I’m not Dex. Believe me, that’s been drilled into my head my whole life. First by our family, who talked me into managing my cousins once they’d formed a band since I had no real talent of my own. Then by girls who pretend that they’re into me so they can get closer to him. No one notices me when he’s there, including you. You and I have always been friendly, but he was the one you had your eye on. So I never tried to make our friendship anything more. I’ve told myself every summer that being friends with you was good enough.

When that first message came through from you on the band’s page, I thought you’d noticed me. At last. So I answered you, as myself. Truthfully and completely. Then when you wrote back, you called me Dex, and I realized that I hadn’t been on your mind at all. I won’t tell you what that felt like. But that’s when I passed your original message to my cousin, which was the right thing to do, even though it hurt like hell. And Dex . . . well, he already told you his reaction. He wanted me to “handle it.” Dump you, basically, on his behalf.

And I just couldn’t hurt you like that. Then it occurred to me that, between Dex’s looks and my words, together we made the kind of man you deserve.

I sighed at that point and picked up my glass, wishing my soda was wine instead. “Dammit,” I muttered. Simon was right. This really was some Cyrano de Bergerac bullshit.

But I kept reading.

I knew there’d be a reckoning at some point. Each time I emailed, or later texted, I told myself that I’d come clean the next time. That it was the right thing to do. But I never did. Because I knew coming clean would mean losing what we had, and I wasn’t ready for that.

You asked me to give you a reason to stay. I wish I had one. I’ve been living on the road, managing this band, since I was nineteen. That’s who I am. It’s all I have. I don’t have anything to offer you but a life on the road. And you made it clear that you don’t want that. Of course you don’t, and I was wrong to even ask. You deserve so much more than a life like this.

You gave me a second chance, that first day at Faire, and I blew that chance. It would be foolish to ask for a third. I’ll see that hurt in your eyes for the rest of my life and hate myself for putting it there.

Of all the things I’ve said and didn’t say all these months, as myself or as my cousin, the most important words I should have said are “I love you.” I lied to you about who I was. I even lied to you about why I lied to you. But I never lied about how I feel about you.

I’m not my cousin. I’m not Cyrano. I’m just me. I may not be The One as far as you’re concerned. But Anastasia, you were The One for me. You still are. You always will be.

I don’t expect you to answer this. I’m not even sure if you’ll read it. But I hope that you have the life that you deserve, full of love from someone you can trust. I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that it couldn’t be me.

Yours. Always.

Daniel MacLean

It was the first time he’d ever signed an email to me, and his full name at that. I felt the significance immediately. He was saying goodbye.

I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and tore into a semi-cold garlic knot. He’d said his piece, and I could respect that. Most of my anger had dissolved in this latest wash of tears, leaving sadness behind. I could email him back right now, but what would it change? He was off to the next gig. Gone, just like my best friend from high school, just like my job in New York. And I was still here in Willow Creek. Life moved on, and I stayed right here.

I’d never felt so alone in my life. I reached for my phone, wanting to text Emily more than anything. I needed my best friend. But my best friend needed to be happy. She didn’t need to be worrying about me while she was on her honeymoon. I couldn’t come crying to her with this.

I scrolled through my contacts and stopped, staring hard at April’s name. We were friends, sure. Book-club friends. Do-shots-together-on-New-Year’s-Eve friends. Laugh-together-as-bridesmaids friends. But I wasn’t sure if we were at the “cry on her shoulder because I lost the love of my life” level of friendship. Not yet. Besides, April was the definition of a strong, independent woman, to the point that she was almost intimidating. Knowing her, she’d roll her eyes at my distress.

Social media wasn’t the right kind of venue for this black mood either. No, that was only for the happy times: the good things you wanted to share with friends and, let’s face it, maybe make them a little jealous of your good fortune. You never wanted to tag your bad memories. I couldn’t post anything tonight. Not when my heart was breaking.

No. I was alone in this, and all I could do was sit there with my cat and be alone.

Just like always.

Twenty-One

The last day of Faire passed in a blur of hot sunshine, music, other people’s laughter, and the pounding of hoofbeats. Emily dragged me to the joust early that day, and I found myself circling back to the jousting field for the rest of their performances. Something about the power in the horses, and the way the costumed knights charged at each other, echoed the hard pounding of my heart and an intense emotion I barely knew how to name, much less express.

I was so caught up in that blur that when I passed the Marlowe Stage, Dex had to call my name three times before I heard him. And when I did, I thought about ignoring him and just walking on by, but I simply wasn’t built like that. Instead I plastered on what was left of my smile and turned to him.

“Hey.” He paused and looked around, as though that single word was all he had planned to say.

“Hey,” I said back tentatively. I wasn’t in the mood for MacLeans right now, and I had no desire to make this conversation any easier for him. After an awkward few seconds he cleared his throat.

“Listen, I just wanted to make sure that you’re cool.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That I’m what?”

“You know, that you’re okay. You seemed really upset the other night. At the hotel?”

My lips twitched at the question. As if I’d forgotten Thursday night. “That’s because I was.” That was a hell of an understatement. What on earth was he going to do about it?

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Dex clearly wasn’t an apology kind of guy, and he was totally at sea here.

But it wasn’t my job to help him. “Did you need anything else?” I gestured back to the lane; I really wanted to be on my way.

“Yeah. No. I . . .” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“That I’m okay,” I echoed, my voice flat. I was the exact opposite of okay. Would I ever be okay again?

“That you’re okay,” he repeated. “Like I said the other night, I think you’re great, I really do. And if I said anything, or did anything, to upset you . . .” He shrugged. “Well, that wasn’t what I was trying to do.” His eyes met mine squarely, and I felt a jolt. His eyes were brown, like mine, not the startling green of Daniel’s. But there was something in the shape of them, and in his expression, that reminded me: oh, yeah. They were related.

And he really was trying. To be honest, this was probably the longest conversation Dex and I had ever had, even during those summers when we were . . . well, I don’t think I could use the word together to describe what we’d been doing. Not anymore. Not when I’d been with Daniel, and truly knew what together meant.

So instead of telling him where he could shove his inadequate almost-apology, I decided to take it at face value. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m not doing great right now, but I think I’ll be okay.” Sure, that last bit was a lie—but he didn’t need to know that.

Dex’s expression cleared, like a puppy with a short attention span. “Good.” He gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder, which was probably meant in the spirit of camaraderie, but really just showed me that he had no idea how to relate to a woman he wasn’t actively trying to bed. “I gotta get back.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Show in a few minutes. But good talk, yeah?”

I blinked a few times as he all but bounded away. “Yeah,” I said after him. “Good talk.” I strode down the lane, away from the Marlowe Stage as fast as my feet could carry me. I needed to get the last day of this topsy-turvy Faire season out of my system; I could start fresh next year. I twirled the dragonfly pendant between my fingers as I walked. Dragonflies meant change, Daniel had said to me last summer. I’d had a little too much change.

At the same time, I’d had no change at all. Back to work on Tuesday. Book club later that week. I’d stayed up late a couple nights finishing the book since I was supposed to lead the discussion, which left me overtired and irritated. The little sleep I’d managed was fragmented and interspersed with dreams that hinged on the plot of the book I’d just read—a woman finding herself and moving on after a breakup. Or were the dreams about me? I was too tired to try and figure it out.