And whoa, I needed that handshake to hide behind. I’d thought he’d been attractive onstage, but he was even more devastating close up. His hand in mine was strong, with a guitar player’s calluses. That strength continued up corded forearms sprinkled with dark hair, with muscles that were barely hidden by the loose lace-up shirt he wore. My firm eye contact brought me into the depths of his eyes. Dark brown that, this close, glittered with slivers of amber.
But he had to ruin it by smirking. He had to ruin it by knowing the effect he had on women, and giving me an up-and-down appraisal.
“You’re coming along with us, huh?” A slow smile traveled over his face. “This is gonna be fun.” There was no question as to what kind of fun he meant.
I took my hand back, startled. Spell broken.
Stacey whacked him on the shoulder. “What did I just say? She’s not here for you.” She sighed a long-suffering sigh and turned to me. “Ignore him. Come on.”
I followed Stacey out to the lanes leading to the clothing vendors, and even though I could feel those dark eyes still on me, I didn’t look back. I was well over my bad-boy phase, and like Stacey said: I wasn’t here for him. I was here for me.
Four
Turned out, it was easy to disappear.
After the final set of the day, Stacey’s boyfriend, Daniel—the tall redhead in black—followed me back to my hotel. It didn’t take long for me to pack up my stuff and check out, and before long I’d returned my rental car and tossed my weekend bag in the bed of Daniel’s old rust-red pickup truck. The suit I’d worn on Friday for the deposition went in the trash in the hotel lobby—I wasn’t going to need that where I was going.
I hadn’t been this impulsive in years, and it was equal parts liberating and terrifying. But when Daniel swung into the entrance to a local campground, dread prickled at my scalp. What had I gotten myself into? There was changing my life in a radical way, and then there was sleeping on the ground when I’d just given up a perfectly good hotel room. I tried to turn my sigh of despair into a regular exhale so as not to appear ungrateful.
But he didn’t pull up to a cluster of tents, like I’d imagined. He killed the engine in front of a 1970s-era motorhome, all beiges and browns with a single wide orange stripe wrapped around its snubbed nose. An awning stretched out from the vehicle’s right side, over the open side door. Under the awning an outdoor carpet was laid out, with folding chairs grouped in a loose circle around a card table and a pair of lounge-style Adirondack chairs off to the side. Stacey sat in one of the lounge chairs, immersed in a book. Her corset and skirts had been exchanged for yoga pants and a loose top, her hair twisted into a messy bun on top of her head.
Stacey put her book down as I climbed out of the truck. “Hey, there you are!”
“Here I am.” I tried to echo her enthusiasm, but I was quickly learning that being as enthusiastic as Stacey was a lost cause.
Daniel closed the door to his truck and looked around. “Where are the guys?”
“Back at the hotel.” Stacey rolled her eyes with a smile. “Todd needed to call Michele. You know, get his long-distance good-night kiss.” She stretched up on her toes to give Daniel a quick kiss of his own, then turned back to me with a welcoming smile. “Come on in. Let’s put your stuff inside.”
It was close quarters inside the motorhome, and the seventies theme carried over to the interior. Lots of brown and burnt orange, but here and there was a sunny touch: white curtains printed with little sprigs of springtime flowers lined the windows over the sofa on one side and the counter and minuscule stovetop on the other. Through a short almost-hallway, past a bathroom that was little more than a closet, was a bed made up with a blue-and-yellow quilt, Benedick the cat already snoozing on top like a black-and-white circular throw pillow. All in all it gave the impression of a domain that no one had bothered to decorate in a long time, but had recently been taken over by a sunnier personality.
“I get the sofa?” I put my bag down on said sofa. It wasn’t huge—nothing in this motorhome was—but it was better than a tent.
Stacey nodded. “I won’t make you snuggle with Daniel and me. No promises about the cat, though. Hope you’re not allergic.”
“So, you and Daniel camp while the band stays at a hotel?” I followed her back outside, which felt wide open after the tiny motorhome. We got waters from the nearby cooler, and I settled down next to her in the other Adirondack chair.
“We trade off, usually,” she said. “Depending on what kind of accommodations we get from the Faire. The guys got the hotel rooms this stop.”
“Some places provide housing, some don’t,” Daniel added. He cracked open a beer and claimed one of the folding chairs nearby.
“Oh,” I said as the picture became clearer. “You’re not always in the camper?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes we get a whole block of rooms. Other times it’s just one or two, and then the rest of us take the RV. Or we spring for another room if we’re sick of camping.”
“At least you’re not sleeping in the back of your truck anymore.” Stacey’s voice was teasing.
He huffed out a laugh as my eyes widened. “I’d never make you do that. Besides, once you hit your thirties that kind of thing stops being fun.”
“God, I bet.” My own over-thirties lower back twinged in sympathy.
“Anyway.” Daniel clapped his hands to his thighs before standing up. “The couch in there folds out into a second bed, and there’s an extra pillow and blanket for whoever uses it. Tonight that’s you, so I’ll set that up.”
“And you’re leaving us to do paperwork,” Stacey said with an indulgent smile.
“And I’m leaving you to do paperwork,” he confirmed. His smile echoed hers as he bent to kiss the top of her head.
“What paperwork?” I asked Stacey once Daniel had gone inside.
“He’s the brains of all of this,” she said. “Keeps the band employed. We’re here for one more weekend, then off to the next stop. He’s probably making sure accommodations are all set. There’s also gigs at local bars during the week; that’s some extra income. And then there’s contracts and arrangements for stuff that’s a few months down the road . . .” She shook her head. “His spreadsheets are intricate, and they make him happy. I find it better not to ask.” She craned her head, looking in the window. I followed her gaze to see Daniel sitting at the small dinette table inside, illuminated by the glow of his open laptop, idly stroking the head of the cat, who’d come to help him out. It was a peaceful, oddly domestic scene.
“Don’t worry,” Stacey said, her dark eyes still on Daniel. “I know it’s been a crappy day for you. Things will look better tomorrow after you get some sleep.”