Well Met(61)

A corner of my mouth kicked up. “Lacked your confidence?”

Mitch snorted. “Something like that. Nah, he’s a great guy, but he was too busy following his brother around to realize it. To be, like, his own person. Then his brother died, you know? But he’s still the same Simon he’s always been. So busy paying attention to other people and what they need from him that he doesn’t go after what he wants for himself.” He sent me a pointed look. “I don’t know. Maybe you know what that’s like.”

“I . . .” I cleared my throat. “Maybe a little.” My mind reeled. Mitch was way more astute than I’d given him credit for. What happened to the goofy meathead that was supposed to be a fun, mindless hookup for the summer? I’d misjudged him from the beginning.

Just like I’d misjudged Simon. I’d thought he was just like Jake: judgmental and dismissive. I thought he’d never want someone like me. And I’d never want him. I was wrong about that too, wasn’t I? I looked down at my phone again. At Simon’s address. Suddenly I yearned to be there with all my heart. Was there a teleportation app I could download?

Mitch noticed where my attention had gone and glanced down at my phone too. “Look. What I think is, Simon’s in a rut. And he needs to be shaken out of it.” He looked up at me with a sidelong smirk. “I bet a cute girl in a yellow sundress will do the trick.”

My face heated. “Maybe.” A few months ago, I would have loved knowing that Mitch thought I was cute. But every cell in my body had come alive when he’d called Simon my pirate, and I couldn’t downplay how I felt anymore. Not just about the pirate, but about the man who played him. Mitch thought Simon was smitten? Well, so was I. A few months ago, Simon had been the last man I’d wanted in my life. Now he was the only one.

“Well, you’ve got his address. He’s in the same house he’s always lived in, just by himself now.” Mitch tilted his head back, finishing his beer, then he pointed the empty bottle at me. “You should go check on him.”

“Yeah. I think I will.” I clutched the phone tighter in my hand. I’d come to Jackson’s tonight to get answers, but the answers weren’t here. The good news was, I had turn-by-turn directions to where I’d find them.



* * *



? ? ?

Dusk was already streaking the skies when I left Jackson’s, and I made a stop on the way, so by the time I pulled into Simon’s driveway it was nearly full dark. I didn’t knock on his door immediately. Nerves took over and for a minute or two I sat in the driver’s seat, taking in his house, too scared to move.

I’d never thought much about Simon’s life outside of Faire, especially where he lived. I’d certainly never pictured him in a two-story Colonial at the end of a quiet street. Mitch said he lived alone, and from the outside the house looked far too big for only one person. But the white picket fence and well-tended lawn gave the impression of an idyllic family home, and I pictured Simon as a child here, running around after his big brother in that yard. It made my heart ache with nostalgia for something I’d never actually seen.

Finally I shook it off and headed up the front walk. When my foot hit the porch a light came on, so he’d either seen me lurking outside or there was a motion sensor. I hoped for the latter.

My hand shook as I rang the doorbell, but I pushed the button before I could lose my nerve, then struggled to take a breath over the pounding of my heart. What was I doing here? Taking advice from a random piece of paper in my Chinese takeout? This was crazy.

Nothing happened at first, so for the space of a few heartbeats I was awash with relief. He hadn’t seen me lurking after all. Then a few more heartbeats, and the door still didn’t open, and the relief drained away, replaced with dread. He knew I was there and he wasn’t going to let me in. How long should I stand on the porch like an idiot, hoping he’d come to the door? Should I ring a second time? Should I slink back to the car? Should I—

The door swung open. My heart rate spiked until I could feel it in my throat, and for a second neither of us spoke. Simon looked like his usual unflappable self, but different at the same time. More casual. The times he’d been out of costume he’d been in his usual button-down shirts and crisp jeans. Simon wasn’t a dress-down kind of guy.

But at home he was, apparently. At home he wore a faded gray University of Maryland T-shirt and a pair of well-past-broken-in jeans that sat low on his slim hips. This was not someone who had plans to go out, much less entertain visitors.

“Emily?” My gaze flew back up to his face. He’d obviously taken a shower after Faire like I had; his hair was still a little damp and fell over his brow. I’d seen him with that smoldery guyliner around his eyes so often that he looked oddly vulnerable now without it. The silver hoop still hung from one ear. He cocked an eyebrow, and my face flushed. I’d come to his door and then stood there staring without saying a word.

“Hey,” I finally said, trying for a smile and mostly failing.

“Hi.” He looked down at the bottle of rum I held in my arms. “You know I’m not actually a pirate, right?” But he stepped back from the doorway and waved me in.

“Oh, I bet he’s in there somewhere,” I said with an airiness I didn’t feel as I walked past him and inside. His house looked . . . settled. Lived in. The front hallway was lined with what looked like thirty years’ worth of rows of family photographs. But the kitchen gleamed with new appliances, and the old kitchen table only had one placemat, with an open laptop and a pile of paperwork on the other end. He’d been in the middle of something, paying bills maybe, and I’d interrupted his quiet Sunday night.