Joyous Hunting

The market lot is packed with folding tables, boxes of tomatoes, and hand-painted signs. Hunter McCready reaches his stall just as a teen charity crew finishes dragging in speakers and a card table raffle wheel.

Joy flinches at the sudden blast of music and presses into Hunter’s leg, her face half-hidden against his jeans.

Shoppers bunch up and sidestep through his display, brushing past crates of produce to reach the new setup.

The Organizer plants herself between Hunter and the front path, one hand on a clipboard, the other pointing toward the far end of the lot.

A folded banner snaps in the breeze over the crowd, and a line of teenagers pauses, waiting to see what Hunter does next.

Hunter's words come out careful and a little flat, like he is trying not to sound pushed around by the noise and the crowd.

She lowers the clipboard, glances past Hunter toward Joy, and her expression softens by a notch.

Joy peeks out from Hunter's leg, watching the woman instead of the speakers now. The crowd keeps shuffling in the lane, waiting on the answer.

Hunter gives a short nod and starts moving the stand himself, hands braced under the table edge while Joy sidles clear. The first shove bites hard, then the wheels catch and the whole setup rolls toward the flower stand lane.

The Organizer steps in beside him, guiding the path with quick gestures as the lot noise swells around them. A loose crate bumps the frame and rattles one jar hard enough to make Hunter tighten his grip.

Together they angle the stall into the side stretch, just as she said, where the entrance still lines up through a gap in the foot traffic. The table lands with a jolt, and a little dust puffs up off the boards.

Joy edges out from behind Hunter and looks toward the front of the lot, the music still thumping but no longer in her face. A small tin on the corner skids an inch from the jolt, and Hunter catches it before it falls.