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“You need to wipe that lovesick grin off your face, chickadee.” Lucy tuts at me as we walk along Main Street, where a plethora of different colored awnings and tented canopies dot the closed-off road. Pedestrians mill about, collecting wine samples, cake samples, coffee samples, you name it. It’s a beautiful afternoon, bright and clear with a bit of extra warmth that feels like a hug.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But of course, I do. I peek back at Frederick, who’s walking along at a good distance behind us with Jordan and Ryder. He’s laughing at something Ryder’s saying, but I know he’s always got one eye on me, making sure I’m safe. He’s such a good man, and last night, I allowed myself to get lost in the fantasy. I know that, despite what Lucy said last night, Frederick’s just playing a role—he confirmed as much on our drive home from the winery.
“I hope I didn’t take things too far,” he said.
Too far? Not far enough was more like it. “No,” I managed. “It was all right.” I nearly kicked myself at the gross understatement because that was like saying breathing is “kind of” important to sustaining life.
That kiss … it was pure euphoria and the barest whisper of a dream—one I only got to live for a few suspended moments in time.
Because it was over far too quickly.
“Good.” He glanced over at me as he turned onto Main Street. “It’s just that I thought Stephanie needed convincing of our feelings for each other. Our fake feelings, I mean.”
Fake feelings. Right. The good thing is that she was most definitely convinced. The bad thing? I nearly was too. Because I’m not sure someone can manufacture a great kiss like that. But even if Frederick feels a little bit of attraction for me, he’s clearly committed to the crown. I wish I knew why he’s given up on his dreams of traveling to work this job. Maybe someday, he’ll tell me.
I sigh.
Lucy’s elbow finds my side with a playful jab. “Oy, girl, we need to get you married off.” She fans her face as we dodge around an elderly couple holding hands and toddling along like there’s nothing more important in that moment than experiencing the world together. “I can feel the heat between the two of you coming from a mile away.”
I force a smile. I should be glad that we’ve been so convincing, but I only feel sad that I can’t tell her the truth. Not only could I use someone to talk to, but I don’t want to lie anymore. Not to any of the ladies, really, but especially to Lucy, who started this whole thing with me.
We leave the food section, where I picked up Lucy from The Green Robin’s booth that’s serving a limited menu of sliders, chicken tenders, and chips (or french fries, as my American friends call them), and enter the section where vendors have art on display. Photos, paintings, jewelry, hand-painted ornaments … it’s all quite lovely. After talking with Greta Graber, I may need to come back here and do some shopping.
“Thanks for coming with me to meet Greta.” Marilee was right and all of my calls have gone straight to voicemail. “Here’s hoping she has some good news for me, because otherwise the wedding might have to happen at the tiny public park at the top of the hill,” I joke.
“Well, would that be so bad? There’s always the beach too. Why don’t you guys want to do it there?”
I can’t very well tell her that it’s too public—she wouldn’t understand.
Ugh. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not someone who is built to lie, and even if it’s for a good reason, it’s just not sitting well with me. I glance back at Frederick again. His distance means he can’t hear exactly what I’m saying right now, and he’s talking with Jordan anyhow.
Shaking out my hands, I prepare to tell Lucy the truth. “Lu—”
“Here we are.” She points to a very plain booth—just a folding table and chairs with no covering and a tacked on, hand-written sign that saysBurt’s Auto. Three people in their late fifties, maybe early sixties, sit there. The two women drink glasses of white wine, while the man—a gray-haired, stooped chap with glasses and leathery skin wearing mechanic’s dungarees—tosses back a beer. “Hey, guys.”
At Lucy’s greeting, they all look up. The women both say “Hello, dear” and the man jumps up, rounds the table, and picks her off the ground in a giant squeeze.
She pats his shoulder, laughing. “It’s only been three hours since I saw you at home, Uncle Burt.”
“I know, darlin’, but I gotta hug you like this in public, so everyone knows you’re my favorite niece.” His accent is much stronger than Lucy’s, but just as peppy.
“I’m your only niece,” she deadpans.
“Not true. I’ve got that one on Bea’s side who lives in Io-Way.”
Haven’t heard of that place. I scrunch my nose.
“And by that he means Iowa,” she says to me. “Uncle Burt, this is my friend Chloe.”
“Burt Reynolds—not the actor—at your service.” He bows to me, then grabs me up into the same kind of embrace he held Lucy in. “Lucy’s told us all about you.”
Oh, he’s brilliant. “Pleased to meet—”
“Chloe?” Frederick’s by my side in an instant. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I say as Burt releases me. “Frederick, this is Burt.”
The man turns to Frederick and assesses him, then breaks into a big grin and snags his hand lightning quick, pumping it up and down. Given his furrowed brow, Frederick’s still trying to process whether this man is a threat. I poke him in the side and give a tiny shake of my head along with a grin when he looks my way.
