“These are
very
ripe,” the woman selling grapefruits told him. She picked up a round, pink-tinged specimen, then held it out to Damon while brashly making eye contact. “Go ahead. Give this one a squeeze. Feel for yourself how juicy it’ll be.”
Damon smiled. Under other circumstances, he’d have thought the grapefruit seller was flirting with him. But since he’d lost his good-luck streak
and
his mojo, things like that didn’t happen to him anymore. Probably she was simply being helpful.
Agreeably, he accepted the grapefruit. Experimentally, he gave it a squeeze. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” Damon admitted. “It feels heavy for its size. Is that good?”
“That’s
very
good.” She thrust out her breasts, leaned over to select another grapefruit, then passed it to him. “Try this.”
He did. With both hands full, Damon gave a double squeeze.
A woman nearby sighed. Audibly. And sort of dreamily.
Damon glanced at her. She started, then smiled at him. That was when Damon noticed that the crowd had grown a little bigger.
“You should try the oranges,” the other woman suggested, inadvertently pushing forward her own, more petite breasts as she chose two oranges for him. “They’re not as big, but they’re a
lot
sweeter. Some people like them more than grapefruits.”
“Oh. Okay.” Again, Damon had the sense she was flirting with him, but he knew that couldn’t be true. Obligingly, he put down the grapefruits and accepted the woman’s oranges. He gave them an experimental squeeze, then lifted them to his nose. He closed his eyes, then inhaled. “Yes, they
do
seem sweeter.”
When he opened his eyes again, Damon felt as if the rapt attention of the whole world was focused on him. Smiles abounded. There was another noticeable sigh, then a murmur from two women standing nearby. One woman winked at him, then took a few surreptitious cell phone snapshots of him. Another waved. It was as if they’d guessed he was a newbie here and wanted to make him feel as welcome as possible. That was nice.
“Try the lemons!” someone shouted. “Or the tangelos!”
“Or the limes!” came another voice. “Stroke the limes!”
Well. That sounded kind of weird. Confused, Damon shot an imploring glance at the grapefruit seller. “Maybe if I tasted something?” He gestured at the multiple overstuffed canvas bags—and one cardboard box—at his feet. Near his bounty—which he’d purchased with some of his necktie-selling cash—Finn flopped in the shade. Milo stood happily eating apple slices from a paper cup given him by the previous farm-stand proprietor. “I’ve already bought a lot more than I came for,” Damon explained. “The person who told me about the market”—
Carol
, who’d hijacked Damon’s original plan to innocently try grocery shopping at Ralph’s—“didn’t tell me there would be so many options here.”
“There
are
a lot of different options.” Another woman sidled up. Smiling, she caressed his oranges. “Take your pick.”
Belatedly, it occurred to Damon that there were a disproportionate number of women at the farmers market. Either that, or women really liked citrus. Also, apples, honey, kale, broccoli, and salad greens, which were the other things he and Milo had examined—and eventually purchased—this afternoon.
“Sure,” the seller said helpfully. “You can taste anything you like. Anything at all.”
Again, there was that kittenish tone. But Damon had to be imagining it. Because
he
didn’t attract women in that same effortless way anymore. Besides,
he
hadn’t been flirting.
It always took two to flirt. It was a mutually participatory activity. That was part of what made it fun.
In his book, fun couldn’t possibly be wrong.
Fun always wins
, he’d told a skeptical Jason more than once. Wes agreed.
“You’ve
got
to try a pomelo at least once in your life.” Another woman chose what looked like a head-size grapefruit from the stand. With a suggestive smile, she offered it to Damon. “Go ahead. Feel it! It’s the biggest and the best. You’ll see.”
“Thanks. I’m ... going to taste the oranges first.” Feeling unusually rattled, Damon accepted a wedge of sliced orange from the seller. While she bent to offer one to Milo, too, Damon did his best to treat her produce with the respect it deserved. That seemed to be the protocol here at the market. He turned the orange wedge this way and that, admiring its color. A trickle of sticky juice flowed over his thumb. “Ooh, looks juicy!”
Automatically, Damon brought the heel of his thumb to his mouth. He eagerly sucked away the juice. “Mmm. Delicious.”
The crowd of farmers market shoppers moaned in agreement.
Feeling encouraged—because maybe he was doing this responsible-shopping routine correctly after all—Damon inhaled the orange’s fragrance. He nodded in appreciation. He lifted the wedge in the air, frowned in concentration, then licked it.
“Yes!” someone cried. “Lick it again!”
Well, that was weird too. He only wanted to get a fuller sense of the orange’s tart-sweet flavor. A chef friend had once told him that a lot of taste buds were concentrated on the tip of the tongue. Hence, the licking. But now that that was finished ...
With his teeth, Damon peeled the orange’s flesh from its rind. Happily, he chomped away. He swallowed. He nodded.
“Yes, really good.” Seriously, he glanced down at Milo.
“I think we should buy a mixed dozen or two. What do you think?”
The boy pointed. “I think my mom is here.”
Damon looked in the direction Milo indicated. Natasha, inexplicably, really
was
there. She was headed toward them.
Helplessly, Damon grinned from ear to ear. He just loved seeing Natasha coming his way. She was beautiful. She was sweet. She was ... possibly feeling kind of cranky again, if her slight frown and hasty stomping footsteps were any indication.
Well, if he’d ever needed to regain his ability to charm someone, it was right now. Damon hoped against hope that would happen. But the fact that all the women surrounding him took several steps away from him at that very moment gave him pause.
Now, he was not only
not
charming, but also potentially offensive? What the hell? He’d taken a shower after doing the yard work. He’d put on some Speed Stick. He’d tried to be amiable and receptive since he’d been here. He’d succeeded, too! Damon told himself. For fuck’s sake, a second ago, the other farmers market customers had practically been moshing with him!
But now their hesitance to actually
touch
him continued.
So did their sudden reluctance to look at him. Damon didn’t get it.
Even as Natasha arrived, the grapefruit seller gave him an apologetic shake of her head. “Sorry. I misunderstood.”
With that mumbled apology, she got busy bagging up a bunch of assorted citrus. The shoppers nearby, having put several additional feet between themselves and Damon, watched Natasha.
Damon merely opened his arms to greet her. “Tasha!” If the other shoppers didn’t
actually
retreat even farther, Damon would have sworn they receded from his field of vision.
All he could see was Natasha ... and the fact that, even though she’d put on a different pair of jeans, a
non
transparent shirt, and a lightweight, complicatedly tied scarf as protection against the variable San Diego weather, she still looked good enough to eat. Or hug. Or kiss. Or mop the floors for.
Mop
? What in the world was the matter with him, anyway?
Damon knew what a mop looked like, and he
did
know how to use one. He’d mopped at Torrance Chocolates, back in his days working the counter at the original sweetshop. But he’d never before tried to seduce a woman with his mad mopping skills.
On the other hand, he could probably do it. With a burst of unexpected nostalgia, Damon remembered his teenage discovery that he liked helping customers—that he knew what they wanted almost before they did. That people liked him and he liked them and that made good things happen. That revelation had led to his career in marketing Torrance Chocolates. It had changed his life. But Damon didn’t care about Torrance Chocolates anymore.
Not now. Not when he could spend time with Milo and Finn and Natasha. Maybe, it occurred to Damon, he should include cleaning in his secret plan—his secret plan to become as helpful to Natasha as possible and thereby prove to her that he’d really changed. That was the plan he’d confided to Carol. That was the plan that had brought him to the farmers market in the first place.
But all the best plans were made to be cast aside. Right?
After all, he wouldn’t be himself if he hewed too closely to the straight and narrow. He had to mix up things sometimes.
“I just had a great idea.” Damon pulled Natasha close for a vaguely stiff-feeling hug. Jovially, he released her. “Let’s you and I take Milo and Finn for a picnic. I know a perfect spot.”
“A picnic?” Natasha arched her brows. “I don’t know, Damon. Can you get away? You seem pretty busy here with your harem.”
Harem
? Perplexed, Damon looked around. One by one, the lingering shoppers seemed to size up Natasha. They stared intently at Damon’s face. They glanced back at Natasha, then sighed. One by one, they drifted away. He didn’t know why.
Maybe they wanted to give him and Natasha more privacy for the squabble she appeared determined to have with him. Right there. Near the pomelos. With the fragrance of cut oranges in the air and the band playing a reggae version of an eighties tune.
“I’m just shopping.” Damon gestured toward his afternoon’s haul of produce. “I thought it would help you. I thought you’d be pleased. I thought Milo and Finn would have a good time.”
“We did have a good time!” Milo piped up. He waved his sticky, apple-scented fingers like a pocket-size Broadway star doing jazz hands. He clapped his goopy hands on Natasha’s sleeve. “Let’s do it, Mom! Let’s go on a picnic with Damon!”
Damon gazed at her in equally obvious entreaty. He didn’t care who knew how much he wanted Natasha to agree. “Come on,” he coaxed with a smile. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Natasha repeated incredulously, staring at Damon’s happy face. “That’s easy.”
I could fall in love with you twice as hard
, she told herself in silent answer to Damon’s question.
I could find it twice as difficult to say no to you than I already do
.
Because her long-standing affection for Damon had already morphed into a new kind of closeness between them ... a closeness that came packaged with risqué talk, full-body rubs, and a kiss. She probably shouldn’t encourage any more tempting behavior.
That would only make it more difficult when, inevitably, Damon went on his way later. Natasha only had to look at the women surrounding him to know that Damon could have his pick of them. Just like Paul, Damon could choose someone else instead of her. He could leave. She
wanted
him to leave. She needed to. She needed to let him go before he broke her heart all over again.
“It’s easy?” Damon raised his brows. “Go ahead, then.”
Oh yeah
. Their conversation. Swerving back to it, Natasha put her hands on her hips. She looked at the bags of veggies and fruit Damon had purchased. She looked at Milo, contented and full of apples beside him. She looked at traitorous Finn, who’d merely thumped his tail at her approach instead of getting up and risking leaving Damon behind. Even her dog liked Damon best.
“If it’s so ‘easy’ to know what could go wrong with having a harmless picnic,” Damon prompted more precisely, “then tell me.”
“Well ...” Natasha thought about it. A picnic. That
would
be nice. Damon probably
did
know of a good place to go. “I was planning to get home. I have some work to do in my garden shed.”
“Oh.” Damon assumed a peculiarly knowing and intent look. “Okay. We’ll do the picnic some other time, then.”
He whistled. Finn leaped to his paws. Then he ...
heeled
.
Natasha boggled. “What did you do to Finn?”
“Hmm?” Damon glanced at the puppy. Finn gazed back at him, tongue lolling, in canine adulation. He didn’t otherwise budge. Damon shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess dogs just want to please us. All we have to do is step back and let them do it.”
“When I step back, Finn piddles on the rug.” Natasha gawked at her dog. “He hasn’t even had any free dog training yet.”
“Well, I’ve noticed he seems to respond well to whistling. Maybe Finn is musical.” Damon gave her a teasing look. “Maybe he doesn’t like the tune you’ve chosen to call him with. Maybe it doesn’t sound like
fun
to him.”
“Oh, please.” Exasperated, Natasha folded her arms. “What’s really going on here is that your usual mojo is back.”
Damon scoffed. “Yep. And I’m using it to influence dogs.”
She swept the market with a meaningful look. “And women. Do you realize you’d magnetically pulled every female within a six-block radius? Even cats? They were all at this stand with you.”
“That’s just the kids-and-dogs effect.” Damon laughed. He accepted the sack of mixed citrus fruits from the seller, then tucked it in one of his bags. “Everyone knows women love cute kids and adorable puppies. If you happen to be packing
both
—”
Women fall at your feet
, Damon’s body language suggested.
It can’t be helped
, his eloquent shrug told Natasha next.
“Then you’re not aware that five of those women wrote their phone numbers on those oranges and grapefruits with Sharpies?”
“Sharpies?” He laughed more loudly, then gathered up Milo as easily as he had Finn. Both of them fell in line behind Damon, the pied piper of the farmers market. Helplessly, Natasha did, too. Just to keep up. “Who packs Sharpies?”
“Women. Women with purses. Do you know what I have in here?” To prove her point, Natasha patted her purse. “More than you can imagine. I could survive for a week with this stuff.”