“Not too bored?”

“Not at all. I’ve been busy . . .” He pointed at the screen, and I leaned over to take a look.

“What’s this, online gaming? I didn’t take you for a . . .” I squinted at the spreadsheet he had up. “That’s a terrible game.”

He laughed, ending with a cluck of his tongue. “It is. Planning ahead for the school year. I’ve been meaning to catch up on some paperwork. I may as well do it here.” He reached for me, catching my hand in his and kissing my knuckles again. “I’m way behind this summer.” He cocked an eyebrow in my direction, that look that made me want to start unbuttoning. “I’ve had other things on my mind these past few weeks, for some reason.”

“Hmm. Can’t imagine what.” I tried to sound innocent, but mostly failed. “I’m closing up soon. We can get some dinner, if you want.”

“I’d love that.” One more kiss and he released my hand. While I cleaned out machines at the coffee counter, I caught my attention wandering back to Simon. Now that summer was ending his teacher persona was coming back; I could see it in the way he carried himself. Captain Blackthorne would be more apt to sprawl in a chair. But Simon’s posture was more rigid; he sat up straight, frowning occasionally at his laptop before jotting something down in a notebook at his side.

“I can’t believe the summer’s almost over.” I almost rolled my eyes at my pathetic attempt at small talk. Maybe I would mention the weather next.

“It went too fast.” But his voice had turned grave, and I peeked over to see him frowning at his laptop.

“What’s the matter?”

“The end of the summer is always a little weird.” He sighed. “Summer’s something I look forward to every year, you know . . . Faire. Being a pirate. But then in September I’m just me again.” He could only hold my gaze for a moment before he glanced off to the side. “You didn’t like that guy much, as I recall.”

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t stop my smile. “He’s kind of grown on me.” He looked back at me, and this time our gazes held. He smiled back, a small curve of his lips, but it was enough.

This kind of talk made me nervous. I wanted to ask him what he wanted from me. From us. Should we talk about whether this thing between us had a future? But then the bell over the front door chimed, and I had to get back to work. I hadn’t expected a late-afternoon rush on a Tuesday of all days, but before I knew it I could close up for the night. I threw the bolt on the front door and flipped the Closed sign over. I needed to count down the cash drawer, but I also needed to see Simon. I’d left him alone much longer than I’d wanted to.

Flipping off half of the overhead lights as I went, I called his name as I reached that side of the shop. “Excuse me, sir, but we’re closing . . .” My voice trailed off when I registered his table was empty. His laptop was still open but had gone dark, so he’d been away for a few minutes at least. His pen was tossed down on the open notebook, half a page filled with ridiculously neat block writing. One glance at the page, and I knew where he was.

Our classics section was small but well stocked with the basics. I found what I was looking for there in the semidarkness of the stacks. Simon leaned against the bookcase, elbow braced on a shelf, a slim volume open in his hands. I cleared my throat, and he looked up almost guiltily.

“Sorry, I got distracted. Closing up, though, right? I noticed it got darker in here.”

“Picked up on that, huh?” I walked over to check out the book he was holding. It was hard to read upside down in the dim light. “What’s that?”

“Shakespeare.” He handed me the book. “I do a short unit on Shakespeare with my AP kids at the beginning of the year, and I was deciding which sonnet to talk about.”

“Oooh, the sonnets. They don’t get enough love.” No wonder the volume was so thin. A Complete Works, on the other hand, could qualify as a murder weapon. I flipped through the pages before coming back to the page he was reading. “Sonnet 29? You like this one?”

“I do.” An arm slid around my waist as he pulled me closer. He nestled me into him, my back against his chest. “It feels apropos for this summer.”

“Really?” I tilted the book a little to catch more of the light, and read out loud, my voice a quiet murmur:

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate . . .”

“You have a good voice for Shakespeare.” Simon’s mouth was right next to my ear, and I turned a little to look at him over my shoulder.

“English major, remember? I’ve always loved the way Shakespeare sounds.” I turned back to the book as he brushed a kiss on my temple. “So this is about you? Sounds like you had a shitty summer so far.”

“I wasn’t in a very good mood at the start of it, if you recall.” He fiddled with a lock of my hair, one of several that had escaped from its clip during the day.

I did recall. He’d been in a pretty bad place. Lots of people had commented on it to me, but had I been the only one who had actually talked to him about it? Did the rest of this town take him for granted? “Yeah, but ‘bootless cries’? ‘Curse my fate’? Seems a little melodramatic.”

“I’m a dramatic guy.” I felt his smile against the side of my neck, and I kept reading.

“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d . . .”

The lightbulb came on easily here. “Mitch.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe you were jealous of Mitch.”

“Always have been. He’s always been everything I’m not. He has an easy time talking to anyone. And look at the guy.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’d much rather look at you.” A memory flitted across my brain of when I’d first met Simon and disliked everything about him. I dismissed it quickly. Stupid memory.

“Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least . . .”

“Faire’s been my favorite thing. For years.” He drew a deep breath. “But this summer was different. I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to see you when you didn’t even want to talk to me.”

“You weren’t exactly nice to me.” I tried to defend myself.

“Then I started to get to know you better, but I thought you and Mitch were together and . . . yeah. I wasn’t in a great place.” His arms tightened around me when I read the next line:

“Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising . . .”

My throat closed and I choked on the last word. I didn’t like to think of Simon hating himself. It was too awful to contemplate. I’d come a long way from thinking of him as the Ren Faire Killjoy.

“Haply I think on thee . . .” Simon took up the reading of the sonnet, but he didn’t need the text in front of him. Show-off. Instead he mouthed the words against the nape of my neck, and they traveled on a murmur of breath, a deep rumble in his chest that I strained to hear.

“And then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate . . .”

He turned me in his arms; the small book tumbled to the floor as he guided my arms up to grip the shelf above my head. Simon’s mouth plundered mine—there was that pirate again—and I arched into him. A shelf dug into my back, but with his hands trailing down my arms, across my collarbone, and down to my breasts, I didn’t notice or care.

His mouth traveled down my throat, painting Shakespeare’s words onto my collarbone with his tongue.

“For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Another deep, drugging kiss, and he pulled away, but only far enough to lean his forehead against mine. “Emily.” Color was high in his cheeks, his pupils wide and dark; he looked wild. He cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin, and his eyes searched mine as though I had hidden the answer to something in them. “I—”

“Hush.” Just like that day at the tavern, I didn’t want him to talk. I didn’t want to take the chance that he was starting to say goodbye. Instead I stretched up to kiss him again. If this was nothing more than a summer fling and I only had a few more weeks with this man, I was going to take full advantage of every moment. I would stockpile every touch, every kiss, for the day when I wasn’t in his arms anymore. The summer wasn’t over yet. We still had time.

Twenty-one

It didn’t take long for me to realize that my new “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about my future in Willow Creek was a load of crap. Instead of being the best way to avoid heartache, it made everything worse. I went through my days with a sense of dread, and every time Chris asked me a question I almost flinched, expecting the hammer of unemployment to fall.