“They have faires other places too, you know.” I hated how defensive I sounded. Why was I arguing with a teenager? I fought to not cross my arms over my chest. Instead I slapped my patented Stacey Smile back on my face. “But, yeah. Maybe I like this one.”

“And maybe you’re being rude, kiddo.” April appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “You don’t just ask someone why they live where they do. Maybe it’s none of your business.”

Caitlin opened her mouth and then shut it again, her face reddening. “Sorry,” she mumbled, throwing a look in my direction.

“Hey, it’s cool.” My defensiveness faded. She was a kid. It was okay to ask questions. I picked up my pen again. “Let me know when you want help with those songs. I’ll teach you some of the ones you’re too young for, and you can sing ’em in the tavern when Simon isn’t looking.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes lit up.

“No,” April said from the doorway, in unison with Simon from the other end of the table. But Caitlin and I grinned at each other in solidarity, all awkwardness forgotten.

April shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb, swirling some red wine in her glass. “When am I getting my dining room back?”

On my left, Mitch shrugged and reached for another slice of pizza; he’d contributed dinner tonight, which meant takeout. “Well, Faire’s in July, and so’s the wedding, so . . .”

“July,” I chimed in, my attention back on the invitation list. Emily and April had been sending them out in their free time in groups of ten or fifteen, and someone needed to make sure none of the names had fallen through the cracks. And since I’d been the one to point that out, that someone had become me. It was going well, though; most of the invites had been sent out, and I could probably get the last of them addressed in the next few days. RSVPs were already starting to come back too, so that was my next task.

“July.” April sighed. “Great.” But when I looked up she dropped a quick wink at me, and I caught the ghost of a smile that she camouflaged with a sip of her wine.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Emily’s sigh was a more genuinely aggrieved echo of her sister’s. “Getting married at Faire seemed like a really good idea last fall, didn’t it?”

“Hey,” I said, “it’s still a great idea. The wedding is going to be fantastic.”

“I know.” Emily sighed. “Everything’s happening so fast now, though. All the prep, along with Faire rehearsals every weekend, and there’s still a lot to plan . . .”

“For the wedding or for Faire?” April asked.

“Yes.” Emily nodded. “Both.” Her eyes were wide, and her chin trembled a little. Oh, man, she wasn’t kidding around. She was overwhelmed. I’d never seen a problem that Emily couldn’t plan her way out of. This was serious.

I put down my pen and grasped her arm, getting her attention. “We’ll get it done,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“We will,” April said. “And it’s all going to happen at my dining room table.”

“Oh, whatever.” Emily’s snark was coming back as she glanced up at her sister. “It’s not like you throw any dinner parties anyway.”

“I might.” April took another sip of wine, but her eyes laughed at us over the glass. I knew her well enough by now to know that our book clubs were as social as she got. Odds were good that she’d never thrown a party in this house, and wasn’t likely to do so anytime soon.

“You won’t.” Emily picked up her own glass of wine. “And that’s what you get for having the biggest dining room table.” She was back to joking around; she was going to be okay.

“Plus you’re a better cook than I am,” Mitch said.

April snorted. “I can see that, considering your contribution tonight.”

He shrugged again. “Some people are good at cooking. I’m really good at picking up takeout.”

“Everyone’s good at something,” Simon said absently from the other end of the table. He frowned at his laptop before looking up at Mitch. “Speaking of which, how are the acts coming?” Simon was holding down the Faire-planning end of things while Emily took care of the wedding stuff. They were a list-making power couple.

“It’s getting there,” Mitch said. “There are a few that I still have to confirm, and a good seventy-five percent still have to send in their contracts, but I’m sure it’ll work out fine. It always does, right?”

“Well, yes.” Simon’s frown didn’t go away. In fact, the crease between his eyebrows deepened. “But not without effort. You’ll be able to stay on top of it, right?”

“Well . . .” Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. “Here’s the thing. Baseball season is winding down, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got a shot at State this year. I’ve really got to concentrate on my guys right now. I mean, I’ll do what I can, but . . .”

Simon sighed. “Okay.” His eyes sharpened and he pinched the bridge of his nose; he was thinking hard. “Okay,” he said again. “I suppose I can take that part over, so you can . . .”

“No, you can’t.” Emily’s eyes were just as sharp. Bridezilla or not, the closer it got to go time, the more stressed out she’d become.

So I jumped in, to try and diffuse some of her tension. “What about Chris?” As the words came out of my mouth I realized that she should be here. Didn’t she help organize Faire every year?

But Simon and Emily shook their heads in tandem. “She’s still in Florida,” Emily said. “With her mom.” She clicked through the calendar app on her phone. “She comes back in June, so she can help with rehearsals at least.”

Mitch sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I need someone to take this over before then.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “I’ll see if I can . . .”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Emily said. “You have wedding stuff to do. We’re meeting with the bakery soon, and we still have a million little things to decide on. Like, you know, what you’re wearing.”

“I’ve got a kilt you can borrow,” Mitch said cheerfully. Emily snorted, and even Simon cracked a smile.

“No one’s checking out my knees at my wedding,” he said.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “What, check out my knees?”

“They’re not that great,” Emily tsked. “Sorry, hon. Your strength really lies in your leather pants.” She looked thoughtful. “Are you sure you don’t want to get married as Captain Blackthorne? My mom would love to see you in that hat.”

“No.” Simon’s voice was stern, but his eyes warmed as he looked at his fiancée. “I’m not getting married dressed as a pirate. That’s final.”

I couldn’t believe this. They’d all completely lost the thread of the conversation. Was this Opposite Day? How was I the only one who cared about Faire right now? “What I meant was, I’ll do the entertainment stuff.” I looked over at Mitch. “It’s just down to confirmation, right?”

“Yep,” Mitch said. “Almost everyone’s booked, like I said. Once we get the contracts, it’s just a matter of confirming rooms for the ones who need them and sending them their confirmations. We have a deal with a couple hotels and split the cost with the performers fifty-fifty. And it’s not even that many. Most of these guys camp in RVs. It’s just a few that use the hotel.”

“I know that,” I said. I probably said it a little too quickly, but I was pretty familiar with at least one of the hotels, and at least one of the acts who took advantage of our offer of rooms. A thrill had started taking hold in my chest the moment I’d volunteered for this. It didn’t make sense: Dex had nothing to do with contracts and hotel reservations. His cousin Daniel was the one who handled that minutiae. But there was still a part of me that was excited to see the Kilts listed as performers. Confirmation that he was coming back into my life. My real life.

If Mitch noticed my uncharacteristic eagerness, he didn’t say. “Yeah, so that’s basically it. You think you can handle it?”

I waved a hand. “No problem. Do you have a list of what you’re still waiting for?”

“Yep. Here . . .” He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and sent me a text, judging from the answering beep that came from my phone in my bag hanging on the chair behind me. “That’s the password to the email account; just about everything is in there. I’ve got a spreadsheet with everything else. I’ll email that to you tonight.”

“That sounds perfect.” I wasn’t sure why I was so impressed at Mitch being that organized. It was easy to think of him being the fun guy who shoved tequila shots in my direction at Jackson’s, but the man coached football in the fall and baseball in the spring. Of course he was organized.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Simon’s words were careful, but I caught the meaning behind them. He knew, Emily knew, hell, probably Mitch knew, that I wasn’t exactly stellar when it came to organization and planning. It was a weakness, and something I wanted to get better at. I was great at big-picture stuff, and I could tell when things were going wrong, but details overwhelmed me. I wasn’t great at figuring out what puzzle pieces I needed to make that big picture happen.