Well Played (Well Met #2)(7)

“Not to mention, this one would be free,” Emily said. “Free is good. Bookstore managers aren’t exactly millionaires.”

Simon’s nod was solemn. “Neither are English teachers.”

“But I’m marrying you anyway.” She kissed him, and her smile transferred to his face.

“Yeah!” I was getting into the idea now. “It can be in the evening. That way we could start setting it up after the last chess match. Have the reception while the sun’s going down. It would be so pretty.”

“Except for the mosquitos.” Simon raised his eyebrows.

I waved a hand. “That’s what those little citronella tiki torches are for.”

“And you should get married on Sunday night,” Mitch said. “That way we can party longer and not have to do Faire hungover.”

“Priorities.” Emily snorted. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Let me know what I can do to help,” I said.

“Well, now that you mention it, how about brunch on Sunday? April’s coming. I’m thinking waffles, mimosas, a silly number of wedding dress pictures?”

I had to laugh at that. “You have a Pinterest board already, don’t you?”

“Guilty.” But her grin said she felt anything but guilty. And who could blame her? I’d probably be just as excited if I were getting married.

The subject changed then, as we talked about the upcoming school year (Simon and Mitch both taught at Willow Creek High, so that was a popular topic), and other local gossip (we lived in a small town; gossip was what we did). But every once in a while, Emily moved her hand and light flashed off the diamond. Every once in a while, Simon looked down at her with a smile in his eyes. And every time, my heart overflowed with love for the two of them, which made total sense. Who wasn’t happy for their friends when they found love?

But what didn’t make sense was the thought that flashed through my mind—I’m gonna miss her. There was no reason for a thread of panic to grip my heart and make it race. Emily was right there, at the table across from me. She wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, by marrying Simon she was settling down in Willow Creek for good. There wouldn’t be any reason to miss her.

But my heart still raced all the way home until I pulled into my driveway, the same driveway I’d been pulling into since the day I got my driver’s license. My parents lived in a four-bedroom, two-story house that was way too big for the three of us. Well, the two of them, now that I didn’t live with them anymore. Technically.

My little apartment was a cozy nest. It ran the length and width of the two-car garage it was built over, with a small kitchen tucked in one corner and an enclosed three-quarter bathroom (no bubble baths for this girl) in another. My clothes lived in two freestanding wardrobes, and my queen-size bed was tucked in the eaves. I’d strung fairy lights on the wall that sloped above my bed, and their soft glow made it feel like I was sleeping inside a blanket fort. A pair of skylights in the kitchen area let in lots of natural light, and when it rained I loved falling asleep to the patter of the rain on the glass.

It was a great little place, and it was mine. I loved it. I told myself that a lot, and most of the time I even believed it.

I’d barely closed the door behind me and tossed my keys into the little dish by the door when my phone rang. Not my cell phone, which was silent in my bag, but the old-school landline attached to the wall in the kitchen. It didn’t have caller ID, but I knew who it was. There was only one person in my life who had the number.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey, I heard your car. Did you have dinner? We just finished eating, but I can fix you a plate.”

“No. No, I’m fine. I ate when I was out.” I slid my little leather backpack off my shoulders, the buttery blue leather bag I’d bought just as Faire had ended—I hadn’t been kidding about the retail therapy—and dropped it onto my kitchen table. “I’m kind of tired; it’s been a long day. I think I’ll watch a little TV and turn in.”

See? Semi-independence. Mom didn’t call every night, but often enough to remind me that in some ways—in most ways—I still lived at home. I loved my parents, but it was getting old. Hell, I was getting old. I was almost twenty-seven, for God’s sake.

That feeling of getting older without really being allowed to grow up lingered, and that feeling combined with the sight of Emily’s engagement ring. I’m gonna miss her. Now that stray thought made sense. Getting married, becoming a wife. And what was I doing? Going out to Jackson’s every Friday night and posting the same selfies on Instagram.

I needed to get a life.

I needed another glass of wine.



* * *



? ? ?

Ten minutes later I was in my pajamas and had flopped onto my old comfy couch with a second glass of wine. I powered up my laptop and hadn’t even logged into Facebook before Benedick was purring in my lap.

Benedick. My main man. My one true love. Our favorite thing to do on a lazy Sunday was snuggle together and watch a movie. Superhero movies were his favorite, but he tolerated romantic comedies because I was the one who opened the cans around here.

And no, this did not make me a crazy cat lady. You needed at least three to qualify for crazy status, and I was a one-tuxedo-cat woman, ever since the day I’d found him in the parking lot after Faire three summers ago. I named him Benedick, after the hero of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, and I was his Beatrice. See? Who needed a diamond ring? Or a man looking at you adoringly over mozzarella sticks under the crappy light at Jackson’s?