Page 12 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Rocco looks from the phone to the collection of boxes, folded fabric, display shelves, and crystal cases surrounding us. Behind him, the setting sun spills amber light across the mountains. The festival lights have begun glowing and the maple above my booth has turned almost translucent around the edges. The light is perfect, but Rocco is not being cooperative.

“My followers enjoy behind-the-scenes videos,” I explain. “It allows them to feel included.”

“In what?”

“My process.”

“Your process currently involves ordering a security contractor to hold your phone.”

“I said please.”

“You didn’t.”

I consider that. “Please, Rocco.”

He suppresses a smile as he takes the phone from my hand. Rocco positions it and waits. I step beneath the canopy, smooth the front of my rust-colored wrap, and adjust the strands of hair that escaped my braid during unloading.

“Ready?”

“You tell me.”

“The red button begins recording.”

“I know what the red button does.”

His tone suggests he regrets every decision that brought him to my booth. His energy says otherwise. Beneath the irritation is interest that’s becoming harder for him to hide. I smile directly at the camera.

“Hello, beautiful souls. I’ve arrived in Cady Springs for the Autumn Festival, and this setting is even more magical than I expected.”

Rocco’s gaze remains on the phone screen. Behind him, a vendor drops something metal. The crash echoes across the grounds, followed by several words that will not complement my video. I wait until the noise ends.

“We’re going to try that again,” I say.

“We?”

“You’re part of the creative team now.”

“I’m holding your phone.”

“Every role matters.”

I begin again, introducing the festival while Rocco records. I show my followers the maple tree, the mountain view, and the quiet garden behind the booth. Then I walk him through the setup as I begin transforming the bare white canopy into Lunar Light Healing.

The first layer consists of rust, cream, and deep green fabric fastened along the rear frame. Rocco watches me secure one corner, then reaches above my head and attaches the opposite side before I ask. With his height, he does not need the small folding stool I brought.

“You’re altering the creative vision,” I tell him.

“I’m preventing you from falling.”

“I have excellent balance.”

“You nearly dropped a table earlier today.”

“The table was caught.”

“Because I caught it.”

His arm remains raised as he tightens the fastener. Pain moves across his shoulder again, sharper this time. His face gives nothing away, but his body stills for half a second. I reach toward him instinctively. Rocco lowers his arm before I touch him.