He stifled a shudder. At least she hadn’t taken his hand yet—some vague notion of propriety seemed to be holding her back. Still, the performance was unsettling. And public. He could feel people’s glances: warm, approving, assuming. Like this was something mutual.
He resisted the urge to yank his arm away and flee screaming into the crowd.
Then his heart kicked against his ribs. A young woman with golden hair was approaching, weaving through stalls, pausing at a display of colorful shawls. His stomach dropped. Was that—?
No. Just her sister.
Relief hit like cool water. The pressure in his chest eased. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been bracing for that moment—how unready he was to be seen likethis.
Unfortunately, Stella noticed the shift. Mistaking it for interest, perhaps even flattery, she leaned in closer, eyes alight. “What are you thinking about?”
Escape,he wanted to say.Ladders, tunnels, divine intervention.
Instead, he spotted a nearby stone bench and lunged toward it like it was a life raft.
“Shall we sit for a while?” he asked, a little too brightly. “I’m getting tired of walking.”
She blinked at the sudden movement, and for one blissful second, his arm was free.
He dropped onto the center of the bench and left a deliberate, just-barely-polite amount of space on one side. Predictably, Stella plopped down right next to him, hips aligned, perfume reclaiming the air between them.
Collin immediately shifted left and wedged his shopping bag between them like a makeshift barricade. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
He stared straight ahead, mind racing. Surely there was a way out of this. A clever excuse, a fake emergency, a collapsing tent.Anything.But his brain offered him nothing.
A cheerful luthier strolled past, plucking out a lively tune for nearby shoppers. The notes skipped along the path like they hadn’t a care in the world.
Stella smoothed the folds of her bright dancing skirt, tapping one dainty foot in time. Then, with great ceremony, she removed her flower crown, adjusted the blossoms and ribbons just so, and perched it back on her head—all without taking her eyes off him.
Collin cleared his throat. Still nothing to say. Must she look at him like he was about to declare his love? He shifted his gaze, pretending to follow the luthier’s song. A boy ran past, clutching a bleating goat to his chest.
“I have a friend entered in the livestock show,” he blurted, louder than he meant to.
“Oh? What’s he showing? Ilovethe livestock competitions. My father’s a judge this year.”
“I’m not sure whatshe’sshowing. I’m supposed to meet her by the rings.” The lie dropped like a stone, clumsy and transparent, but it was the best he could manage.
Stella, of course, was friends with Hadria and Helen—ifanyoneknew whether Collin was seeing someone, it wasprobably her. Still, he’d reached the point of desperation where logic bowed to survival instinct.
Hadria had once mentioned that Stella was growing impatient with his indifference. He wasn’t sure if that meant she’d finally give up—or double down. Maybe this lie would drive her off. Or maybe it would make him more appealing. At this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted out.
Stella tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The practiced pout of her lips suggested a slow internal calculation. She was suspicious. Possibly entertained. Definitely not deterred.
“So,” she said sweetly, “I heard Dragonfly moved to White Wood... Do you know anything about that?”
And there it was.
Collin’s stomach sank, ears going hot. Of course she’d seen through him. Maybe she even knew everything. Who had told her? Hadria? No—surely not.
“Dragonfly is working at my friend’s father’s farm,” he said evenly.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Stella replied, syrupy as ever. “Do you know if she came up for the fair? I haven’t seen her in ages. I’dloveto say hello.”
“I really have no idea,” he lied, the words clipped and dull.
“Your friend’s father is Constantine, right? My father says he always brings a huge entry. Do you think Dragonfly came to help with the animals?”
Collin shrugged, careful not to speak. Whatever she was angling for, he wasn’t going to help her build the stage. What was this—interrogation about?
