Sally, a devoted business woman and owner of Crafter’s Cottage, just met an organic farmer interested in being a vendor at the upcoming herb festival. Their meeting to fill out the vendor application turned into a dinner date … and now an outing at the lake.
This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘arm’. Return to TUESDAY TALES for more great snippets.
************************
Saturday was so hectic Sally’s head was spinning. Lila, the part time high school girl that helped out in the shop had called in sick, leaving all the register work and customer questions to Sally. Probably only spring fever, she muttered under her breath as she hung up the phone, as Lila had a tendency to come down ‘ill’ when the weather was gorgeous. The warmer weather brought customers into town in droves. Many had to circle the block several times to chance upon getting a parking space. Which was good for the businesses in downtown. None of the merchants were complaining. Somehow Victoria, over at Serendipity managed to get out for a few minutes for lunch. She’d popped into Crafters Cottage to chat. When she saw Sally wrapping up items behind the counter, hands flying, and the line of four customers getting fidgety, Victoria gave a brief wave and took off. 
At the end of the day Sally locked the door, turned the ‘OPEN’ sign around and slumped against the door in fatigue. A hot bath and a glass of wine – that’s what’s calling my name, she thought. Damn! I still have to go home and make potato salad. Maybe she’d call off tomorrow. Just staying home – maybe never getting out of her jammies – sounded divine. But … hmmmm …. The hunky farmer was pretty divine himself. Her mind flashed back to how he’d looked when he’d dropped off a basket of fresh vegetables, herbs, and onions a few days earlier. No. He’s awfully scrumptious, I’ll go. The thought of a relaxing lakeside cook out, on a beautiful weekend to boot, overcame her lazy dazy thoughts of being a slug bug. She dragged herself back to the counter, to finish her tasks for the night before heading home. As she counted out the cash and debit card receipts for the day that filled the till, her spirits lifted and gave her a renewed burst of energy. She was happy. Her vendors would be happy when they got their monthly statements, most with a nice fat check to accompany the monthly accounting. Grabbing her purse, she stuffed the deposit bag inside and headed for the back. Turning out the light she called to the vacant store, “Bye-bye crafts. Play day tomorrow!” The first chore in the door was to get the potatoes boiling. While they simmered away, she chopped a pungent red onion, diced up a handful of fresh parsley and slivered a few stalks of celery from Izzy’s bounty. Opting for a quick and easy tortellini microwave meal to ease the kitchen burden, she poured a glass of cold wine while it nuked and had it all consumed by the time the potatoes were done. She tossed the ingredients in a bowl, added a few sliced boiled eggs from the day before, seasoned the mix and put it to bed in the refrigerator to chill and marinate overnight. The next thing she knew, morning sunshine broke through the thin curtains, waking her up. Sally shook her head and glanced around, trying to figure out where she was. Realizing she was in her own bedroom, she looked down and saw that she’d never even made it to her jammies. She’d laid down on the bed, fully clothed, and never had a conscious thought until the sunlight woke her up. With a jolt she looked at the clock. Nine thirty! Izzy would be there in thirty minutes. Up she flew, headed towards the shower. No time to contemplate outfits this morning. She grabbed a repeat of her favorite ‘off the clock’ wear: tank top and long flowing skirt. She grabbed her swimsuit, appraised it with a critical eye and frowned. If need be, it would have to do. A newer and sexier one would have been nice. Too late now. She tossed it in her bag. Just in case it was warm enough and they took a dip in the lake after lunch. She was barely combing out her wet tresses when the doorbell announced her date. Izzy stood on her porch, his trademark grin plastered across his face. “Ready to go?” “Just about. Let me get the potato salad.” She handed him her tote. “Take this to the car? I’ll be right out.” 
Cold bowl in hand, she locked the front door and turned to see a gleaming black hulk sitting in her driveway. She walked slowly towards the monstrosity, wondering how she’d get up without making a fool of herself. “This is different. It’s not what you drove in town.” “Naw.” He chuckled. “That’s my work truck. This is my ride for special ladies.” He took the potato salad and set it in an ice chest in the backseat. Turning, he saw her puzzled look. “C’mon, I’ll help you up.” Escorting her around to the passenger side he patted a silver foot hold, then held out an arm. “Here we go. Your chariot awaits m’lady.”
Chrys N. Jay 