Tasted

THERE'S A LOT OF MAGIC BETWEEN YOU TWO, AIN'T NO DENYING THAT. AND MAGIC MAKES FORGETTIN' HARD - NICHOLAS SPARKS, THE BEST OF ME.

I woke up at ten the next morning, which was bad considering that I had no plans for the day. I got up, showered, ate some buttered toast then made a quick call to the local mechanic. She'd collected my truck earlier in the morning and was working on it at the moment. She'd call when she was finished, which I was okay with. Wasn't as if I was leaving town anyway.

Around noon, I decided to get out the house. I vaguely recalled Gabe mentioning that there was going to be a farmers market in town today. I might as well check it out. Maybe I'd buy something nice, or maybe I'd catch a glimpse of Josh . . .

The thought got me tingling and remembering last night, remembering the feel of him when I'd had my arms around him. He'd felt warm and safe and right. And he had smelled so nice . . . Wait. STOP IT, MORGAN. YOU CANNOT BE CRUSHING ON THIS GUY. IT IS INCREDIBLY LIKELY YOU WON'T SEE HIM AGAIN, AND BESIDES HE PROBABLY DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER YOU. And why should he? Wasn't as if I was anything special. Sure, the way we met was a little strange, but come on! Totally common and he'd probably thought I was a ditz or something.

Front Street was bustling with people, mostly tourists out to spend a pretty penny. I saw a few locals spattered about and waved. Along the harbor there was indeed a farmers market - one long line made up of a variety of stalls. I walking along the row, hands resting in my back pockets, eyeing all the different stalls curiously.

Having been to a few farmer's markets before, I'd figured out that the stalls were more often than not separated into sections. At the beginning, the stalls were mostly for little kids - selling cheap toys, those giant glittery cowboy hats that no one likes and so-fake Princess jewelry. Then there was a fortune teller and a face painter who was currently painting a delicate purple and pink butterfly on a little girls right cheek. After that was the produce - fresh fruit and veg, cuts of rare meat and two stalls dedicated to fish. I made a face and moved on. After the produce were all the artsy stalls - handmade jewelry, soaps and aromas, paints and painting equipment, hand-crafted woodwork, paintings and handmade pottery.

It took only five minutes to walk the entire line. I turned back around and decided to walk slowler. Maybe something would catch my eye, or at least my purse. Though I had to be careful - I didn't have that money to spend. I had to admit, it would be nice not having to worry about those types of things. Money, I mean. When you could just walk into any store and be assured that you could afford anything in there. I mentally sighed. What I wouldn't give for that. Sure, all the girls in books didn't care about money, but then they were type who had money, or at least a decent amount. Those of us who found our purse strings tight, or non-existent, at the end of the month had a different opinion.

There was nothing in the painting section. I didn't paint myself, and all the paintings were watercolors - I hate watercolors. Too bland, or polite. I liked paintings with passion. None of the pottery really appealed to me, but I wasn't really into pottery. There were two woodwork stalls and the first was lubriciously expensive. I scoffed at it and moved on to the next one, with more reasonable prices, where I took my time. After a few minutes of browsing, I finally set my eyes on a beautifully carved, intricate oak rocking-chair. Carved into the top of the back was a small rose.

"Do you like it?" I started. Standing beside me, thick arms crossed over his barrel chest, was the owner of the stall. I hadn't heard him approach.

"It's beautiful," I complimented. "Did you make it?"

The man chuckled and shook his head. "No, my wife did. She's made most of the things in here. See those small toys? I made them." He pointed to a small collection of wicker baskets full of tiny wooden objects. A hand-drawn sign propped against one basket proclaimed that they were three dollars each.

"How much is this?" I gestured towards the rocking chair.

"Twenty dollars."

"Twenty dollars? Seriously?" Jesus. Bargain was an understatement.

His grey eyes twinkled with humor. "Seriously. Delivery is an extra ten dollars."

I gave him a bright smile. "I'll take it." I dug out the money and handed it over. There were went lunch, and possibly the paint for the fences, but it was worth it. I had always wanted one and my living room was really bare. I was putting my home together piece by piece, and this was just another. He folded the bills and put them in the back pocket of his pants.

"Alright, I'll be able to deliver it around seven. That's when I'm packing up. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, seven is good."

"Okay. Have a nice day. I'll see you later."

"You too. Bye." I gave him a polite smile and left. I walked slowly along the stalls, nonchalantly scanning the faces for Josh. But I was disappointed - he was nowhere to be found. OF COURSE NOT. I pursed out my lips and told myself to just forget about it. I'd probably never see him again anyway, so I might as well take my mind off him. I was admiring some jewelery, real this time, when I was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Morgan."

I turned and was slightly disappointed, but hid it with a quick smile. "Oscar. Hi." Oscar Sinclair was only a couple years older than me, with a rumpled fashion sense, wild ginger hair, warm brown eyes and glasses far too big for his nose. He was a regular at the Book Nook, always buying books and then returning them about a week later. We tried telling him that he could keep them, but he always came up with some excuse. "How are you?"

He gave me a small, quirky smile. "Not bad. Do you see something you like?" He gestured awkwardly towards the small collection of hand-made jewelery behing me that I had been admiring.

I glanced back at it. "Oh. Um, no. Did you want something?"

Oscar cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Actually, I was, ah, wondering if you . . . That is, there is a party tonight. At the village hall, at eight. Would you . . . Would you care to go with me?"

I blinked. Opened my mouth. Closed it. Blinked some more.

That was the last thing I had expected to come out of Oscar's mouth. He wasn't like that. He'd just . . . never acted that way towards me. He'd been cival, but that was it! You know, a quick chat about the weather, local events and he was out the door.

And I shocked myself even further by agreeing. His face brightened when I said yes, and he said that he'd see me there. "Yeah," I said, still slightly bewildered. "Sure."

I went home after that, still in a slight daze, trying to figure out what had just happened, and decided to take advantage of my day off. I changed into some clean flannal pyjama's and fluffy socks with bouncing sheep, curled up in the corner of my couch and settled down to watch the Scream movies. Cheesy and over-rated, I know, but I liked them. When the fourth movie had come out, I'd thought that it would be crap. I mean, it was too late to add to it all and the whole stabbing, ghost-face and Sydney thing was getting old. But then I'd watched it and I had been honestly and truly surprised. Sydney's cousin had been the last person I'd suspected.

When six came around, my stomach was getting seriously pissed off with me. But I didn't like cooking either, so I compromised with a hodge-podge of pancakes, cheeses, various fruits and anything else that needed minimal cookery skills.

At around ten past seven, someone knocked on the door. I paused the movie, put my giant mug of hot chocolate on the table and got up to answer the door. Standing on the other side was the man who had sold me the rocking chair. Parked behind him was what I was guessing was his car with a covered trailer attatched. The man gave me a smirk and a salute. "Delivery man, at your service."

I smiled, then gestured towards his trailer. "Do you want any help?"

"Help would be good." I followed him to the trailer, where he stripped the tarp off. The rocking chair was lying on its side among a few other pieces of furnature I recognised from his stall, so he picked it up and set it upright on the road. "It's not heavy," he offered as an explaination, "just awakward. Where are your shoes?"

I glanced down. Oh. I had forgotten my shoes and I was just standing there in my fluffy socks. I shrugged, giving him a 'woopsie daisie' smile. "Doesn't matter. So how do we do this?"

"Come round here and hold the back. I'll get the legs. Where do you want this thing?"

I did as he said. "Living room. In front of the fireplace." We lifted it up, carted it in and sat it down. He stood back and let me fuss with it, setting it at an angle to the fireplace. I stood back and proudly admired it. Yeah, I liked it.

"So are you going to that party tonight? In the town hall."

I nodded. "Mm-hm. Are going?" I thought back and added, "With your wife?"

"Nah. Ellen doesn't like those sort of things. But I hope you have a good time."

"Thanks. Tell Ellen I like the chair."

"Will do. Night."

"Bye." After he left, I decided that I'd better get dressed. I couldn't be bother takng a shower, so I just washed up and ran a brush through my hair. After raiding my wardrobe, I came up with a pair of skinny jeans, black flats and a white t-shirt that had, "I Only Date Vampires," in black print. Cheesy, but I had bought it on impulse and I was sure it would give Oscar a shock tonight. But then again, as jittery as he was, a shock was probably the last thing he needed.

After I'd gotten ready, I took a few minutes to clean up. Put the DVD's away, washed out my mug and all the dishes I'd been using for my picnic of a dinner. I packed away all of the food I didn't eat and I was ready to go.

I left with time to spare and walked, because my truck was still in the garage. I'd called earlier and the mechanic, Betsy Williams, had said it would be ready to be picked up by tomorrow afternoon. It was good thing it was still in the garage too, because I'd probably be drinking tonight anyway. The town hall was onyl a ten minute walk, at the center of Haven, but I took my time. Didn't want to look too eager. Of course, with Oscar it probably didn't matter.

At five past eight, I reached the party. Cars littered the streets and live music leaked from the hall. I paused outside the door, grimacing as I remembered that Andrea was going to be here tonight. I'd just have to keep my head low and pray that she didn't see me.

I paid the admission fee - five bucks - then went inside to the main hall. I scanned the crowd for Oscar and eventually found him standing at the coatrack, cradling a red plastic cup. He caught sight of me and a wide smile spread across his face. DAMN, I thought. He's cute when he does that.

He'd reached me. He looked at my shirt, blinked then decided to ignore it. "Morgan. I'm glad you made it. Would you . . . Would you care to dance? With me?"

Before I could catch up with myself, I nodded. He grinned eagerly, put down his cup and took my hand. He led me closer to where the local band was set up, where a few others were dancing. I wondered at his hand. It was cool and stronge, confident as it gripped mine. Nothing like I expected.

But when we'd reached the point he'd wanted us to, his nerves seemed to catch up with him and he was at a lose as to what to do. Equally lost, I started moving my hips to the beat of the drums, swaying my body with the music and grinning at him as he watched me. He started doing the same, moving closer so that it actually looked like we were dancing together. His hands found my hips and I put my own on his shoulders and we twisted together.

After three songs, we were both beginning to tire a bit. We gradually stopped and after a moment, Oscar leaned closer. "Would you like something to drink?" He had to yell over the music, but I caught the gist of what he was saying.

"Yeah. A beer would be good." He nodded and left me, presumably to get my beer. I stayed where I was in the midst of the dancing crowd and looked around me, my spirits coming down now that I wasn't dancing anymore. I felt overwhelmed and awkward and . . . a little lost. I knew most of the people here, recognised them all. I could name just about everyone here, and name a few personal facts about some. But did any of them know me? If they did, no one came up.

Of course, I was proven wrong a moment later when a familiar tall figure blocked my line of sight. I looked up and couldn't help but smile when I met those charming green eyes. "Hi Josh."

"Morgan. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. What about you? Having fun?"

He chuckled. "You could call it that. So how's your truck, is everything okay?"

"What?"

"Your truck."

"Oh! Right, my truck." Tomato red wouldn't be an understatement. "It's okay. The mechanic told me that it was some problem with the engine and I should get it back by tomorrow."

"That's good. So, would you like to dance?" I gaped at him, not comprehending what he was saying. He leaned a bit closer and yelled it again, but my mind was just blank. He wanted to dance? With me? God, this could not be happening.

It was. Not getting any answer from me, he decided to take things into his hands. He leaned even closer and yelled something. This time I really didn't understand what he was saying so I shouted back, "What?"

Just as that happened, the song ended and the band started a slower, sadder one. Couples around us started holding onto each other, swaying. A slow dance. Oh God, help me.

Josh smirked down at my red cheeks and said, "I said, I like your shirt."

Before I could react to that comment, his hands were on my waist and he was twirling me slightly, mimiking the couples around us. Swallowing, I placed my hands delicately on his shoulders. His hands were a warm, welcome weight and I liked the soft feel of his shirt under my fingers. He stepped closer and I caught my breath. As if he heard it, a deep chuckle rumbled out of his chest.

And something seemed to happen. Not pysically, but . . . I don't know. All of a sudden, I wanted to pull him to me and plant a kiss on his lips, and press my body to his, and hold him to me and never let go. As if he was feeling the same,his hands tighened on my waist and I closed my eyes at the feel of it.

We danced until the song ended and then, relucantly, we parted. I took my hands off his shoulders and rubbed my fingers together, trying to retain the feel of him. When he'd taken his hands of my waist, he stepped back. Another song started and all a sudden this seemed really awkward.

Scratching the back of his neck, he shouted, "Are you . . . here alone?"

I suddenly had trouble meeting his eyes. "Um, no. I'm here with a friend. Oscar. He's getting me a drink. Are you? You know, alone?"

Josh suddenly looked uncomfortable. I was about to ask why, when I saw a bare arm slide around his waist and a girl mash up against his side. I knew her. Lacy Stewart, mayers daughter, graduated about a year ago. Bottle blonde hair, sprey tan and expensive clothing that made her look like a slut. Not that I was being judgemental or jealous or anything. Me, jealous? Naw.

"Hi Molly. Didn't see you there," she shouted pleasantly. Ho. Josh put his arm around her naked shoulders and she snuggled into his side. I fought off the feeling of betrayl his action incurred and winced. I tried to hide it by plastering a smile on my face, but judging by the concern in Josh's eyes, I hadn't fooled him.

"It's Morgan," I said sharply. "Actually. And I've got to go. See you around Josh." Without looking at either of them, I walked around them and headed towards the bar. I saw Oscar was coming towards me holding two beer cans. Without a word, I grabbed his arm and yanked him onto the dancefloor. He seemed surprised but happy to cooperate.

I danced with Oscar, but all through the night I felt someone else's eyes on me and I craved to be his arms again.