Well Played (Well Met #2)(5)

So it stood to reason that those first couple weeks after Faire ended were my least favorite. Color leached out of life when I took my outfit to the cleaners and Beatrice the tavern wench was literally packed away for another year. Instead of looking forward to every weekend with excitement and slightly sore feet, all I had to look forward to now was another week at work. There was a bright side: being a receptionist at a dentist’s office wasn’t as flashy as being a tavern wench, but the clothes were certainly a lot more comfortable. I never understood why those of us on the business end of things had to wear the same scrubs as the hygienists, but they came in cute colors and it was like wearing pajamas to work, so I never complained.

But it was all so . . . blah. Just two short weeks ago I’d been running around in the woods in my costume, trading bawdy jokes with patrons, clapping along to music I only heard once a year. Karaoke at Jackson’s had nothing on dirty drinking songs. But karaoke was all I had these days, so when Friday night rolled around I got ready to go out, as usual. Only I made the mistake of checking social media first.

So blessed to welcome Charlotte Abigail Hawthorne. 7 pounds, 3 ounces, perfect. We’re both doing great! My best friend Candace looked great, anyway. A little sweaty, but she’d just pushed out a tiny human so that was to be forgiven. Charlotte looked mostly red and wrinkled, like a grumpy potato with hair. But I clicked “like” on the photo anyway and added a congratulatory comment: Looking good, bestie!, along with a heart-eyes emoji.

But was she my bestie? Candace Stojkovic and I had gone through every grade in school together, we’d cheered together, we’d graduated from high school together. But we’d lost touch after college, what with me staying here in Willow Creek and her marrying her college sweetheart and moving to Colorado. Thanks to the internet and social media we’d stayed in each other’s lives, as much as we could, by clicking “like” on photos and tossing down witty comments. But that wasn’t really “bestie” status anymore, was it? I’d become nothing more than a Facebook friend with my best friend. That . . . didn’t feel good.

Enough. Time to go out.

I fastened the dragonfly necklace around my neck—the one bit of Faire I decided to keep as part of my daily life. All ready to go now, I took a selfie and put it up on Instagram: Someone told me recently that dragonflies mean change. So here I go doing something different tonight! JK I’m going to Jackson’s as per usual. #FridayNight

A couple likes popped up pretty quickly, but I examined the pic with a critical eye. My roots were due for a touch-up: the brown was really coming in, almost as dark as my eyes. My eyebrows made it clear that I wasn’t a natural blonde, but there was no need to be this blatant about it. The necklace looked nice, though, and so did my smile. I’d always been known for my smile, wide and open and happy, first in high school and then later in college. It was a part of me, something I wore like a favorite pair of jeans. Even though sometimes it felt as false as a push-up bra. Tonight it felt especially padded, but I kept it on anyway. That was the Stacey everyone wanted to see, after all. Ennui-filled Stacey was no fun, so I left her at home.

Jackson’s was our local dive bar/hangout, the only real hangout in Willow Creek, actually, so I was guaranteed to see some friends there. Sure enough, I found myself in a booth with my Ren Faire compatriots, celebrating the end of another successful season.

“Fine.” Simon raised a bottle of beer to his lips. “I’ll admit it. Shortening the season from six weeks to four was a good idea.”

“Told you.” Emily nestled into his side and took a smug swig of her own beer. “Fewer man-hours are required, we saved money on the acts, and that cash goes right back in our pockets for next year. That’s what it’s all about, remember?”

His brows drew together. “I’ve been doing this Faire since day one. I think I know what it’s all about.”

I caught my breath. This was a touchy subject. Simon Graham had started this Faire over a decade ago with his older brother, Sean. We’d lost Sean to cancer a few years back, and ever since then Simon had grown more and more protective of everything having to do with Faire. Emily had shaken him out of that when they met last year. And while he’d finally been a little more open to change this year, to call Simon a micromanager was an understatement.

So my eyes darted from Simon over to Mitch Malone sitting next to me, who met my look and answered it with a roll of his eyes. Mitch had never had the patience for Simon and his darker moods, even when we were kids. He and Simon weren’t the closest of friends, for all that they’d been working together for years to put on this Faire. In fact, the four of us represented most of the Faire’s organizational committee.

I decided to venture a reply. “I think what Emily meant was—”

But Emily came to her own defense, lightly whacking Simon on the chest with the back of her hand before grinning at me. “He knows exactly what I meant.”

“Wait a second.” I put down my wineglass—I was the only one at the table not drinking beer, what a rebel—and reached across the booth for Emily’s hand. When she’d smacked Simon, the light had flashed off a diamond ring I’d never seen her wear before. A diamond ring on her left hand. “What the hell is this?”

My voice came out a little shriller than I’d intended, and more than a few heads turned at the sound of me yelling at Emily. But I didn’t care. I glared at her first, then Simon. I probably shouldn’t glare at the thought of two of my closest friends getting engaged, but too bad. “Is this what I think it is?”