Fakers (Licking Thicket 1)

“Oh my God, are you okay? Oh you poor thing!” Ava scurried over to help Paul which included brushing debris off his front, which only served to mortify him more.

“No, no. I’m okay! I swear!”

And he was, if by “okay” he meant sporting an Ava boner. I glanced at Brooks with a raised eyebrow. “Your boyfriend—”

“Don’t say it,” he growled, barely suppressing a grin.

“I think he might be bisexual,” I whispered.

“Shut up,” he said with a laugh.

I left the three of them and made my way over to my vendor booth before opening it up and adding the two new pieces I’d made in Mr. Ivey’s workshop last night. Ava had fallen asleep right after dinner, and I’d spent the next several hours enjoying the quiet solitude of work with nothing but Mr. Ivey’s tools and my own music blasting through headphones.

There were obviously more people here than yesterday, and the excitement was palpable. Crafters and artists were putting the final touches on their displays while the food booths began setting out incredible-smelling treats on their tables. After a few minutes, Brooks’s voice came over the speakers set all around the town square.

“Welcome to the Lickin’ Artists’ Fair,” he said. I could just see a sliver of him standing on a stage at the center of the booths. “If you’re feeling peckish, remember there’s a whole host of food trucks with offerings from our local restaurants, including Miss Susie Dupree’s Deluxe Barbecue, home of Dupree’s Deluxe Dipping Sauce. Miss Susie has graciously sponsored the Lickin’ for thirty-three years now, and we thank her for her generous contribution.” It sounded like he was reading off a paper, and I chuckled at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

He sounded much more sincere when he continued. “Be sure to pick up a map from one of our volunteers so you can find your way through all of the incredible offerings we have here today. You’ll enjoy everything from Minerva Warren’s colorful hand-knit sweaters to Jayden Polk’s delicious salted-caramel ice cream to Mal Forrester’s unique found-object sculptures to Kevin Lee’s handmade dollhouses and Sam Trammel’s meat pies. Today is the only day to grab the best these artisans have to offer, so don’t let those special items pass you by. As my mama would say, don’t forget Christmas is just around the corner and Aunt Brenda isn’t easy to buy for.”

The people around me chuckled, and I realized that they probably knew Brooks’s Aunt Brenda personally.

My gut felt warmed by his kind words. There had to be over a hundred vendor booths set up around the square, most of which were probably local Thicket businesses, but he’d mentioned mine by name. It was sweet of him, but not nearly as sweet as what he proceeded to do on and off throughout the fair.

“Dr. Dalton, come over and see these,” Brooks said while I was finishing up a sale to a young mother. He led an older white-haired man over to the booth and pointed to one of the sculptures on the display wall behind me. “Mal here makes animals and whatnot from items in the junkyard. Isn’t this amazing? This Shakespeare quote is made out of—”

“Well, look at that,” the older man said with a grin, squinting at the sculpture. “Old typewriter keys. And… are those vintage dental tools in this piece here? Where in the world did you find those?”

Brooks sounded pleased. “That’s the one that made me think of you. Isn’t it amazing?”

“I’ll be damned,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s a crocodile. Made from extraction forceps.”

I finished saying goodbye to the customer and turned toward the doctor. “I accidentally ended up with a box of old dental tools when I bought a junk lot at an auction. My friend Ava had the idea for making a toothy croc out of it.”

I wondered if this was the doctor Ava had told me about, the one who might be interested in my reef sculpture for the clinic. But before I could ask, Brooks winked at me and said, “Dr. Dalton is our dentist here in the Thicket.”

It wasn’t lost on me that Brooks was claiming ownership of the Thicket, something he hadn’t done much of so far this week.

“Oh, right,” I said, stepping over to pick up another piece from the table and hold it out to Dr. Dalton. “You might like this one too. It’s a soap box derby car. These side-view mirrors are mouth mirrors from that same lot of tools.”

He took the car gently from my hand to examine it more closely. “So clever. However did you think of all this?” As he continued to exclaim about the various elements of the little car, Brooks pulled me away to ask if I needed anything.

“Cold drink? Or a snack? Are you hungry? I can—”