Page 2 of Surrendering to the Grump

"No, they appeared by magic."

She laughs. Full bodied, head back, the sound bouncing off my ceiling beams and filling up corners of this shop that have been silent for months.

"Okay, Mr. Magic." She turns those brown eyes on me and something behind my sternum does a thing I'm going to aggressively ignore. "I'm Kennedy Brooks. I teach third grade at Maple Lane Elementary and I'm coordinating volunteers for the Fall Fest. Lisa LeBlanc sent me."

Of course she did.

"Not interested."

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask."

"Doesn't matter. Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

Kennedy sets the Pistachio Sweets bag on my workbench. Close enough that the smell of warm sugar and fried dough hits me square in the face. Apple cider donuts. The good ones. The ones with the cinnamon sugar crust that Pistachio Sweets only makes in October.

She catches me looking at the bag.

"Those are for you. Regardless of your answer."

"My answer is no."

"You haven't heard the question."

This woman. "Fine. Ask."

She opens the clipboard with what I can only describe as professional enthusiasm. "The Fall Fest is this weekend. Friday through Sunday. We're expecting more foot traffic this year because the corn maze got a write up in Chicago Monthly, and we need overflow parking. Your lot out front has space for about forty cars if we angle them right, and it's close enough to the festival grounds that people won't have to walk too far."

"No."

"You'd just need to leave the lot open from noon Friday through Sunday evening. We'll handle the traffic cones, the signage, everything. You wouldn't have to do a single thing except not park your truck sideways across the entrance."

She says that last part with the kind of smile that tells me she already knows I park my truck sideways across the entrance on purpose.

"Still no."

Kennedy doesn't flinch. Doesn't look disappointed. Doesn't try guilt or the thing where people in this town tell me it would be good for me to "get involved."

She just nods, clicks her pen, and tucks the clipboard under her arm.

"Okay. Well, the donuts are still yours. Lina told me you take your coffee black with two sugars, so I figured you were a donut man."

"Lina talks too much."

"Lina talks the exact right amount. She also said you brought her a hand carved spice rack for her birthday and made her promise not to tell anyone." Kennedy tilts her head. Those earrings catch the light and swing against her jaw. "Secret nice guy. Noted."

"I'm not a nice guy."

"Sure you're not." She's already walking toward the door, unbothered. Completely unbothered. Most people leave my shop looking like they survived something. This woman looks like she just had a pleasant afternoon stroll through a furniture museum. "I'll be back tomorrow with a different pitch and a different pastry. Just so you're prepared."

"Don't bother."

She opens the door and that autumn air swirls in again, catching the hem of her dress and the edges of her hair. She turns back and the smile she gives me is different from the one she walked in with. Warmer. Like she just figured something out about me that I didn't authorize.

"You should eat those while they're warm. The crust gets sad when it cools."

The door closes behind her.

The shop goes quiet again but it's a different quiet now. The kind that has a shape to it. Like something was just here and left a space behind.