your little Prius will never make it through those muddy fields,” Julia warns.
Our fairgrounds are lovely. Rolling green fields, trees, and even a little pond create a quaint backdrop for the fair. All of the buildings and barns are painted hunter green and white to blend in with the natural beauty of the property. During the fair the fields are used as parking areas, but if it rains you have to have some serious four-wheel drive to get in and out.
“You’re right. I’ll see if Hannah can drive tonight.”
“So are we downwind of the barn like we were last year? I could barely stand the stink!” Julia wrinkles her nose at the memory.
“City girl,” I tease. “No, I think we’re farther from the barn and closer to the midway this year. And, if I’m lucky, closer to the deep fried pickles. Yummy!”
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time Hannah and I arrive at the fair, Blake is already there and is getting the last of the water off the roof of our tent. Of course he doesn’t have a drop on him—does he EVER get even a hair out of place?!? I can see that the frame has broken in a different place than last year.
“Looks like I’m going to have to do some repair work tonight,” Blake observes. “I’m going to go poke around for something I can use to reinforce the broken piece.”
Hannah and I start to work on wiping down the tables and getting out our materials. The Chronicle employees working the booth are supposed to sell subscriptions by being charming and hard-selling, and if that doesn’t work we have all kinds of giveaways to entice people. Special fair publications, this week’s editions of our paper, pens, refrigerator magnets, frisbees for the kids, and coupons for discounted subscription prices are just a few of the tricks up our sleeves to get people to sign up for new subscriptions. And, of course, there’s our incentive of Mr. Mason’s gift card for the one lucky employee who sells the most. I can’t think of anything more uncomfortable than going to lunch alone with him. Ewww.
Once we’ve finished setting out our freebies, Hannah and I are both absolutely drenched in sweat. It’s ninety-five degrees with eighty percent humidity, which makes it feel well over a hundred, even in the shade. I’m miserable already and we’ve only been here ten minutes! Blake returns with a broken mop handle he found in the exhibit building, and I notice that he is just now taking his sport coat off and rolling up his long sleeves. What the…? I’m here sweating like a pig in a sleeveless shirt and short skirt and HE is standing next to me in a suit with not even a bead of sweat anywhere. I’m beginning to think he’s part god or something—maybe a lesser-known kid brother of Adonis? It takes an incredible amount of willpower for me to not gawk and drool over the fact that his biceps are straining against his shirt as he reaches up to bind the mop handle to the broken tent frame.
“That should do it, at least for tonight,” he says as the tent starts blowing precariously in the wind.
Now that everything in our booth is fixed and in its place, we all sit down and get ready for our customers. I find it odd that neither Hannah nor Blake is talking. Usually they’re both quite talkative, but I guess I’ve rarely seen them talk to each other. I wonder if Hannah is still upset over losing the big article to Blake last week. Surely that’s not the reason she’s not talking to Blake. She’s not petty like that.
Since I have nothing else to do for the moment, it’s time for one of my favorite fair pastimes—people-watching. Despite the heat, there are tons of people milling around. The teenagers are out in force, especially since it’s hog wrestling night. The girls are decked out for some serious hog wrestling in their matching homemade puffy-painted T-shirts. They’ve even duct-taped their shoes to their legs so they don’t lose them in the ten inches of mud they’ll be playing in. Some of the boys, on the other hand, have taken their team uniforms a step too far. Sure, they have the duct-taped shoes, but they’re completing their ensembles with athletic shorts turned over one too many times at the waistband, creating the possibility of man-cheek if they were to bend over even a little. Couple that with shirts that have been cut off to show their abs (some six-packs and some the victims of six-packs) and you’ve got some boys who are shamelessly comfortable with their feminine side. Besides the teenagers, my other favorite demographic to watch is the carnies, although, to my disappointment, in the past few years the carnies have been forced to become mainstream, and consequently not nearly as interesting. Now they all wear matching polo shirts and clean jeans (no holes). Where are the dirty wife-beaters, cut-off jeans, and trucker caps of my childhood carnies? They aren’t even allowed to chain smoke anymore while they run the rides. Corporate America strikes again—even the carnies are working for The Man.
I realize that I’ve been verbalizing my thoughts on the fairgoers aloud for a while now and have still not heard a word from either Hannah or Blake. What’s up with them? I’ve been waiting and waiting for someone besides me to start a conversation, but nothing happens. This is officially no fun, and I need a break from Moody and Moodier here. I hop up and announce I’m going to get something to eat, and I get only a nod from both of my co-workers.
I take off in search of my deep fried pickles and find them over by the grandstand. I have to wait in line a whole ten minutes, but it’s totally worth it when I put that first bite of batter-dipped goodness in my mouth. It goes to show that you can deep fry just about anything.
As I’m walking back to our tent with my steaming hot fried pickles in hand, I can see Blake and Hannah talking to each other. Finally! Maybe it won’t be so tense for the rest of the night now that they’re speaking. No, wait. They’re both scowling at each other and using jerky hand gestures. They’re not talking—they’re arguing! I wonder what about? You know, if I’m going to have to sit with them the rest of the night, I at least need to know why there’s so much tension between them. Maybe I’ll just take a little detour through the exhibit building and come out on the back side of our tent. A little innocent eavesdropping never hurt anybody. Besides, if I go back and interrupt them now, they’ll just stop in the middle of their argument and won’t resolve anything. I’ll be doing them a favor!
“I just don’t see the need for you to keep bringing this up,” I hear Hannah say. “Things happened, it’s done with, and I don’t think we need to revisit it again.”
“Yes, but I think it’s affecting our work,” replies Blake.
“It’s not affecting my work,” Hannah points out.
“I just want to help you, Hannah.” Hey, he called her by her first name! This is getting good.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yes it is, and you know
it.”
“I don’t see how what happened between us has anything to do with what I’m going through now,” Hannah says, her voice sharp.
“It has everything to do with it.”
They continue their argument. I’m thoroughly confused by it, partially because this is the first conversation of any kind I’ve heard them have, but mostly because they’re being so vague. They probably are doing so on purpose, considering they’re arguing at the fair of all places, this week’s hub of town gossip. I’m so close to the tent that one false move would give up my position and necessitate an embarrassing explanation on my part. As I try to back away quietly, I stumble on an electrical cord going to one of the other vendors’ booths and spill half of my fried pickles on the ground. Damn! I spent five bucks on those! I guess that’s what I get for eavesdropping.
I hurry back around through the exhibit building, wondering which of the projects on display are the ones allegedly done by parents as opposed to their kids. I have to slow down as I near the booth so I don’t give the appearance of having run back, but I think my flushed, sweaty face may give me away.
“I’m back,” I say, making sure to announce my presence loudly.
Hannah and Blake both stop talking quickly, just like I expected they would.
“Lizzie! Is it that hot out there?” Hannah asks with a horrified expression on her face. “You look like you’re going to pass out!”
“Oh, you know me,” I reply, reaching for a good excuse. “Once I get hot it takes me a while to get cooled off.” At this, I see Blake raise an eyebrow but say nothing. That was an unfortunate turn of phrase, especially to use in front of a guy, especially one who is known for being kind of randy. “I mean, um, thank goodness our tent is the coolest place at the fair thanks to these two fans!” I plop down right in front of one of the fans and turn it up to high. I never know these days whether my hot flashes are caused by the unseasonably warm weather or the force of nature that is Blake Morgan. Either way, they’re hard to manage.
The evening drags on and on, with Hannah and Blake now not only just ignoring each other, but doing it with a tense anger that I’ve never seen out of either of them. They both have been alternating between staring stonily out into the crowd and hiding behind their newspapers, reading, or at least pretending to be. Every once in a while someone will come up to our table, and the two of them will snap out of it to give our sales pitch. We get a few takers on new subscriptions and a lot of takers on the freebies. Blake is in the lead with four new subscriptions, Hannah has one, and I have two. With all of the fun things to do at the fair, I’m not surprised that people aren’t terribly interested in hearing about the town newspaper.
I. Am. So. Bored. The silence is so deafening that it’s inexplicably drowning out all of the background noise of the fair. The talking and laughing fairgoers, the music and screaming from the rides, and the mooing cows and clucking chickens are all fading as my ears are assaulted by the oppressive, tense vacuum of quiet where I’m trapped. Thankfully, the Chronicle banner has begun to slip from where we had taped it to the front of our table. Finally, something to do! I jump up to fix it.
As I’m bending over, working to reaffix the sign, I feel a presence behind me. Before I can turn around, I feel a swift slap on my behind. Frozen to the spot, I startle and glance up, and the first thing I see is Blake’s horrified face. I flick my eyes toward Hannah, who seems more surprised than horrified, her mouth forming a little “O”. Then I hear it—the unmistakable chortling of idiots. I don’t even have to turn around to know which idiots are behind this.
I compose myself and take a breath before turning around. “You’re not allowed to do that anymore,” I warn, trying to keep my voice sounding steady and unfazed.
My ex, Lee, gazes down at me and slurs, “You know you liked it.”
His idiotic comment gets him another chuckle out of his three buddies standing behind him. This is not normally a “Lee” type of thing to do, but I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that he and his friends are drunk and being stupid. And, yes, I might have liked it once upon a time, but not so much now that we’re broken up. Don’t get me wrong—Lee is one fine-looking man, all tall, dark, and handsome, and totally ripped from working his construction job. He’s just not the man for me.
To my surprise, Blake says, “I think you guys need to move along.”
Wow. Is Blake defending my honor? How sweet. And sexy! Wait. I’d better stay composed here so I can effectively put Lee and his buddies in their place.
“Ooh,” says Jesse, Lee’s older brother. “Is that your new boyfriend, Liz?” He laughs and drunkenly high-fives his buddies on either side.
I ignore his question. “Oh, I know why you jackasses are more jackass-y than usual. It’s Drunken Ride Night, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” Lee says, swaying a little.
“Well, you idiots better get on the Zipper before your drunk wears off. It’s no fun unless somebody pukes, right?”
Jesse wags a finger at me. “She’s right. Let’s go, boys!”
Leaning toward me, Lee looks at me seriously and says quietly, “Good to see you, Lizzie.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t really know what to say. Our break-up was difficult on both of us, and Lee and I haven’t spoken much since then.
The four of them stumble off in the direction of the rides. Oh, boy. Somehow I have the feeling that this little scene is going to spark a conversation in this otherwise quiet evening. Unfortunately, it’s one of the few things I really don’t want to discuss with anyone, especially with Blake Morgan. Just this morning Hank was none-too-kindly pointing out how I’m too lowbrow for Blake, and if this exchange between me, my drunk ex, and his stupid hick friends isn’t proof of that, I don’t know what is. I sigh as I turn around, wondering just how mortified I’m going to be five minutes from now when I get done explaining this ridiculousness.
“Are you okay?” Blake asks, sounding concerned.
“What, me?” I try to act surprised that he would even ask. “Yeah, totally fine.” I nod my head, probably a little too much.
“Because if you’re upset, we can get security. If nothing else we can get them kicked out of here for public intoxication,” he presses. “Who comes to the fair drunk anyway?”
“It’s just a thing they do. Whoever pukes first has to pay for drinks the next time.”
“That’s stupid,” Blake says. You’re preaching to the choir, pal.
Yes, I know it may have looked bad from the outside, but that’s just how these guys are. And Blake is probably especially pissed since Jesse was making fun of him for standing up for me. Those guys are just good ol’ boys who never really matured since high school, even though most of them are pushing thirty. Any one of them would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, but they still find puking and inappropriate ass-slapping hilarious. So, now to close this subject with Blake, preferably without letting him know just how well I know these fools.
“I’ve known those guys forever. They’re harmless.” I dismiss it with a wave of my hand.
Blake eyes me suspiciously. “What did you mean when you said to the one guy, ‘You’re not allowed to do that anymore’?”
“I dated him for a while,” I explain simply, hoping that might satisfy him.
I didn’t count on Hannah jumping on the bandwagon, though, since she had been surprisingly quiet through all this. “A while?” she says. “You two were together for more than a while, Lizzie.”
“Look, whatever. I haven’t been violated. End of discussion,” I say firmly.
I see a look pass between Hannah and Blake, one of those “she’s wrong but we can’t do anything about it” looks, but neither of them presses me any more about it. I’m horribly mortified, just like I anticipated, plus I have a sinking feeling that at this point Blake would never be interested in me romantically. Now it’s my turn to bury my nose in the newspaper, pretending to read but instead focusing on not letting any
tears spill down my cheeks.
***
About halfway through our shift, Hannah stands up and says, “Since we’re not busy, I’m going to go over to the barn and see my niece’s rabbits. I promised I’d go and visit them tonight. I’ll be back.”
Ooh! Hannah’s gone, and I’m alone with Blake. Now, I shouldn’t get too excited. If things continue the way they have since he and Hannah had their argument, he probably won’t talk to me much. Hopefully he won’t bring up the whole Lee debacle, because I definitely don’t want to talk about that.
As soon as Hannah leaves, Blake turns to me. “Hart, how long have you known Hannah?”
Startled both by his directness and his sudden outburst, I stammer, “Um…About…about three years… I met her…um…when I started working at the Chronicle.” That was a simple question—could I have sounded more like an idiot? I guess I’m still embarrassed by my little scene from earlier. Settle, Lizzie!
“Have you ever met her husband?”
“Yeah, a few times, like at Christmas parties and stuff. Jed. He owns an accounting firm here in town. Nice guy.”
It's Just a Little Crush Page 5