“Sold.” I dug in my purse for a pen. What was giving up my weekends for the entire summer when it meant I could look at an ass like that?

What the hell, right? It would be time with Caitlin. That was what I was there for. Be the cool aunt. Do the fun stuff. Distract her from the car accident that had left her with nightmares and weekly therapy sessions, and left her mom with a shattered right leg. When I’d arrived in Willow Creek, gloom had hung low over their household, like smoke in a crowded room. I’d come to throw open a window, let in the light again.

Besides, helping out my sister and her kid was the best way to stop dwelling on my own shit. Focusing on someone else’s problems was always easier than my own.

Stacey grinned as I started filling out the form. “Give it to Simon up at the front when you’re finished. It’s going to be great. Huzzah!” This last was said as a cheer, and with that she was gone, probably looking for other parental-type figures to snag into this whole gig.

Oh, God. Was I going to have to yell “huzzah” too? How much did I love my niece?

The form was pretty basic, and soon I followed the stream of volunteers (mostly kids—where were all the adults?) to the front of the auditorium, where they handed the papers to the dark-haired man with the clipboard collecting them. Simon, I presumed. Thank God, another adult. More adultier than me, even. I’d rolled out of bed and thrown on leggings and a T-shirt, while he was immaculate in jeans and a perfectly ironed Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, with a dark blue vest buttoned over it.

Despite his super-mature vibe, he didn’t look that much older than me. Late twenties at the most. Slighter of build than Mitch, and probably not quite six feet tall. Well-groomed and clean-shaven with closely cut dark brown hair. He looked like he smelled clean, like laundry detergent and sharp soap. Mitch, for all his hotness, looked like he smelled like Axe body spray.

When it was my turn, I handed the form in and turned away, checking to see where Cait had wandered off to. I couldn’t wait to tell her I was doing this whole thing with her. That kid was gonna owe me one.

“This isn’t right.”

I turned back around. “Excuse me?”

Simon, the form collector, brandished mine at me. “Your form. You didn’t fill it out correctly.”

“Um . . .” I walked back over to him and took the paper from his hand. “I think I know how to fill out a form.”

“Right there.” He tapped his pen in a rat-a-tat-tat on the page. “You didn’t say what role you’re trying out for.”

“Role?” I squinted at it. “Oh, right.” I handed the paper back to him. “I don’t care. Whatever you need.”

He didn’t take it. “You have to specify a role.”

“Really?” I looked behind me, searching for the desperate volunteer who had coerced me into this gig in the first place. But she was lost in a sea of auditionees. Of course.

“Yes, really.” He pursed his lips, and his brows drew together over his eyes. Dark brown brows, muddy brown eyes. He’d be relatively attractive if he weren’t looking at me like he’d caught me cheating on my chemistry final. “It’s pretty simple,” he continued. “Nobility, actors, dancers . . . you can audition for any of those. You could also try out for the combat stuff, if you have any experience. We do a human chess match and joust.”

“I . . . I don’t have any experience. Or, um, talent.” The longer this conversation went on, the more my heart sank. Now I was supposed to have skills? Wasn’t this a volunteer thing? Why was this guy making it so freaking hard?

He looked at me for a moment, a quick perusal up and down. Not so much checking me out as sizing me up. “Are you over twenty-one?”

Jesus. I knew I was on the short side, but . . . I drew myself up, as though looking a little taller would make me look older too. “Twenty-five, thank you very much.” Well, twenty-five in July, but he didn’t need to know that. It wasn’t like he’d be celebrating my birthday with me.

“Hmmm. You have to be twenty-one to be a tavern wench. You could put that down if you want to help out in the tavern.”

Now we were talking. Nothing wrong with hanging out in a bar for a few weekends in the summer. I’d worked in bars before; hell, I worked in two of them until just recently. This would be the same thing, but in a cuter costume.

“Fine.” I plucked my pen back out of my purse and scribbled the word “wench” down on the form, then thrust the paper back into his hands. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he said automatically, as though he hadn’t admonished me like a child thirty seconds before.

Gah. What a dick.

As I headed up the aisle toward the back of the auditorium, it didn’t take me long to spot Caitlin a couple rows away, talking to her friends. A smirk took over my face, and I scooted down the row in front of her, maneuvering around the folded-up seats.

“Hey.” I gave her a mock punch on the shoulder to get her attention. “You know you need an adult to volunteer with you, right?”

“I do?” Her eyes widened, and she looked down toward Simon with alarm, as though he was about to throw her out of the auditorium. Well, he’d have to go through me first.

“Yep. So guess who agreed to be a tavern wench this summer. How much do you love me?” I held my breath. Most teens wouldn’t want to be caught dead with a parental figure within a five-mile radius, much less want to spend the summer hanging out with them. But Caitlin was a good kid, and we’d developed a rapport since I’d stepped in as her Adult In Charge. Maybe she’d be cool with it.

Her look of alarm turned to surprised joy. “Really?” The word was a squeak coming out of her mouth. “So we both get to do the Faire?”

“Looks like it,” I replied. “You owe me one, kiddo.”

Her response was more squeal than words, but the way she threw her arms around my neck in an awkward hug over the row of seats told me everything. Maybe that was the advantage to being a cool aunt as opposed to a mom. This new family dynamic took some getting used to, but I was already starting to like it.

“We talked you into it, huh?” Mitch was waiting for me at the end of the row when I scooted back down to the aisle.

I shrugged. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.” I looked over my shoulder at Caitlin, giggling with her friends over something on their phones. “Doing this means a lot to her, so here I am.”

“You’re a good person, Emily.” He squinted. “It was Emily, right?”

I nodded. “Emily Parker.” I moved to offer a handshake, but he came back with a fist bump instead, and what kind of idiot would I be to not accept that?

“Good to meet you, Park. But trust me. You’re gonna have a great time at Faire.”

I blinked at the immediate nickname, but decided to roll with it. “Well, I have been promised that there are kilts involved, so . . .” I did my best to let my eyes linger on him without being some kind of creep about it. But Mitch didn’t seem like the type of guy to mind a little ogling. In fact, he seemed to encourage it.

“Oh, yeah.” A grin crawled up his face, and his eyes lingered right back. A flush crept up the back of my neck. If I’d known this was going to be a mutual-ogling kind of day, I would have done more this morning than wash my face and put on some lip gloss. “Believe me,” he said. “You’ll have a great summer. I’ll make sure of it.”

I laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” An easy promise to make, since I was already enjoying myself. I headed back up the aisle and plopped into my vacated seat in the last row. Down at the front, Simon collected more forms, probably criticizing applicants’ handwriting while he did so. He glanced up at one point like he could feel my eyes on him, and his brows drew together in a frown. God, he was really holding a grudge about that form, wasn’t he?

At the other side of the auditorium, Mitch high-fived a student and offered a fist bump to Caitlin, who looked at him like he hung the moon. I knew which of these two guys I was looking forward to getting to know better this summer, and it wasn’t the Ren Faire Killjoy.

* * *

• • •

I’d always been a little in awe of my older sister. Married young and divorced young from a man who’d had little interest in being a father, April had raised Caitlin on her own with an independence that bordered on intimidating. We’d never been particularly close—a twelve-year age difference will do that, when April was off to college right around the time that I was starting to become interesting—but I’d always thought of her as someone to emulate.

Which was why it was so hard to see her in her current condition.

When we got home from auditions, I opened the front door to find a crutch in the middle of the living room floor. I followed the line of the crutch, which pointed directly at my big sister on the couch. She looked like a dog who’d been caught going through the trash.

“You tried to get up while we were gone, didn’t you?” I crossed my arms and stared her down. It was hard to look threatening when you were barely five foot three, but I managed pretty well.