Build Me Up (NaNoWriMo)

Day 13 (654 words)

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of cash at the moment,” he said after a few moments, when his grip on the steering wheel had relaxed.

“Your loss,” Kristen said easily and turned to glance out the window. “So, where do they get all the pies?” she asked after a few minutes of silence had passed.

“Sorry?”

“The pies. For the pie eating contest. Who bakes them all? Or do they have a pie baking contest first?”

“Mary Crenshaw and her group,” he answered. “They’re about six or seven women who meet twice a month for cooking and baking sessions.”

“Sounds… quaint.”

“Not your scene, huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” Kristen instinctively objected.

“What is your scene, then?”

“My ‘scene’? I think those are dolls or something. But if you’re asking what I like to do for fun on my spare time, then, no, it’s not baking or cooking. I prefer eating out.”

“What foods?”

“Most. I tend to stay away from carbs if I can help it, though. I think I’ve gone up a cup size just from being out of L.A. for two or three months.” Kristen glanced down at her buttoned-up chest. Yup, her bras were definitely starting to feel a bit tight these days…

“I…”

Ford’s uttered grunt made Kristen look over, only to see his jaw clenching and unclenching and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hard. She waited patiently for him to formulate himself.

“I thought that’s why women went to L.A. in the first place.”

It took Kristen a moment to figure out that a) he’d attempted to make a joke, and b) that he wasn’t shying away from the topic even though it clearly bothered him.

“Touché.” The least she could do was let him off the hook. “So, what’s the record for number of pies consumed?”

“Uh… I’m not sure. I haven’t followed the contest.”

“What? You have an annual pie eating contest and you’re not watching it with the rest of the town, foam fingers and all?”

“No foam fingers. And I’m usually busy working.”

“Working? Mr. I Stop Working At Five Sharp?”

“I man the booth for Mary while she judges the contest.”

“What booth?”

“The best pumpkins in Massachusetts,” he said and grinned. “Well, at least if you ask the Crenshaws.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Kristen smiled. “Mind if I stop by?”

“And miss the pie eating contest? I could never ask that of you.” He was teasing, but it was still sweet of him to say.

“Okay, I’ll stop by before or after, unless you’re doing something else then?”

“I usually help out with the hayride, but I should be around. Greenport is not exactly L.A.”

“Wow… stuffed animal keeper, guardian of pumpkins, and now assistant hayride driver, as well? Today’s just been a day of one surprise after the other.”

“Is your head spinning?”

“Like I just got off a merry-go-round,” Kristen smiled.

“We’ll have that at the Harvest Fest as well. Word of advice – don’t fill up on cotton candy before getting on it.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

“Well, here we are,” Ford said and put the car in park. “Have a good night, Kristen.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

It was like walking into a different world. The town had transformed overnight into a vibrant palette with people laughing and dogs barking. Warm cider was served from large barrels, and she could smell the cinnamon donuts a mile away.

As Kristen walked from booth to booth, exchanging pleasantries with the locals showing off their produce or crafts, she was aware that she couldn’t help searching the milling crowd for Ford’s face. Why was she so obsessed with him?

Okay, so they worked together, sometimes in pretty close proximity. Okay, so he had his funny moments in amongst the surly bits. And okay, he was pretty easy on the eyes. But even so. She wasn’t supposed to be looking for him in a crowd.