Well Played (Well Met #2)(38)

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In retrospect, I probably got to Emily’s place a little earlier than I should have the next morning. But I’d bolted awake around six, unable to get back to sleep. I’d been dressed and ready to go soon after sunrise, and she’d never actually specified a time. It wasn’t until I pounded on her door and she opened it wearing her bathrobe and a blinking, sleepy expression that it hit me. A little after eight on a Sunday morning was too early to show up with my laptop and anger in tow.

But because she was the Best Friend Ever, she didn’t slam the door in my face. Instead she opened the door wide. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” As I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hit me, so at least I hadn’t gotten her out of bed with my early morning visit. Emily’s place wasn’t much bigger than mine, though it was a real honest-to-God apartment, and not a studio space over a garage. As she bustled in the kitchen with coffee mugs and creamer and whatever else, I plonked my laptop on her dining table and woke it up.

“Here.” Emily passed a mug across the table to me. “Have you even had breakfast yet? Let me drink this and I’ll get those seating charts for you . . .” Her voice trailed off as she took in my laptop and my thunderous expression. “What’s up? You’re not just here for the seating charts, are you?”

“Look at this.” I turned the laptop around so the screen faced her.

Emily squinted at the screen and took a sip of coffee. “What am I looking at, exactly?”

“This email.” I tapped my fingernail on the screen in emphasis. “Look.”

“What, the one from Daniel MacLean?” She tilted her head and read it over again, while I was pretty sure steam was coming out of my ears. “Oh, he’s looking forward to coming to the wedding. That’s so nice of him to say so. I’ve always liked—”

“What about Daniel MacLean?” Simon emerged from the bedroom, and I tried not to do a double take. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he’d be here, but they were engaged. Of course they’d have sleepovers. I’d never seen Simon first thing in the morning, and I’d certainly never seen him this rumpled, in sleep pants and a stretched-out T-shirt. He ran a hand through his hair, settling it, but he still looked roguish; with a week before Faire opened, his pirate beard and hairstyle were in full effect. But the concerned look he shot our way was less carefree pirate and more worried Faire organizer. “Is something wrong with the Kilts?”

Emily shook her head. “They’re confirmed, at least according to this email. But I’m obviously missing something.” She looked up at me quizzically. “What am I missing, Stace?”

“Okay, you read that email. Now look at this.” I took the laptop back and hit a few keys, bringing up a screenshot of Dex’s text message—the one about his roommate’s wedding—before flipping it back in her direction.

“Huh. Well, that’s weird. That text pretty much says the same thing.”

“Exactly. And this phone number”—I handed her my phone, with Dex/Daniel’s contact screen showing—“matches this phone number.” I alt-tabbed back to the email, with Daniel’s electronic signature. “So they were written by the same guy, wouldn’t you say?” My voice was judge, jury, and executioner.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. But why are you texting with Daniel MacLean? I didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

“And why would he tell you the same thing twice?” Simon frowned and leaned against the archway leading to the kitchen. “He’s not forgetful like that.”

She looked down at her mug. “This isn’t decaf, is it? Because I don’t think it’s working.”

“Because . . .” And now I saw the problem with keeping this whole thing with Dex a secret. It was going to take forever to bring Emily up to speed on why I was so pissed off. I sighed. “Okay. Remember last summer? You asked me about . . .” Emotion overwhelmed me for a moment, and I had to clear my throat. This was harder than I thought it would be. “You asked me who I’d been seeing? The mystery guy?”

“Ohhhhhh.” Emily’s eyes lit up at the promise of early morning gossip. “Why, yes. I do remember that.” Emily rested her chin on her hands, settling in for my story.

“I don’t think you need me for this.” Simon threw up defensive hands and went into the kitchen in search of coffee. I gave him a thin smile of appreciation that he didn’t see, then I turned back to Emily and, for the first time, spilled the whole story. Of being so lonely I couldn’t handle it anymore. Of drinking one glass of wine too many and sending that first message to Dex. His response. Our emails. Texts. And realizing last night that it had all been a lie.

“So . . .” While I’d been talking Emily refilled our coffee mugs, and now she sat down again, staring hard at my laptop. “All this time you thought it was Dex, but it was Daniel writing to you instead?”

“Exactly.” I nodded emphatically.

“Are you kidding me?” I jumped at Simon’s voice, harsher, angrier than I was used to hearing him. He was back, leaning against the archway again, his own mug of coffee in his hands. “What kind of Cyrano de Bergerac bullshit is that?”

Emily clucked her tongue and turned in her chair. “I don’t know about that,” she said.