Page 13 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“Where does the phone go?” he asks.

I point toward the wooden shelving unit. “Prop it against the small amethyst cluster. Make sure you don’t use the large one.”

“Why?”

“The large one is worth nine hundred dollars.”

He looks at the stones inside the open case. “People pay nine hundred dollars for rocks?”

“Some people pay considerably more.”

He selects the smaller cluster with new respect and positions the phone against it. When he steps back, the angle captures most of the booth and a narrow slice of mountain beyond the opening.

“Good?” he asks.

I check the screen. “Very good.”

“I’m returning to work.”

“You are working.”

“Your video is not part of my contract.”

“But inspecting the booth is.”

“That was the reason I came here.”

“Then you might as well observe the entire setup. It will save time later.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Did you plan this?”

“No. I respond to opportunities as they present themselves.”

“That sounds like planning without accountability.”

“It sounds like flexibility.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

The word carries more weight than the conversation deserves. Rocco’s gaze lands briefly on the festival grounds, automatically checking the lane and the people moving between tents. Even while arguing with me, some part of him remains alert to everything around us.

I recognize that kind of attention. Not the source of it, but the cost. A person cannot watch every doorway without eventually forgetting what it feels like to sit with his back to one.

I resist the temptation to tell him. We have known each other less than a few hours, and he has already made his opinion of uninvited observations clear.

Instead, I continue building the booth. I arrange candles on the wooden shelves according to scent family. Cedarwood, amber, and clove occupy the autumn collection. Vanilla, cardamom, and orange sit beneath them. The newest candle is poured into dark red glass and contains a blend of apple, cinnamon bark, and woodsmoke.

Rocco picks it up and reads the label.

“Autumn Premonition.”

“It’s new.”

“What does autumn smell like before it happens?”

“Change.”

He removes the lid and inhales. “Smells like apples.”