My shrug and smile were slightly more successful this time. It was long past time to change the subject. “Anyway. I have two questions for you.”

“Okay, shoot.” She turned her back to me. “Tighten me up?”

“First off, when did you get this outfit?” I started at the top, working my way to the middle of the corset, pulling on the laces until the corset was fully closed in the back and the dress underneath was completely covered.

“A week or two ago.” She threw a quizzical glance over her shoulder. “I sent the link to you, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t know you’d actually ordered it.” I tugged on the laces from the bottom of the corset and moved up, meeting in the middle and tying it off. “Okay, the other question. Did Simon approve it?”

“Do you think I gave him a choice?” She grinned and turned back around, and something in my expression made her face fall a little. “I’m sorry. I really thought you knew I was getting a new outfit. I thought you were too.”

I shrugged as she started gathering the black overdress up, pinning it up at her hip as I’d taught her to do during her first year of Faire so that the deep red skirt underneath showed. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.” That was putting it mildly.

“What do you think?” Her expression was uncertain as she shifted around in the new outfit, which was understandable. It was a departure from her wench’s outfit, that was for sure. The corset was tighter, the colors were bolder.

But she looked great in it. I smiled. “I think you look like a pirate’s bride. So that’s fitting.”

“That was the plan. You should have seen his face when it came in the mail.”

“You’re going to give that poor boy a heart attack before he’s thirty.” I wrapped my loosened corset around my rib cage and fastened it down the front before turning so Emily could lace me up.

“Eh, he’s fine.” She pulled on the strings, and the breath whooshed out of my body. Not only because she’d tightened my corset, but because I spotted Daniel across the way. He looked like his normal self, the one I’d seen every summer: black jeans and black T-shirt, red hair under that black baseball cap. He held a clear takeout cup of iced coffee in one hand, the beverage pale with milk.

In an instant, I flashed back to that awful day earlier this year, when my mother had been in the hospital and I’d been so scared. He’d kept me distracted, starting with a picture of his coffee order, the same kind of coffee he held now. That was who Daniel was. Not a creepy catfisher, looking to take advantage. He was the guy who’d gotten me through that terrifying day, sending me silly memes to make me laugh when I’d been at my worst. He cared about me, the way no one else had in a long time. He was . . .

He was talking to Simon, whose face was like thunder.

“Oh, crap.” I said the words on an exhale.

“Did I pull too tight?” Emily froze behind me, the laces of my corset still in her hands. “I’m sorry, this seemed about right, but give me a sec, I can loosen . . .”

“No.” I put my hands on my waist, tracing the familiar dip and curve that came with putting on this outfit. Wearing these clothes, changing my body’s shape, really helped me get into character as someone else. “No, I’m good, you can tie it.”

“You sure?” But Emily tied the strings into a firm knot that would last the day. “So what was the ‘oh crap’ for . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze followed mine. Daniel and Simon were deep in conversation, Daniel gesturing while Simon finished buttoning his vest and started adjusting the cuffs of his pirate’s shirt. “Oh,” Emily said. “Crap.”

“Exactly.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Emily was done with my corset before I stepped away from her. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

She shrugged. “I’m marrying the guy, but I still can’t read his mind. He’s been pretty pissed about how upset you were last weekend, though. Should we save him from Simon or let him fend for himself?”

I was more inclined toward the latter and opened my mouth to tell her so, but my better nature won out. “Let’s go save him.”

We’d made it only a few steps when I skidded to a halt, dragging Emily to a stop as well. “What the hell . . . ?” She turned to me.

“On second thought, let’s don’t.” Because Dex had joined the two of them, and I thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest. A tight corset, plus the guy I’d hooked up with the past two summers, plus the guy who’d been wooing me by email while pretending to be someone else the whole time? I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that, now that I’d straightened things out with Daniel, I would have to straighten things out with Dex too. I’d been his wench with benefits for a couple summers now. How soon was he going to expect me to jump back into his hotel bed again? Was he expecting it at all? Was two summers a pattern? God. I didn’t want anything to do with anyone named MacLean. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So like a coward I spun on my heel, hiked up my skirts, and hurried away, Emily trailing after me. It was official. My excitement for the first day of Faire had been replaced by a low-level anxiety that took up residence in my gut. And that made me angry. I’d looked forward to this day, to these four weeks, all year, and now I’d ruined it for myself over a guy.

Well, the hell with that. I wasn’t going to let Daniel MacLean take Faire away from me. I just needed to get away from him long enough to think.

* * *

  • • •

Once again, Emily earned her Best Friend status by following me on my mad scramble up the hill out of the Hollow, catching up to me when I stopped at the top of the hill to lean against a tree and attempt to catch my breath.

“Hey. Come on.” She settled her hands on my shoulders, making me look her in the eyes. “Don’t think about any of that shit right now. Let Stacey deal with it later. You’re not Stacey right now.”

“I’m not.” My voice was a slight wheeze—I was still getting used to being back in the corset—and my words came out close to a question.

“Of course you aren’t. Look around. Out here there’s no emails, no texts. No guys lying to you about who they are. It’s time to be Beatrice now.”

I let her words settle in my brain, and when I was calm enough I took her advice. I looked around, at the sunlight filtering through the trees. At the vendors lined up on either side of the dusty lane under our feet. The multicolored banners fluttering in the treetops. I concentrated on the quiet sounds of the Renaissance Faire waking up for the day. Just like that, some of the anxiety dissolved, and my shoulders felt lighter. “You’re right, Emma. Of course.” I slipped into both Beatrice’s accent and Emily’s Faire name as easily as putting on a comfy pair of fuzzy socks. I bumped her shoulder with mine and gave her hand a grateful squeeze. “They’re waiting for us at the tavern. We should get started.”

The path to our tavern was like the road home. Our volunteers were waiting for us, and had already done most of the work of setting up for the day. Emily and I pitched in, putting the wine bottles in ice and making sure the beer coolers were stocked up. But soon Emily put her hands on her hips and frowned.

“Those tables aren’t right . . .” she said under her breath. This was her third summer here, and her third summer with this obsession: figuring out the right configuration of tables, stools, and benches that would look the most inviting and would persuade patrons to linger and get that second drink. It was all about selling refreshments, which raised more money.

“Em, it’s fine.” Jamie, one of our head volunteers, had gotten used to Emily’s trying to change things around, even though he’d been with us almost as long as I had and knew more about running the tavern than probably all of us put together. But he tolerated her ideas with good-natured patience. Because what did it hurt, really, if Emily wanted to move a few tables around? The girl was getting married in a week. She probably had some nervous energy to burn off.

And what better place to burn off energy than outside, under the trees and bright midsummer sunshine of a Renaissance faire? There was plenty to do to keep us both distracted. We pitched in with the volunteers, serving beer and wine. We flirted with patrons and counted it as a victory when we could elicit a blush. We strolled the dusty lanes together, stopping to take in parts of shows, cheering loudly for each one and helping draw patrons in when we happened upon a show that was about to start. Last summer Emily and I had transitioned from being strictly tavern wenches—glorified bartenders in uncomfortable costumes—to serving as local color. And being local color was fun, in a way that being an overworked bartender was not.

While we stopped off more than once at the human chess match—Simon’s domain—so that Emily could visit her fiancé, we gave a wide berth to the Marlowe Stage, where the Dueling Kilts were set up. In fact, Emily made a point of shooting a squinty side-eye in the direction of their stage, and I suddenly became very interested in the trees on the other side of the lane. I didn’t want to see the Dueling Kilts play. I didn’t want to see Dex, and I sure didn’t want to see Daniel.