Well Played (Well Met #2)(36)

“Mmm-hmm.” I refrained from an I-told-you-so and we painted in silence for a few minutes. “Anything you want to talk about?” I finally asked. “Wedding-wise?”

“No.” Her denial was tentative. I didn’t push her in the lie. Instead I concentrated on coating the roller with more paint and attacking the next wall. We were good enough friends by now that she knew she could confide in me. But we were also good enough friends that I knew she talked about things when she was ready.

I didn’t have to wait long. “It’s getting away from me.” Her voice was quiet. “Between work, and Faire, and the wedding . . .” She sighed. I raised my eyebrows in response but didn’t speak; she wasn’t done yet. “It’s too much,” she finally said. “I don’t know how it’s all going to happen, and Simon isn’t any help. He—”

“Okay,” I said. “Take a breath.” I stretched on my toes and rolled paint as far as I could reach. “You know how Simon is about Faire. It takes over his life this time of year, right?” I didn’t look over at her to see her nod; I knew she was doing it. Faire wasn’t Simon’s true love the way it had been before Emily had come into his life, but it was still an all-consuming project. And all the help in the world, from Emily and Mitch and me, wasn’t going to change that. Simon was a make-lists-in-his-sleep kind of guy, and he always had been. I knew that. Emily knew that. At least I hoped she did, since she was about to marry the guy.

“Of course.” Her voice was shaky, but her nod was firm. “And I’m fine with that. There’s just a lot still to finish up. Lots of little things, you know? And April’s busy, so . . .”

“You have another bridesmaid, you know.” I pointed exaggeratedly at myself, slopping a little paint on my tank top as I did. Thank goodness I’d worn old clothes today.

“Yes. I do know that.” She threw me a side-eye, and I felt a little surge of triumph. She wasn’t freaking out anymore; she was back to her snarky self. “But I also know that you’ve been busy, doing all that stuff for Mitch.”

I waved a hand. “I’m just about done with that. A few more emails to send tonight; that’s it. So lay it on me. What do you need?”

“It’s mostly just little stuff.” She started rolling paint on the booth again, her mind back on our task. “I haven’t looked at the seating chart since the last RSVPs came in, so I need to make sure everyone’s accounted for. Stuff like that.”

“So you’re really doing a seating chart?” I kept my voice as neutral as possible. I wasn’t criticizing. I was observing. “Even though we’re going to be out in the woods?”

“There are still going to be tables,” she said. “And people want to know where to sit, believe me. I went to this wedding once where they wanted it to be all casual. ‘Sit wherever you want,’ they said. Well, it was chaos.” She shook her head. “Simon hates chaos.”

Emily hated chaos too, but I wasn’t going to say it. “Give it to me,” I said. “Is it on paper or spreadsheets?”

“Paper.” She sighed. “I should have done a spreadsheet; it would have been easier. But it’s too late now.”

“No kidding,” I said, not really sure which of her statements I was agreeing to. Both, really. I’d become a bit of an expert on spreadsheets since I’d been helping Mitch coordinate everything for Faire. “But either way, it doesn’t matter. You want me to look at them for you?”

“God, yes,” she said. “That would be fantastic. Do you think you could come over tomorrow to pick them up? I can’t even look at them anymore.”

“Of course.” As we finished up the painting, I thought that no one was going to be happier to see the back end of this wedding than Emily. Just so she wouldn’t have to think about it 24/7 anymore. The girl liked to plan things, but this was getting ridiculous.

Later that afternoon, Emily and I parted ways in the grassy lot in front of the Faire grounds, with plans for me to go to her place in the morning for coffee and to pick up the seating charts. She already looked happier; the furrow between her brows had smoothed out, and while her smile was still tired, it was genuine. “Thanks, Stacey.” She paused with the driver’s side door of her Jeep open. “I know this isn’t exactly your thing.”

“Helping out friends has always been my thing.” I tried to not sound defensive. Everyone in town, Emily included, seemed to think that I was a ditz. And maybe I encouraged that reputation, with the blonde dye job and the propensity to hit happy hour. I could have changed people’s perceptions if I’d put my mind to it. But then again, maybe I couldn’t. Maybe I was doomed to be the basic white girl in everyone’s lives.

Oh, well. It could certainly be worse.

Once home, I took a long, hot shower to scrub off the last traces of woods and paint. Faire opened next weekend, and while Simon was rounding up a few of the older kids to finish up painting and other final details tomorrow, my workdays out in the woods were over. Until it was time to wear a corset, of course. My hair was still wet as I settled onto the couch with my laptop and my cat. Benedick kneaded my thigh as I logged into the Faire’s email address, wishing I were wearing body armor instead of yoga pants. I needed to trim his claws.