Well Met(48)

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The next morning, Stacey apologized for my near-fainting spell, even though she’d had nothing to do with the cause of it.

“I had no idea I’d laced you in so tight!” Yet she didn’t change her routine. By the time she was done, everything felt as strapped in and hiked up as ever. I shifted around inside the costume, and while I was a little worried about getting dizzy again, I decided the best way to avoid that was to stop kissing pirates. I shifted around again when I discovered a new problem.

I had an itch.

Just under my rib cage and to the right of my belly button. This was bad news, since Stacey had already gone off to talk to someone else on the other side of the stage where we’d all gathered before the day started. And even if she was still around, it would be a ten-minute, pain-in-the-ass affair to loosen me up, scratch, adjust, and tighten me back in again. No, I was dressed for the day. I’d have to figure something out.

I tried ignoring it and turned my attention to the stage, but that didn’t help. Simon hopped up there, ready to talk about something before we started Faire. So much for avoiding pirates.

“Some of you may have noticed we’re missing some cast members.” He adjusted one of the cuffs on his black shirt as he looked around the group. He avoided my eyes completely; he may as well have been looking through me. “I’m afraid we had to cut three people loose yesterday. We have some rules around here, and one of those is no cell phones during Faire.” Some of the younger participants dropped guilty eyes to the dirt. I tried to peel up the bottom of my bodice so I could reach the itchy spot. No dice.

“I know you’re tethered to your phones. We all are. But maintaining the illusion of the seventeenth century is the most important thing we do while we’re out here. That’s why we work so hard beforehand, learning about the time period, working on our accents. So when a patron walks by to see a cast member texting or Snapchatting”—he shrugged—“it breaks the illusion, and completely ruins everything we’ve created here.” He shook his head, clearly disappointed, and I felt a prickle of guilt up my spine even though my phone was off and in the bottom of my basket. His Teacher Voice was back on.

I shot a look across the tent toward Caitlin, who shook her head at me emphatically. She patted the little leather pouch at her hip I’d gotten her the previous weekend. I raised my eyebrows in a silent entreaty that she keep her phone in there, and she nodded back in understanding. We were only in our second weekend of Faire, but we’d gotten pretty good at the whole communicating-with-our-eyes thing.

Meanwhile, this itch wasn’t going away. While Simon finished up his lecture on the evils of cell phones or whatever, I tried shifting around some more inside my costume, but once again that did nothing. Annoyed, I slammed my closed fist into my side. That . . . that actually helped. I did it a couple more times, until I realized Simon had stepped off the stage and was staring at me while I stood there punching myself in the side.

“Everything okay?” The tremble in his voice said he was trying not to laugh.

I opened my fist and turned the last punch into a smoothing motion down my side, which fooled no one. “Fine,” I said breezily. His eyebrows went up, and I sighed. “I had an itch.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Well, that makes more sense than you being a masochist.”

I gestured to my outfit. “I think wearing this all day qualifies me as a masochist all on its own.”

“Hmmm.” His hum in response was noncommittal, but the way he looked at me was more than assessing my costume for period-appropriateness. He stepped closer, and all my resolve about avoiding pirates melted away as I remembered the way his mouth had tasted. “Listen.” His voice was pitched low, just for my ears. “Do you think—”

“Park! There you are, Park. Been looking for you!”

I jumped at the mention of my name—well, my nickname—and turned toward where Mitch bellowed at me from the other end of the tent. I threw up a hand to wave him over and he in turn threw an arm around my neck in greeting when he got to me.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Taking a long hot shower and thanking my lucky stars I don’t have to wear this costume for a week.”

He shook his head. “Wrong answer. We’re going to Jackson’s tonight.”

“What? Going to what?” Then it clicked. “Do you mean that pizza place, just before the highway?” I’d driven past the dingy, squat-looking brown building several times, but never felt like I had enough hand sanitizer on me to venture inside.

“Are we going out tonight?” Stacey had joined the party, which meant there was no getting out of it now.

“Oh, it’s so much more than the pizza place just before the highway.” Mitch didn’t answer her question, choosing to rhapsodize on the qualities of Jackson’s instead. “The food is good and the drinks are strong. The best part is that it’s always happy hour.”

“It doesn’t look like much from the outside.” Simon’s reasonable tone cut through Mitch’s enthusiasm. “But they make a good pizza and the drink prices are cheap.” He shrugged. “A lot of people go there on Sunday nights after Faire.” He wasn’t extending an invitation the way Mitch was; he was imparting information. That was all. A feeling I didn’t like prickled at the back of my neck.