Page 4 of Kissing Nick
I open up the last box of pottery for today and Nick comes over to help me unpack it. The pieces in this box are some of my favorites. I remember I was justsoin the zone when I was making them, like my hands were creating the pieces of pottery without me even having to think about it.
“These ones are really nice,” says Nick, holding a small bowl up in the air.
Did he actually just say somethingniceto me? My chest warms at his compliment. “Thanks, Nick.”
“If there are any left after the weekend, I’ll buy one from you.”
His comment surprises me. And it doesn’t seem like he’s just saying it to be nice. When I look up into his face, I can tell that he genuinely means it.
Huh. Okay. That’s interesting.
We finish putting the final touches on my booth just as the market officially opens. As people start to filter into the market, Nick steps behind the table beside me.
“Guess you should have briefed me about what to say to customers, huh?” he says, leaning toward me. His breath is warm on my ear and I feel a tiny, unexpected shiver run through me.
“If anyone asks you questions, just refer them to me,” I say. “Tell them you’re my assistant or something.”
“Gotcha,” says Nick.
The first few people who walk past my booth hardly give it a glance, and I feel my stomach drop at their lack of interest. But I remind myself that one person’s lack of interest doesn’t speak for everyone. I keep a smile on my face and stay patient.
Sure enough, as the market crowd grows in size, people start to stop by and shop at my booth. The first person to purchase something is a sweet elderly woman who buys three pieces of pottery.
“Christmas gifts for my friends,” she says with a smile, and she’s so adorable, I just want to give her a big hug.
That first sale seems to encourage more. Soon, there’s a steady stream of people making purchases from me. And as my inventory begins to disappear, Nick pulls more out of the boxes under our table and replenishes the shelves while I stay busy chatting with customers and ringing them up.
Nick was the last person I ever expected to be a good partner for something like this…and yet here we are, working in perfect sync.
I continue to make steady sales for the rest of the morning. All around us, the market is vibrant and festive; there’s even live Christmas music being played by a small band. And the smells of the food stalls are absolutely tantalizing—I keep picking up whiffs of cinnamon, oranges, cloves, and roasted chestnuts.
When there’s finally a little lull in the early afternoon, I decide I need to take advantage of it and fill up my poor growling stomach. I look over at Nick and ask him if he’s okay watching the booth while I go grab some food.
“I can get us something to eat,” he says. “You should take a break, Holly. Relax.”
Once again, his kindness surprises me. I happily take him up on his offer. I tell him what I’m craving, and he heads off toward the food stalls. Meanwhile, I sit down on the stool behind my table, letting my aching feet rest for a while.
Nick comes back a few minutes later with scrumptious-looking food for both of us…and cups of steaming hot cocoa, too.
But the thing thatreallygrabs my attention is the Santa hat that’s now on his head. I laugh as I take the food from him. “Thanks, Santa.”
“Yeah, some lady handing them out practically shoved it on my head,” he says with a bit of a grumble.
I take a sip of the hot cocoa and can’t help but let out a satisfied moan. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m super hungry or what, but it’s the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had.
Nick and I sit and enjoy our food. And, amazingly, Nick and I actually get to talking. It’s not like we’re talking about anything that important, it’s just small talk, stuff about his job and the holidays and our predictions about when it’s going to snow. But it’s nice. It’s comfortable.
I’m even feeling comfortable enough with him now that I feel like I can say the thing I really want to say to him.
“Can I ask you something, Nick?” I say, crumpling up my napkin as I finish my lunch.
“Sure,” he says.
“Why have you always ignored me?”
He freezes, caught off guard by my question. Obviously buying himself time, he shoves the last bite of his lunch into his mouth and slowly chews. His eyes are suddenly avoiding mine again.
Shit. I hope I didn’t just undo the progress we’ve made.