Which was why it was so crushing to come home to find my apartment exactly like it was when I’d left it. Half-empty coffee mug on the kitchen counter, cat snoozing in the same spot on the couch. My place had never looked so empty. I dropped my bag onto the coffee table and collapsed on the couch next to Benedick, who blinked sleepily at me.

Okay. Enough was enough. I pulled out my phone. What the hell is your problem—no. I erased that and started again. Are you really not speaking to me after—nope. For a long second I stared at the phone icon, my thumb hovering over it. But then I tossed my phone down. We were past texts. Past communicating via screens. If this was going to be a real relationship, we should be able to talk about our feelings, not just write about them. I didn’t want to be separated from Daniel anymore, even by a cell phone. We needed to fight this out like adults and move on. And we had to do it face-to-face.

Benedick rolled onto his side for a good long stretch and a yawn as I bounced up from the couch again, grabbing my bag and my keys. I didn’t even change out of my work scrubs; instead I drove to the hotel before I lost my nerve, marched up to Daniel’s door, and knocked.

He didn’t answer.

I knocked again, louder.

Nothing.

I frowned. Maybe he was in the shower or something? That was probably it. I dug in my bag for the keycard he’d given me. He wouldn’t have given it to me if I wasn’t supposed to use it, right?

I slid the keycard into the slot, but the red light didn’t turn green. Hmm. I tried again, slower this time. It still didn’t work. I groaned in annoyance after the third try, then headed toward the front desk. Thank God Julian was working tonight.

“Hey, Julian.” I slid the keycard across the counter. “This stopped working. Can you rekey it, please?”

“Sure.” He hit a couple keystrokes on his computer. “I didn’t realize you were staying here.” He frowned at his screen. “Uh, Stace? According to this, you aren’t staying here.”

“Oh, I’m not. I, uh . . .” Heat crept up the back of my neck. “A friend gave me a spare.”

“Friend,” he repeated. “Uh-huh.” His eyebrows crept up and his mouth twisted in a wicked smile. He knew exactly what kind of friend I was talking about. “Who’s that?”

I huffed. How did he not already know? Gossip usually moved so fast around here. “Room 212. Daniel MacLean.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed as he shot me a curious look. “But . . .” He tapped at his keyboard again and peered at the screen. He cleared his throat a little nervously. “He’s not here, Stace.”

“Oh.” I looked over my shoulder toward the lobby doors, as though I could see his truck in the parking lot. I hadn’t noticed it when I drove in, but I hadn’t been looking for it either. “Did he go somewhere? I can wait here for a little bit if you need his okay to rekey the card.”

“No. I mean, he’s not here. He checked out this afternoon.”

“He . . .” I swallowed hard and tried to look pleasant. Normal. Not like my world had just started crumbling around the edges. “He left?”

“Yeah. I thought it was a little weird. You know, since Faire isn’t over till Sunday. But he said he was through here and it was time for him to go.” Julian shrugged. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“What? No. He . . .” God, that made me sound pathetic, didn’t it? I groped blindly for my phone in my bag and made a little show of checking it. “Oh my God! No, he totally did, look at that.” I flashed the screen in his direction, but quickly so he couldn’t see that there was nothing there. “My fault. I should have checked before coming over. I can be such a ditz sometimes.” My laugh echoed off the tile floor of the lobby, hollow and false.

But Julian had known me since grade school; he knew something was up. His expression softened. “Stacey . . .”

“So I’m gonna go.” I backed away a couple steps, my smile manically wide now. “Keep the card, obviously,” I added with another little laugh. “I don’t need it anymore.” That last sentence was a little too true, but I managed to hold it together until I pushed through the glass double doors and back out into the hot summer night. Tears splashed onto my hot cheeks, and I clutched my phone and tried to remember how to breathe.

There wasn’t going to be an apology. No romantic gesture. Daniel was just . . . gone.

* * *

  • • •

Emily and I made a terrible pair of tavern wenches the next day at Faire.

Of course we weren’t really wenches anymore: we were a pirate’s bride and . . . well, whatever I was. But we still walked the grounds together, ducking into each of the taverns at different times of the day to make sure the servers weren’t in the weeds. This was the fourth weekend of Faire—the last weekend of the season—and the crowds were still pretty brisk. Well, as brisk as you could be in the mid-August heat.

But the heat wasn’t what made us so bad at our jobs that day. We were used to it, for the most part, and swigged as much water as we could and flapped our skirts for some airflow. But newlywed Emily’s mind was on her honeymoon, which started the moment Faire ended on Sunday night, so her grin was a little wilder than usual, and her attention span was nil. As for me . . . I was sad. And angry. And then sad again. Every time we walked in the vicinity of the Marlowe Stage, my heart leapt out of instinct and then sank almost immediately, because Daniel had left without even saying goodbye. Part of me wanted to storm over there and ask Dex what the hell had happened. But there’d already been enough of Dex coming between Daniel and me, and I didn’t feel right asking him about his cousin’s love life, even if that love life involved me.

“Hey.” Emily bumped me with her shoulder as we caught the end of the mud show. “Are you all right? You seem . . . distracted.”

I wasn’t all right. Not in the least. But Emily was about twenty-four hours out from her honeymoon. She didn’t need to be worrying about me and my drama. What kind of friend would I be if I burdened her with my troubles right now? A pretty lousy one. So instead I pasted my smile back on my face and kept my voice light, my accent perfect. “Of course, Emma! Everything is fine.”

“Hmm.” She looked over her shoulder behind us, then turned back to me. “I haven’t seen Daniel today. Is he around?”

“I don’t think so.” My smile was starting to hurt, but dammit, I was going to wear it anyway. “I think he had to leave early.”

“Hmm,” she said again, a noncommittal sound. “And you’re sure you’re all right? Because the hot mud guy almost lost his pants just now, and you didn’t say a word.”

My laugh was a little too loud, but it could be blamed on me staying in character. “Perhaps I am trying to be a little more high-class these days, Emma, dear.” I nudged her with my elbow and flashed her a grin. Mollified, she smiled back, a genuine smile that said I had fooled her. As far as she knew, my heart wasn’t breaking.

It was exhausting, keeping up that carefree persona for the entire day, but after what seemed like a hundred years we were at the front stage again, clapping along to the final act at pub sing, and then Simon, in his pirate character, was thanking the remaining patrons for coming and the day was finally, finally over. My new bodice was front-lacing, so I tugged the laces loose on the walk to my car in the volunteer parking lot. Once I was home and my breathing was unimpeded, I dug my phone out of my blue leather backpack. If I ordered a pizza now, it would be here by the time I was showered and in comfy clothes. Sure enough, I’d just finished putting on my most comfortable sweats and combing out my wet hair when the pepperoni and mushroom with a side of garlic knots arrived. The knock on the door coincided with a chime on my phone, and for a split second I froze, unsure which to answer first. But food won out, and once I’d gotten a soda out of the fridge to go with my pizza, I picked up my phone. It was an email notification, and the preview was enough to make me almost drop my drink.

Daniel MacLean: I’m sure an email from me is the last thing you . . .

I very carefully set down my drink, then my phone, since seeing his name made my hands shake. I didn’t like the way tears sprang to my eyes at the sight of his name, so I made myself take a couple of good, deep breaths before I went and got my laptop. I needed a bigger screen for this.

There was no subject line.

I’m sure an email from me is the last thing you want right now. Who knows, maybe you’ve already blocked my email address, not to mention my phone number. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you did. But here goes nothing.

I had no intention of misleading you. That may sound ridiculous now, but it’s true. You have to know that I don’t hang around at all the faires we work. Usually I show up beforehand, make sure all the arrangements are made, and help the guys set up. Then after the first weekend, if everything’s in good shape, I don’t usually stick around, and I certainly don’t hang out at the faire all day. The only time I do that is when we come to Willow Creek. It’s almost comical, the things I do to look busy while I’m there—running the merch, lurking at the back of the show to make sure the guys know what they’re doing. But I do it, because the longer I stay in Willow Creek, the more I get to see you.