With a heavy sigh, Scarlet heaved the last crate of vegetables into the bed of her beat-up truck and closed the tailgate. The words Benoit Farms and Gardens were barely visible on the side of the truck, and Scarlet made a mental note to look into replacing the vinyl lettering. More publicity meant more sales, and she needed as much money as she could get.
After forcing the ancient truck to start, Scarlet flipped through radio stations for a few minutes before turning it off. These big cities played nothing but insipid pop music, and the truck was too old for a phone jack. So she drove in silence, watching high rises and office buildings pass by.
She desperately missed the countryside where she'd grown up. Here, there were people and buildings and cars, everywhere she looked, choking out the horizon. Some days, she dreamed of leaving everything behind and going home. But she needed this college degree. Grandmere needed this college degree. A degree in business management would help her restore Benoit Farms and Gardens to its former glory, the way it was before Grandmere got sick. And with any luck, she could expand and have more money for Grandmere's treatments.
Scarlet shook away her thoughts as she reached the farmers market. No more self-pity. It was time to be as friendly as possible. She lugged crates to her booth, zipped up her hoodie, and flashed her best smile at the passing patrons.
Her booth was busy, as always. Plenty of regulars bought produce, and newcomers were attracted by the glistening tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and ever-present crowd surrounding her. The day passed uneventfully—Gilles complained about the quality but bought a bushel anyway, Émilie gossiped for at least ten minutes—but as the crowd thinned and the sun set, Scarlet felt strangely disappointed for a reason she couldn't pinpoint. The thick wad of cash couldn't be the reason for her sadness; she'd made more way money than expected. Closing time grew closer and she pushed away her thoughts to focus on packing up the remaining produce.
She was crouching down to scoop up wilted lettuce leaves when she heard a low voice.
"Are all the tomatoes gone?"
Jerking with surprise, Scarlet thunked her skull against the underside of the table and cursed. She looked up, rubbing her sore head, and saw a pair of bright green eyes watching her with concern.
"I'm so sorry," Ze'ev said. "I thought you heard me coming."
"Yeah, well, not all of us have impressive hearing like you do." With one last muttered curse, she forced herself to stop grimacing and smile. "And no, the tomatoes aren't all gone. I had to set some aside for my most valued customer."
Ze'ev ducked his head bashfully, wild hair falling in his face. Scarlet handed him a heavy grocery bag.
"The best tomatoes this week. And a few carrots, because you need some variety."
With a shy grin, Ze'ev accepted the bag. "Thanks, Scarling."
She found herself blushing. He'd picked up the nickname from Émilie, but it felt different when he said it. She ignored the heat in her cheeks and stuck out her hand for payment.
Ze'ev hesitated. "I have a...a question for you." He avoided her gaze.
Scarlet withdrew her hand. "Oh?"
"It's...weird. Really weird." He fiddled with a stalk of carrot greens that was sticking out of the bag.
"Enough with the suspense," Scarlet said, half intrigued and half worried. "Just ask me, Ze'ev."
"It's about my little brother. He's always getting in my business. Has no concept of personal space. But recently he's decided that I need a girlfriend."
Scarlet stiffened. Ze'ev crushed a carrot stalk in his huge hands as he hurried on.
"I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend, Scarlet. Just to pretend for a little. All you'd have to do is go on a few fake dates, let me talk about you, maybe meet my brother so he doesn't think I made you up, and then break up with me, leaving me to swear off dating forever."
It was a very ridiculous request, and they both knew it. Scarlet couldn't fight the smile tugging at her lips.
"You know, if you want to date me, you could just ask," she teased.
Ze'ev's olive skin reddened. "We barely know each other, Scarlet."
"Then why ask me?"
"I'm so busy with work, I don't get many chances to meet people. You're one of the few that I talk to frequently whose company I actually enjoy."
Scarlet felt strangely flattered. Embarrassed by the fluttering in her chest, she changed the subject. "Why not ask Émilie? You two get along well."
"Émilie would have no problem dating me, but I don't think she'd ever want to break up with me."
Scarlet laughed. Émilie's crush on Ze'ev was about as subtle as the moon. "You have a point."
Fingers anxiously destroying the fragile carrot greens, Ze'ev glanced at her through his untamable mop of hair. "What do you say, Scarlet?"
She didn't know what to say. She had no good reason to say yes or no. But his brilliant green eyes were piercing into her, and she had nothing better to do, and her mouth was opening and she said—
"Sure, why not? Should be interesting."
Ze'ev released all the air in his lungs in one breath. "Thank you, Scarlet." He pressed a handful of bills into her palm, and then he was gone.
Scarlet hastily examined the money and realized it was twice what his vegetables cost. She opened her mouth to call him back, then noticed a scrap of paper among the carefully folded bills. The only thing written on the paper was a number that she assumed was Ze'ev's.
Scarlet smiled. He'd been prepared. And grateful.
She tucked the paper into her hoodie pocket, added the money to the lockbox, and crouched to pack up the leftover produce. Her mind wasn't on the bruised tomatoes or wilted greens, though. She was thinking about green eyes, soft hair, and what would come from such a strange arrangement.
It was a good thing to think about.