Boys Like You

“What do you care,” I muttered before running out to meet Gram.

A half an hour later, she pulled up to the old fairgrounds. There were several smaller buildings scattered around an area as big as a football field. But the largest one was where all the local farmers gathered every Friday to sell their fresh fruit, produce, and pretty much anything else you wanted.

That’s the thing about these southern folks. They sure liked to buy and sell, and they sure liked to gossip.

I followed Gram inside where the air was cooler in the shade, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. The building was filled with all sorts of vendors and—I sniffed—probably livestock somewhere.

“I’m going to have a look at the produce, Monroe. Can you take this bag and grab some peaches and whatever else you want?” She nodded to the aisle across from me and handed me some cash.

I headed down the aisle, sidestepping more than a few people who weren’t paying attention. One lady backed into me, her elbow hitting me in the chest, and she turned around as if it was my fault.

“Watch where you’re going,” she said in a huff.

Rolling my eyes, I moved past her, searching for the booth that sold peaches. I figured the sooner I found what Gram wanted, the sooner we could head back to the plantation and I could get ready for an exciting afternoon of nothing.

I’d just spotted the peaches when someone grabbed my arm.

“Hey, Monroe, right?”

It was Brent. Nate’s buddy.

His voice was as warm as his eyes, and I nodded, smiling. “Hey.”

He waved to someone behind me, his smile still in place. “Seen Nate lately?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since Monday.”

He frowned. “I thought he was working out at your grandmother’s.”

“He is, but I…we just…” God, I sounded like an idiot, and the longer I stumbled over my words, the wider Brent’s smile became.

“You guys have a fight?”

“What? No.” I took a moment. Gathered my thoughts. “We’re not even friends really, so…”

Brent snorted and leaned close. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, changing the subject. Deflecting like I always did.

He held up a few bags. “Running errands for my mom. You?”

“Same. I need some peaches for my gram.”

I moved toward the booth, aware that Brent followed, and when I paid for the peaches, he grabbed my bag. “I’ll help you with this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, Sugar, but us good old southern boys are all about helping when we can.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s not as if I had a lot of practice making small talk with boys. In fact, I had zero practice.

“What do you want?” I asked abruptly, coming to a full stop and wincing because I knew I sounded like a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so…I just…” I sighed. “I don’t know what I mean.”

And I didn’t. What was wrong with me?

“Don’t worry about it.” He laughed. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re different from most girls around here.”

“There’s not much to figure out,” I retorted. Different? What the hell did that mean?