Well Met(80)

“I’m a dramatic guy.” I felt his smile against the side of my neck, and I kept reading.


“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d . . .”



The lightbulb came on easily here. “Mitch.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe you were jealous of Mitch.”

“Always have been. He’s always been everything I’m not. He has an easy time talking to anyone. And look at the guy.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’d much rather look at you.” A memory flitted across my brain of when I’d first met Simon and disliked everything about him. I dismissed it quickly. Stupid memory.


“Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least . . .”



“Faire’s been my favorite thing. For years.” He drew a deep breath. “But this summer was different. I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to see you when you didn’t even want to talk to me.”

“You weren’t exactly nice to me.” I tried to defend myself.

“Then I started to get to know you better, but I thought you and Mitch were together and . . . yeah. I wasn’t in a great place.” His arms tightened around me when I read the next line:


“Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising . . .”



My throat closed and I choked on the last word. I didn’t like to think of Simon hating himself. It was too awful to contemplate. I’d come a long way from thinking of him as the Ren Faire Killjoy.

“Haply I think on thee . . .” Simon took up the reading of the sonnet, but he didn’t need the text in front of him. Show-off. Instead he mouthed the words against the nape of my neck, and they traveled on a murmur of breath, a deep rumble in his chest that I strained to hear.


“And then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate . . .”



He turned me in his arms; the small book tumbled to the floor as he guided my arms up to grip the shelf above my head. Simon’s mouth plundered mine—there was that pirate again—and I arched into him. A shelf dug into my back, but with his hands trailing down my arms, across my collarbone, and down to my breasts, I didn’t notice or care.

His mouth traveled down my throat, painting Shakespeare’s words onto my collarbone with his tongue.


“For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”



Another deep, drugging kiss, and he pulled away, but only far enough to lean his forehead against mine. “Emily.” Color was high in his cheeks, his pupils wide and dark; he looked wild. He cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin, and his eyes searched mine as though I had hidden the answer to something in them. “I—”

“Hush.” Just like that day at the tavern, I didn’t want him to talk. I didn’t want to take the chance that he was starting to say goodbye. Instead I stretched up to kiss him again. If this was nothing more than a summer fling and I only had a few more weeks with this man, I was going to take full advantage of every moment. I would stockpile every touch, every kiss, for the day when I wasn’t in his arms anymore. The summer wasn’t over yet. We still had time.





Twenty-one




It didn’t take long for me to realize that my new “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about my future in Willow Creek was a load of crap. Instead of being the best way to avoid heartache, it made everything worse. I went through my days with a sense of dread, and every time Chris asked me a question I almost flinched, expecting the hammer of unemployment to fall.

Worse, it affected my relationship with Simon. I’d told myself I was going to enjoy every minute with him. Instead I turned into a jittery mess, analyzing every text message for hidden meanings, worrying that every conversation was the beginning of the end.

By Friday morning I wasn’t sure I could take much more. I certainly wasn’t going to make it two weeks. Lauren Pollard showed up for training, which only heightened my anxiety as I showed her around the espresso machine and she made several failed lattes. The first three went down the sink, but the fourth looked promising. Good froth, color looked right. I took a cautious sip and let the taste bloom across my tongue like I was a coffee sommelier.

“That’s your best one yet.” I set the mug down but kept my fingers curved around the handle. “I think Chris may actually drink this one.”

On the other side of the coffee counter Lauren let out a relieved sigh. “I had a good feeling about that one. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it!”

“I think you are too. Excellent job.” I took the mug with me from the coffee counter to the front of the bookstore. Chris was at the front counter, and she raised her eyebrows as I approached.

“Better?”

“Much.” I passed the mug to Chris. She took an appraising sip and nodded.

“And she’s good with the hours we mentioned, right? Did you talk to her about that yet?”

“I did.” The more we talked about the job—my job, Lauren’s job now?—the more my anxiety spiked, and I reached around Chris for my purse. I needed gum. “Tuesdays and Thursdays after school until we close at six, and then a shift on the weekend. She seems like a responsible kid. I think it’ll work.”