Well Met(44)

But it didn’t matter, because it looked like we were headed for the stage at the front, so I tried to let go of those prickly Simon thoughts. We hadn’t had a customer for fifteen minutes, and Jamie had already locked up the cashbox and started stashing the alcohol away until the next day. We were all but dismissed for the night, so there was nothing left to do but—

I hadn’t even taken a step out of the tavern area, following Stacey, when a banner fell on my head. The swath of fabric covered me like a bad Halloween ghost costume, and I stopped in my tracks because I couldn’t see anything except purple. It took a little thrashing, but I fought my way out from under it, then I crumpled the fabric in my hands and looked up into the trees. It was one of the banners that formed a pseudo-canopy in the trees; I spotted the blank spot immediately. Apparently it had come loose and none of us had noticed it.

“Well, damn.” I craned my neck and tried to figure out exactly how I was going to get it back up there.

“What happened . . . oh, no.” Stacey followed my gaze up into the trees. “What did you do?”

I shot her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding?”

“Here.” Jamie had the cashbox under his arm and he was already halfway out of there, but he stopped and put the box down on one of the tables. “I can get it back up there.”

“No.” I waved him off. “You need to go turn in the cash. I can do it.” I eyed the tables underneath the trees. They seemed solid, and high enough that I could reach the branches without a problem. I could climb up there . . .

“But what about pub sing?” God, Stacey had a one-track mind.

I waved her off too. “You go. As long as one of us shows up it’ll get Simon off our case.” It took a little arguing, but within a few minutes I’d shooed everyone away and had the tavern to myself. After the bustle and chaos of the day, the quietness filled me with a sense of peace. I remembered that first day I’d walked the grounds. The sense of living in not only another place but another time. Now that I was here in costume, in a bodice that changed my posture and long skirts that brushed the ground, that sense was only heightened. Every once in a while it hit me in a wave: I wasn’t Emily when I was here. I was Emma.

So Emma, not Emily, clambered up onto a chair, and from there to the top of the table. The top of my head almost brushed the lower branches of the nearest tree; I’d never felt so tall in my life. Still too short for what I needed to do, though. I stretched up onto my toes as far as I could and started threading the fabric around the branches.

It didn’t take long for me to start cursing myself for my hubris. Would it have killed me to let Jamie help me with this? It was like trying to fold a fitted sheet with my arms over my head. The first attempts were failures, and my swearing intensified. I glanced around guiltily to make sure I was still alone; it probably wouldn’t be good for patrons to hear me swearing like a sailor. Should I learn some period-appropriate curses? Would that be better? Doubtful.

Finally I got the hang of it, and the banner was back up in the trees where it belonged. I jumped down to the ground and walked out to the lane to make sure it looked all right. From my vantage point I surveyed the tavern as a whole. The way the tables were set up tickled at the back of my mind, bothering me again like it had the weekend before. It didn’t look inviting. Drawing in more customers wasn’t an issue, as busy as we were, but the setup looked more like a food court than a tavern. Sure, we were limited by the fact that the clearing was a pretty open area, but I wanted coziness. Seclusion. I thought of smoke-filled rooms, dark and lit by lanterns. Shadowy corners and places to hide. Places to linger.

No, I couldn’t make it dark and shadowy here, under the trees and in the sunshine. But what if the tables were arranged differently? Could I create those cozy hidden corners if I . . . ?

Yes. I could.

The hell with pub sing.

I pushed up my metaphorical sleeves and got to work.

The tables weren’t that big, only made to seat four, and they weren’t particularly heavy, but dragging them across uneven ground was a little awkward. I probably should have waited until the next morning, gotten Jamie or one of the other volunteers to help me. But I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I was authorized to change around the layout of the tavern, and I was a firm believer in asking forgiveness instead of permission.

It took about fifteen minutes to make the changes I wanted. Tables were rearranged the way I’d envisioned, and as I stepped back onto the lane to check my progress I figured I could finish moving the chairs in the morning. I reached for the strings of my bodice as I stepped back under the trees again to get my basket from the bar. I probably should have loosened my laces, or taken the damn thing off completely, before I’d gotten started as it was uncomfortably tight now from all the exertion. Pub sing was probably close to over by now—maybe I should skip it, head straight for the Hollow to find Caitlin . . .

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jumped at the voice and dropped my hand from my bodice, as though Simon had actually caught me getting undressed. While the pirate wouldn’t have minded and probably would have offered to help, the flat American accent told me Simon was out of character and back to being himself, and loosening my bodice out in public was probably a no-no. I let my breath out slowly and turned to face him. His arms were crossed over his chest as he glared at me. How could this be the same man who’d growled flirty secrets in my ear while playing with my hair just a couple hours ago? Once again, the change was startling, but I was getting tired of it.