Chapter 24: A Saturday

On the first Saturday in May, I set up a folding table at the Pilsen market at seven in the morning.

I had a white cloth, a chalkboard sign in Kat's terrible handwriting, and six dozen lemon tarts in flat boxes.

The sign said "CASSIA'S" and under that, "Come back next week."

"It should say something about the flavor," Kat had objected.

"It's lemon. It says lemon on the tart."

"It says nothing on the tart."

"That's the point of a tart."

Kat had lost that argument and gone to buy coffee.

Wyatt came across the lot with a crate of folding stools, and put one behind my table without being asked.

He wore a clean flannel shirt and had the first sunburn of the year on his nose.

"They're cheaper than you think," I said, as he sat. "The stools."

"I built them."

"They're not cheaper than I think, then."

"I'll give you a discount," he said, and I knew by the dry flat way he said it that he was proud of himself.

By ten, we had sold half the boxes.

I knew the first customers by sight now, an older couple with a wire cart, a man who bought two every Saturday and ate one before he left the lot.

On my first Saturday there, a month earlier, I had checked my phone every few minutes out of habit.

Keep reading free with an account. Start I Stopped Fighting For My Husband and He Panicked from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.