Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
After a few hours they had the demographics nailed down. They could tell at a glance if someone would be more likely to care about candles or taxidermy and hail them accordingly.
Many of the men that attended Craftmas were there with partners or families, so Cassidy appealed to them because he looked like them, and they came over to check out his work, bringing their families with them. Nora would then sell the rest of the family on her candlescapes if they weren’t in the market for something as expensive as taxidermy.
Nora’s work was creating interest, with multiple people having ordered bespoke pieces already. She’d been delighted to find that there was a vein of Craftmas attendees of the Nightmare Before Christmas ilk, and they were all drawn to her iron and bone altar candlesticks and candelabras.
They also had an unexpected runaway hit with Nora’s vertebrae taper candle holders. They were her least expensive offering, and quick to make, so when she sold out by midday, she promised people that she’d make more tonight and have them restocked the next day.
"Should I leave now and start making them?" she asked.
"Yeah, okay. And I can come to your place tonight and help out so we have enough for tomorrow."
"Great, and remember to tell people that the candles don’t release any toxins or pollutants into the air the way paraffin candles do, and that there’s no lead in the wicks, and they’re all natural, and—"
Cassidy put a hand on her shoulder. "I know the specs, I promise."
She saluted, threw on her coat, and left him to run the booth himself. And he was glad of it five minutes later when a white guy in a T-shirt that announced I’m Not Santa but You Can Sit in My Lap approached and started giving him shit about the "ethical" part of ethical taxidermy.
Nora was what their parents had always called "spirited," which meant that she didn’t take any shit and she wasn’t scared of people thinking she was weird. It was a gift.
"You gotta say that part because of the woke police, huh?" he said, trying to bro down with Cassidy.
"Nope," he said, keeping a smile on his face and his voice neutral. "I say that part because I believe in it. Now, let me show you some of the pieces that most people can’t appreciate …"
This disarmed the man, as it usually did. People like this asshole were instantly won over by being told they were superior to others in any way.
River had conspicuously ignored Cassidy for the first two hours of Craftmas. They’d glanced over many times, but when Cassidy met their gaze or turned toward their table, they suddenly turned around to tend to one of the cats.
Finally, there was a slight lull and Cassidy stepped up to the shelter’s table.
"How’s the adoption search going?"
"Um, it’s good, I guess?" River said, staring at the floor. "I have no baseline, really. It’s the first time we’ve done this. Yellow got adopted, though."
"Which one was Yellow?" Cassidy asked.
"The little gray kitten."
Their voice was soft in the din, and Cassidy took a step closer to hear them. River turned away and started tidying the stack of brochures on the table. For a moment Cassidy thought they couldn’t get over the awkward exchange a few hours before, but when he really looked at River he could see that their eyelashes were spiky with moisture.
Fuck, they were teary because they were going to miss the kitten. Cassidy’s stomach twisted up toward his heart.
They shook their head almost violently, like they could banish the emotion, but a tear slipped down their cheek and they turned to him, probably only to avoid being seen by the crowd.
"Hey, it’s okay," Cassidy began.
"I know it’s stupid. The whole point of being here is to get them placed in good homes. I just …" They trailed off and scrubbed at their eyes. "Anyway, I’m gonna …"
They turned to a kid who was looking brightly at the two remaining cats and to her parents who looked cautiously optimistic. Cassidy left them to it.
But the tension had eased between the two tables and after that River didn’t shy away from acknowledging him. When the fourth person sung the praises of the gingerbread cookies at the bakery booth three tables down, Cassidy popped over and bought a few.
He held out one of the cookies to River when he returned.
"I got you a gingerbread man if you can bear to bite his head off."
River raised an eyebrow as they unwrapped the cookie.
"You don’t know their gender or pronouns," they said flatly.
Cassidy’s stomach clenched with guilt.
"Oh, shit, you’re right, I shouldn’t assume."
He felt terrible. Of all the silly, normative things to say about a cookie.
But River grinned.
"I’m fucking with you," they said, and bit the head off the gingerbread cookie. "Damn. That’s really good. Thanks."