“No.” Unless you counted the three brownies I’d shoved in my face from the coffee counter. Chris was an excellent baker and I was still wallowing.
“That’s what I thought.” She unpacked sandwiches at one of the café tables while I grabbed some bottles of water for us. She’d brought me a Reuben, which she knew was my favorite. I thanked her and bit into it gratefully. My stomach growled in appreciation at the first bite of real food of the day. We ate in companionable silence for a little while, which was refreshing. Most conversation around me lately tended to be of the how are you holding up variety, and I’d run out of ways to answer that question.
After we’d finished, she started to gather up the lunch trash, but I slapped her hands away and started the cleanup myself.
“You should come out to Jackson’s tonight.”
I sucked in a breath. “I don’t know. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. I think it’s an excellent idea. Our night out last week got cut short, remember?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Because you had to go get laid.”
She wrinkled her nose at me but didn’t deny it. “And you were crying in your beer.” I had to concede that point. “Seriously, let’s go out. Simon won’t be there. You know he likes to get his beauty sleep on Friday nights.”
I started to smirk, but the mental image of Simon sleeping reminded me of his room. His bed. That warm quilt. His arms around me during the night, like I was something worth holding on to. Had he ever felt that way? Had I imagined it all? Stop. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I will.”
Of course, I changed my mind about fourteen times, back and forth as to whether or not I should meet up with Stacey for our night out. No matter what, Jackson’s was the unofficial Faire hangout. Simon might not be there, and while Stacey had made it clear our friendship was still intact, I had no idea how everyone else would react to me.
But I’d also spent a good part of the week researching apartments and made appointments to look at some I could afford that were close to the bookstore. I was planning for my future in Willow Creek. This was going to be my town too, damn it, so if I wanted to meet my friend for happy hour I should be able to do so without fear of being run out on a rail.
I shouldn’t have worried.
“Paaaaaarrrrrk!”
Mitch threw his arm around my neck in that weird, strangling hug he liked to do. It was like being attacked by a tree, but he only did it to the people he liked, so I smiled and leaned into it. “How you doing? I heard you had a shitty week.”
Master of nuance, that guy. “I did. But this helps.” I took the proffered tequila shot and tossed it back. Just one tonight. I needed to stay in control. I didn’t want to end the night sobbing and singing bad karaoke. I pushed the shot glass back in Mitch’s direction and looked around the bar.
“Don’t worry, I already looked. He isn’t here.”
“I wasn’t looking for him.” But I smiled in thanks, which only widened as he passed me a beer. “Stacey was meeting me here; have you seen her?”
“Here I am! And here you are!” Stacey appeared as if by magic and practically tackled me in a hug from behind. “I’m so glad you made it!”
“Of course she did.” Mitch turned back to the bar and signaled for a drink for Stacey. “Why wouldn’t she want to hang out with us? We’re awesome.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I took a sip of my beer and leaned happily against the bar. “So tell me everything. What did I miss last weekend?”
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you were bitter about Faire.”
“No, she’s not!” Stacey nudged him. “She’s bitter about pirates who act like dickheads.”
“We certainly have one of those.” He sighed, then brightened. “In that case, you will absolutely want to hear about Saturday’s first chess match.”
“I do? Why’s that?”
He barked out a laugh. “It sucked.”
“That’s an understatement!” Stacey giggled around the mouth of her beer bottle. “I mean, you’ve been doing this fight, what, twice a day for almost two months now?”
Mitch snorted. “Not to mention the past three years.”
My eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Simon fucked up all over the place, that’s what happened. His timing was off; he couldn’t get the punches to look even close to convincing. I pretty much had to dive over his shoulder like some kind of asshole.” He shook his head. “He got it together for the rest of the weekend, but the boy was rough.” He brightened. “It was pretty funny, though. I think someone videoed it—I need to ask around. But I told him last night when we . . .” He caught himself and looked up at me then, stricken.
“It’s okay,” I said, oddly touched that Mitch had so much concern for my feelings. “You’re allowed to talk to the guy, you know.”
“Yeah.” He shook himself. “I mean, yeah, of course. I’ve known him for years. I talk to him plenty. That’s normal.”
I blinked. That was . . . vehement. “So . . . ?”
“Hmm?” He looked at me blankly.
“So you told him last night . . . ?”
“Oh, yeah. I told him he’d better get his shit together. We’re going to meet tomorrow morning to run through the fight again, make sure he knows what the hell he’s doing.” He took another swig of beer. “Oh, hey, speaking of, you should come on Sunday.”
“‘Speaking of’? Speaking of what?” I looked down at my beer. I hadn’t had much to drink, so why was it hard to follow Mitch’s conversation tonight?
“Faire,” he said quickly. “Speaking of Faire.”
Stacey rolled her eyes. “We’re always speaking of Faire, aren’t we?”
“I’m not coming on Sunday.” My heart started pounding at the thought of it. “I need a break from pirates and wenches for a little while. Maybe forever. No offense.” I bumped Stacey’s shoulder.
“No, I agree with Mitch,” Stacey said. “You should come.”
I leveled a look at her. “You were the one who said I didn’t need to. I shouldn’t have to ‘deal with that crap,’ remember?”
“Oh, no. Not to work it. Not in character. But as a patron.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said. “On Sunday.”
“Sunday?” He seemed awfully insistent, but I couldn’t figure out why. “Why not tomorrow?”