Page 26 of Midnight Lessons
“True,” she agrees.
“What are your plans for today?” I ask, changing the subject to something more positive.
“It’s Sunday, so I was hoping to spend it with you?” It comes out as a question, her expression uncertain.
I grin. “I was hoping that too. Fancy a visit to Midnight Falls flea market?”
Willow’s face lights up. “Treasure hunting?”
I nod. “Just like the old days.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and I can't help but grin.
“You know my eye for bargains is superior. I always find the best pieces,” she teases, her voice light and playful.
I chuckle. “Oh, I think we remember things very differently, Low. You seem to have forgotten that old record player I snagged for five bucks. You were so mad when I found it first.”
She rolls her eyes but laughs. “You got lucky. What about the vintage lamp I found for a dollar? You were the one pouting then.”
“Yeah, yeah. You got me that time,” I admit, leaning back in my chair.
Our easy banter is as natural as breathing. It feels good, this back and forth we’ve always had. Feels like home.
I smirk. “But today? Today’s my comeback.”
She bites her lip, holding back a smile. “We’ll see about that.”
The thrill of our old competition stirs. “Game on.”
A few hours later, we’re at an indoor flea market, dressed for the cold air that permeates the building that isn’t quite as “indoor” as it proclaims.
We stroll inside, the buzz of haggling and laughter filling the air instantly. Rows uponrows of stalls stretch before us, each a miniature world brimming with oddities and curiosities.
“Check this out,” Willow says, tugging me toward a stall draped in handmade scarves and knit hats. She picks up a scarf, its yarn dyed in a kaleidoscope of colors, and wraps it around her neck. “What do you think?”
“Brings out your eyes,” I say honestly.
Her smile tells me it was the right answer. “Put that charm to use and help me haggle,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” I reply, stepping up to barter with the vendor, a woman with silver bangles jingling on her wrists.
We barter back and forth, Willow’s laughter spurring me on until we walk away victorious, the scarf now hers at half the price.
A rubber chicken, of all things, catches Willow’s eye next. She can’t resist giving it a squeeze, and the absurd squawk bounces off the walls of the crowded flea market. Her face lights up with mischief, her green eyes sparkling with an invitation for mayhem.
“Go on, O. Give it a try,” she challenges, holding out the ridiculous toy.
“Seriously?” I snatch it from her hand and, in a moment of pure silliness, I give the chicken a hearty squeeze.
It emits a sound like a loud wet fart. It’s so unexpected and hilarious that we both double over with laughter. People nearby glance our way, and I catch someone shaking their head with a smile. Yeah, we’re those people right now.
“Okay, okay, you win. We’re getting this,” I concede, still chuckling.
Willow dances a little victory jig. “Of course we are,” she agrees, tucking the chicken under her arm like a prized possession. “This is going to look perfect in your kitchen.”
“Only if you come over to make it squawk every morning,” I bargain, and the warmth in her laugh tells me she might take me up on that offer.
She waggles her eyebrows. “Not before I’ve made you squawk.”