I turned to go, and he grabbed my arm. “Emma. Emma, wait.”

I sucked in a breath as everything went white.

Emma. Not Emily.

Emma.

And there it was. The truth in one Freudian slip. I really was just a tavern wench to him after all. A cog in his Ren faire machine. My first impression of him had been proved right, and it broke my heart.

I slowly turned back to him. He looked as though he’d realized his mistake a moment too late, his face stricken, but he still held on to my arm like it was a lifeline. “Wait.” His voice was quiet, desperate.

“Emma’s gone.” I didn’t sound like myself. My voice was quiet, steady, and barely there. “Served her last fucking drink.” I pulled back, and he let go of my arm. For a long moment we stared at each other, his eyes golden-green in the streetlight, wide and sad. But he didn’t say a word as I walked down the block to my Jeep. He was still standing there on the sidewalk as I drove away.

Twenty-two

I made it about two blocks away from the downtown area before I had to pull over. I could barely see the road through my tears, I couldn’t take a substantial breath, and my thoughts were going a mile a minute. I fumbled in my purse for my phone, and it took three tries for my shaking hands to send a coherent text to Stacey. She was still technically in charge of us wenches, after all. I can’t come to Faire this weekend. I’m sorry.

The message went from “delivered” to “read” almost immediately, and five seconds later my phone started buzzing in my hand. Stacey wasn’t one to put things off.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter, are you sick?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I . . .” I was crying, apparently. It wasn’t what I’d intended, but there I was in the front seat of my Jeep, ugly tears splashing all over my phone.

“Yeah, you sound fine. Where are you? What do you need?”

The concern in Stacey’s voice, not to mention her immediate offer of help, made me want to cry even harder, but I sucked in a deep breath and got it together. “Really, I’m okay.”

Her sigh was a loud rush of breath in my ear. “Oh, crap. What did he do?”

I hiccuped another sob. “What? Who?”

“Simon. Seriously, did he screw this up already?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Okay, I’m on my way to Jackson’s now. Meet me there in ten minutes.” Before I could argue she’d hung up. I tossed my phone in the passenger seat and swiped at my face, which was a hopeless mess. But she was waiting for me, so I put the Jeep in gear and drove to our hangout.

Jackson’s looked like a completely different place on a Friday night. The lights were brighter, and it looked less like a dive bar and more like a knockoff of a national chain bar and grill. Half an hour, three orders of mozzarella sticks, a couple beers, and most of a pizza later, Stacey sat back in her seat in our booth. “Well,” she said. “You’re sure as hell not going to Faire this weekend. You don’t need to deal with that crap.”

Gratitude rushed through me and I sagged against the table. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” I took a sip of beer. “I thought everyone was going to hate me now.”

“What, because I’ve known Simon longer?” She scoffed. “Please. Wenches before . . . well, something that refers to guys that rhymes with ‘wenches.’” She grinned at me, and I managed a watery laugh. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about Faire. The Maryland Renaissance Festival starts up this weekend too. Everyone who wants to go to a Renaissance faire is heading over to that side of the state. These last couple weekends are usually pretty slow. Besides, you have our volunteers whipped into such good shape we could probably both take the weekend off and no one would notice.”

“Oh, yeah. Simon would love—” The thought had come so naturally that for a second there I’d forgotten what had happened between us. Making fun of Simon had become one of my favorite things to do this summer, second only to kissing him. Now, though . . . now we were nothing. How was I supposed to live in this town with him in it?

“Hey.” Stacey reached across the table and laid a hand on my arm. “Quit thinking. It’s going to be okay.”

I nodded dully, then focused more clearly on her hand on my arm. “Your nails are all fancy.” She wasn’t one to get manicures, but tonight they were extravagant French tips. Not exactly period for Faire tomorrow, but like she said, if it wasn’t as busy maybe no one would notice. But now I took in her entire appearance. Her hair fell in tousled blond curls, and even in this lighting I could tell she was rocking a perfect smoky eye. “You have plans tonight, don’t you?” I narrowed my eyes as she took her hand back and looked a little guilty. “A date. Please tell me you didn’t cancel to watch me cry in my beer.”

She waved one of those perfectly manicured hands. “He can wait a little bit. Had to make sure you were okay.” She peered at me. “Are you?”

“I am. Really.” I was lying. I also wanted to know who her date was with. Mitch? No. He’d been out with me at Jackson’s a couple weekends before, and she’d had “plans” then too. Besides, I could see Mitch now, leaning against the bar on the other side of Jackson’s, a beer in his hand, talking to a cute little brunette.

I decided to let it go. This town had few enough secrets as it was; may as well let Stacey keep one if she had it. So instead I pushed Stacey out the door for her date, paid the check, and went home.

“Hey.” April barely glanced up from the TV when I walked in, which was probably for the best. “You just missed Mom. She called to invite herself and Dad down for Thanksgiving. I think this is gonna be a downside to you and me living in the same town . . . whoa.” Now she peered at me. “Are you okay? You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” I dropped down on the couch beside her. “I broke up with Simon.” Speaking the words out loud for the first time made it real, the way it hadn’t been before, and all the pizza-and-beer therapy I’d had with Stacey went out the window.

“What?” April grabbed for the remote, turning off the TV. “You were out on a date with him. What happened?”

“We never made it to dinner.” I stared at our reflections in the blank television screen. She was right: I did look like hell. Shit, I was crying again. I blinked, and heavy tears hit my cheeks, followed by more, a steady stream of them now, and I waited as long as possible before trying to draw a breath, knowing it wouldn’t be successful. I pressed my palms to my eyes, hard, as April’s arms came around me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

My head fell onto her shoulder. “No.” But between sobs I told her what had happened between Simon and me: what we’d said, how we’d said it, down to the look in his eyes when I’d gotten in the Jeep and driven off. She didn’t say anything. Instead, my sister held me and let me talk and cry until I ran out of both words and tears. It was ugly; I was going to owe her a new shirt, possibly a new couch, when all this was over.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Her voice was a quiet murmur in my ear. She was good at the comforting mom thing. Of course, she had fourteen years of experience at it.

I nodded against her shoulder and sat up. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “I jumped down his throat for no reason, and I ruined everything.” My eyes burned from crying and my cheeks were hot, but I deserved the pain. I looked longingly at my purse, which I had dropped by the door. “Could I apologize? Maybe I can go over to his house and—”

“No.” The vehemence in April’s voice made me close my mouth with a snap. “You don’t go anywhere near him—are you kidding?” Her eyes blazed and I didn’t dare argue. “You absolutely did the right thing, and I won’t hear otherwise.” I opened my mouth to answer, but she shushed me before I could say a word. She really was good at laying down the law. “You stood up for yourself. You put yourself first. I know it’s hard, and I know it sucks. But if he can’t put a relationship with you over keeping up that living shrine to his brother every damn summer, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

She was right. I knew she was right. It didn’t mean I had to like it. “But shouldn’t I help . . .”

“No. Not if it hurts you.” Her voice was harsh, but her eyes were kind. “I know you want to.” She looped some of my hair behind my ear. “You want to help everyone. But you need to help yourself for a change. Do what’s right for you. Would you be happy with him like this?”

I had to think about it. It had only been a couple hours, and there was already a Simon-shaped hole in my heart. I rubbed absently at my chest where it ached. I’d do about anything to make that pain go away. But then I remembered how I’d felt when he’d brushed past my good news and focused on what had mattered to him. And what had mattered to him hadn’t been me. As much as I hurt right now, I’d be trading one kind of pain for another.

“Why?” I finally asked, the word an embarrassing wail. “Why aren’t I important to him? I thought he was . . . I thought he . . .” Loved me. But I was wrong. I wanted to cry again, but I was out of tears. Now I was tired. Numb. “I thought he was different.” My voice was tiny, humiliated, and I almost didn’t recognize it. I pressed my hands to my eyes again. “God, I’m an idiot.”