Well Met(45)

“Hey, Simon.” I gave a little wave as I scooped up my basket and set it on the bar.

He didn’t wave back. “You’re not at pub sing. Again.”

“No. I’m not. Were you taking attendance?”

“No, I wasn’t taking . . .” He tossed his hat with its stupid feather onto the bar, where it slid down to rest next to my wicker basket. “Where are the volunteers? I told them they needed to stay the whole day, help you out so you can do things like go to pub sing.”

“We cut them loose a little bit ago, when things slowed down . . . wait a minute.” I held up a hand. “You told them?” All day I’d thought Chris had gotten us the volunteers, based on our conversation earlier that week at the bookstore. But Simon had done it? Why?

“Yes, I told them. You needed them, obviously.” But he answered the question absently; now he looked around the tavern with thunder in his eyes. “These tables are all switched around.” He turned to me now, and I stiffened my spine against the force of that thunder aimed in my direction. “Why are the tables switched around? What are you doing?”

“Fixing the layout.” I took hold of my basket, the wicker digging into my palm as I gripped it tightly. “It looks more inviting this way, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head, like his brain was unable to comprehend something being different. “They’ve been arranged the same way for the past ten years. There’s no need to change it now.”

I sighed. “Okay. Look.” I came around the bar and took his arm with the hand not holding a basket. I marched him back to the main path and pointed. “Look,” I said again. “See how some of them are grouped together in little sections? People can gather. Congregate. And since Stacey and I have a little more free time, thanks to those volunteers, we can be out front more, like you said. Flirt. Play dice games. Maybe you can drop by again, in character, you know? Pirates hang out in taverns. If we add color to things, people might get a kick out of that. They’d stick around.”

“And buy more drinks.” The words sighed out of him, and I could see he understood my point of view now, even if he didn’t want to.

“And spend more money,” I clarified. “Isn’t that what this is about? Bringing in more cash, raising more money?”

He nodded, but the nod turned into a shake of the head. “I don’t know.” He stalked back into the tavern to scoop his hat off the bar. “Some of the tables are all closed off.” He gestured toward a grouping of tables off to the side. “Those don’t look inviting at all. And what about all this empty space in the middle now? It looks like it’s not planned out.”

“I thought maybe we could get someone in.” I shrugged as I followed him back to the bar. “I don’t know, someone with a guitar or something. Entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” He punctuated the word with a bitter laugh. “So, what, am I just supposed to pull an extra bard out of my ass now?”

“Not a bad idea,” I shot back. “Maybe it would dislodge the stick that’s up there.” Oh, crap. I hadn’t meant to say that.

He threw his hat back down onto the bar, and the thunder in his eyes turned apocalyptic. “Excuse me?”

Okay, maybe I had meant to say that. I’d had enough. “What is your problem? I’m just trying to help out here.”

“I don’t have a problem!” But the way he shouted it at me belied that. “And I don’t need your help! I just need you to be a tavern wench! Why do you want to change everything?”

“Why do you want to keep everything exactly the same?” I shouted back. “For God’s sake, Simon, I moved a few tables around. It’s not like I burned down the bar. Aren’t you supposed to be a pirate? You sure are a stickler for the rules.” I was done playing nice. I thought we’d been getting closer, with the banter at the chess field and the flirting in the tavern. I’d thought that maybe we were going to be friends. My heart sank as I realized I needed to let that idea go.

Simon didn’t notice my emotional turmoil. “This is your first year here, and you think you know everything about how to run this Faire. You think—”

“Oh, I do not.” I slammed my basket back down onto the bar, next to his hat. I was so sick of him that I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to flee from this man who infuriated me so I would never have to speak to him again. But I was done dancing around our mutual dislike; better to get it all out in the open and over with. So I faced him, hands on my hips and not giving a damn about the green in his eyes anymore. “Why do you hate me?”

That shut him up. His rant stopped on a dime, and he blinked at me. “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” I hated the way emotion clogged my voice, anger and sadness mixed together. I’d seen the memorial to his brother; I saw how much it took out of him to keep this Faire going. All I’d wanted to do was help. But like he’d said, he didn’t want my help. Any closeness between us was nothing but an act, brought on by costumes and accents and false personas. I should have known better.

“I don’t hate you!” But he raked a hand through his hair, and the way he glared at me made me beg to differ.

“Everything I do is wrong,” I persisted. “You hardly ever speak to me except to criticize something. I’m doing my best here, but to you it’s not good enough.” My voice faltered on those last words: not good enough. Jake made me feel that way. I wasn’t about to let Simon do the same. Not without a fight.