“Maybe a little,” I conceded. My smile slipped a fraction, but I pushed it back in place. “I think I’m still in that post-Faire letdown, you know? Eleven more months till it starts up again.”

“Counting down already?” Emily rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’re as bad as Simon.”

I shrugged. “When you grow up doing it, you look forward to it, you know?”

“I can see that.” She nodded and nibbled at her toast. “Not to mention that guy. I bet you look forward to him too, huh?” She raised her eyebrows at me suggestively.

“What guy?” I felt a guilty tingle across the back of my neck. I thought Dex and I had been more subtle than that.

“That guy you were seeing over the summer. And last summer too.” She frowned. “Is it the same guy? You kept sneaking off to see him. Someone from Faire, right?”

“Ooh.” April leaned forward, her eyes eager. “What guy?”

Emily pointed at her sister with a piece of bacon. “I thought you didn’t like gossip.”

“This isn’t gossip,” she said mildly. “This is girl talk. Very different.” She turned back to me. “So who’s the guy?”

I took another bite of my waffle to stall for time. “I don’t know about . . . Who are you talking about?” My heart pounded in my throat, making it hard to swallow. How did she know?

“Stacey.” Emily put down her fork and looked me square in the eye. “Don’t play coy with me. You sent me texts. With little fire emojis. And something else . . . eggplants or something.”

“Oh,” I said. My heart calmed down. “Yeah.” I’d forgotten about that. It had been a particularly long, particularly . . . creative night with Dex. And Emily had been going through a rough patch, so I’d sent her a string of dirty emojis to cheer her up. I was nice that way. But now it came back to bite me in the ass.

“Yeah,” Emily echoed, her eyes shrewd. “And if you think I didn’t notice how sometimes you practically ran out of Faire at the end of the day and came in the next morning looking suspiciously tired yet happy . . .” She trailed off, obviously forgetting the beginning of that extremely long sentence. “Well, I noticed,” she finally said.

“Right.” I pretended that my memory had been jogged, as if Dex and our sporadic hookups hadn’t been sitting in the forefront of my mind for the past few days. “It was nothing,” I said. “At least nothing that lasted.” I hated the note of regret that colored those words. I wasn’t going to see Dex for eleven months, and since he hadn’t answered my message it seemed unlikely that we’d be picking up where we left off. I should just write him off for good at this point.

“Do you wish it had?” Emily’s eyes searched mine, a flicker of sympathy in them.

I didn’t want sympathy. “Nope.” The Stacey Smile was back in place, but it didn’t feel as much like a mask this time. The sting had started to wear off the rejection, and maybe in a day or two I’d even be able to forget I’d sent it. I could delete the one-sided attempt at conversation and pretend it had never happened. Sure, it might be a little awkward when next summer’s Faire came around. I was already sad at the prospect of losing my summertime hookup. But it was probably all for the best. Wine-drunk Stacey had gotten everything off her chest, and now I could cross Dex off as any kind of prospect. Not that he’d ever been a legitimate one in the first place.

One mimosa wasn’t enough to untangle all these conflicting feelings. But I kept my smile in place and I didn’t order a second one. Alcohol had gotten me into this mess, after all. Moderation was the way forward.

* * *

  • • •

I’d just pulled into the driveway after brunch, my belly full of waffles and my brain full of whirling thoughts, when my phone pinged in my bag. I pulled it out while I bumped the car door closed with my hip. Before we left the restaurant, April had invited me to her neighborhood book club, but she’d forgotten which book they were reading. Emily had promised to text me with the title when she opened up the bookstore after brunch.

Before I could read Emily’s text my phone lit up with a second notification, and I froze in place three steps up the staircase. Emily’s text was there, but I didn’t register it. All my attention was focused on the instant message icon below it, along with the first few words: I have to say first that getting your message the other night was such a surprise. But . . .

Jesus Christ, phone. That’s where you chose to cut off the preview? Despite the heat of early afternoon, I went cold all over. Tingles spread from the back of my neck down my arms, every little hair standing at attention, while my entire consciousness focused on that one little word on my phone screen. But.

I’d been resigned to him not writing back. Not hearing back from him was a rejection, sure, but it was a passive one. This message, with its “but,” was going to be a much more active kind of rejection, and I didn’t know if I could handle it. Oh, God, I didn’t want a message from Dex cataloging my many faults, but here it was. I’d messed up big-time.

I didn’t want to open the message, but if I ignored it, that little (1) icon would bug me for the rest of my life. I considered throwing my phone away entirely. Getting a new number. Maybe a new identity while I was at it. People did it all the time in movies. How hard could it be?

Instead, I sank down to sit on the stairs leading up to my apartment, certain my legs wouldn’t carry me up to the top until I ripped off the Band-Aid and opened the message. I drew in a long, slow breath and clicked on the message before I let myself change my mind.

I have to say first that getting your message last night was such a surprise. But it was probably the best, most welcome surprise I’ve had since I can remember.

“Oh my God.” I leaned back against the railing and let relief wash over me. That was a good “but” after all. I pressed one hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart, and kept reading.

  For one thing, I’m glad you finally told me your full name. After knowing each other for so long, you’d think I’d know it already. I guess it just never came up, huh?

On to the more important things:

Lots of things make me laugh. My cousin doing something stupid, which happens almost daily, so that’s good news for me. Japanese cat videos. Dogs wearing sweaters. I don’t know why on that last one. They just usually look so bewildered by the whole idea of wearing clothes that it makes me laugh.

No sugar, but a good dollop of cream. I mean a GOOD dollop. Several dollops, actually. So much that I almost have to put my coffee in the microwave to make it hot again.

I love cats. See above re: Japanese cat videos. I’ve never had one myself, but they’ve always fascinated me. They’re these perfect little predators, yet we let them curl up on our laps like they wouldn’t eat our faces if we died in the night. Hmm, that got morbid. They’re also really soft, and I hear that sometimes they let you pet their bellies. I like that.

And Stacey, I do miss you. More than I should. More than I have any right to, for someone who’s not really in your life. For all the time we spend on the road (and to answer that question, it’s a lot; we’re on the road more than we’re home, and that’s really only for a month or two around the holidays), I’ll tell you here and now that your smile is something I look forward to seeing every summer. And now I’m looking forward to seeing it more.

I’m between shows right now, so I have to run. I don’t have time to come up with questions to ask you, so how about this: Tell me something. Something I don’t know about you. Which, let’s face it, is just about everything.

That long, slow breath escaped in a whoosh as I read over Dex’s words. I read his message twice, and the cold feeling that had enveloped me was quickly replaced with heat. My cheeks burned, and I put one palm to my face in an effort to cool them.

He missed me too. Well. That certainly changed things. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t even go all the way up the stairs into my apartment. My thumbs flew over my phone’s keyboard as I composed a quick message back.

Dex,

I owe you an apology. For the past couple summers we’d said that there was nothing more to us than what we did in bed (NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING ABOUT THOSE THINGS). I thought you were never interested in getting to know me. I thought that all you were looking for was . . . well, what we were already doing.

And here we were missing each other. I guess that’s what I get for not speaking up sooner. But you could have too, you know. Though I guess you just did.

Have a great show today. Or shows. It’s early in the day still.

Something you don’t know about me: I told you my last name, but you still don’t know my first name. Here’s a hint: it’s not Stacey.