Chapter 5

five

B riar

Poor Rowan.

He takes quite a ribbing from the volunteer EMTs at the first aid tent.

“What were you doing, man?” one of them asks while wrapping up Rowan’s hand. “Did you get lost in thought under a hot water faucet?”

Another one of the EMTs snickers.

“I spilled my coffee.”

His jovial nature has turned into something serious. And why wouldn’t it? He hurt himself pretty bad with that coffee. I would have been crying.

Once they have him wrapped up and treated, we make our way back to the crafting tent, where the class is just letting out.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I say to Rowan. “You can go back to the baby goats. Or, you know, take a rest after that injury.”

“I’m fine,” he says. I get the feeling he’s going to stay right by my side until it’s time to go. It’s a lovely feeling, but it’s going nowhere.

I can tell he’s into me. But I’m not into small-town guys. I’m not interested in starting something on the same day that I’m starting a new internship. It would never work.

We wait at the entrance of the tent. People file out, and more people file in to shop for yarn and fabric and needles and whatnot. Eventually, the woman that Rowan called Billie Jean comes out. “Oh! Your friend already left.”

My face is going to melt off if Esme puts me in another panic. “What do you mean ‘left’?”

“She’s around here somewhere.” Billie Jean touches my forearm and says, “Please thank your friend for me. She bought out every bit of my overstock. Now I have enough for all the seasonal things I’ve been wanting to order for Christmas, but I didn’t have room. Please come back anytime.”

She places a business card in my hand and then turns back to her new crop of customers.

I stumble away from the craft tent and look around frantically. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” asks Rowan.

“I don’t know where she is; that’s what’s wrong,” I snap a little too sharply.

Rowan places a hand between my shoulder blades, just like he did an hour ago when he assured me Esme would be fine with the knitters for an hour. “Hey. Listen. She’s around here somewhere; don’t panic.”

“Easy for you to say when I’m the one responsible for someone else’s well-being.”

Rowan laughs. “That’s also my job, if you think about it. Now come on; let’s go find your friend.”

He slides his hand off my back then laces his fingers through mine. I have to tamp down the feelings that bubble up at that intimate contact.

I meet his gaze. The man is steady as a rock.

“I’m just trying to calm you down. I hold people’s hands when they’re in shock. It helps. Now, take a deep breath and look around. Where would she most likely be?”

Sweeping my gaze around the festival grounds, I can’t decide what that would be. I don’t know her well enough to guess. She had food, she petted the goats, she went shopping.

“Wherever she is, she’ll be carrying about two metric tons of yarn, so she’ll be easy to spot,” I say.

“Good girl. Now take it easy, and let’s look around.”

Anybody else would get an elbow to the neck for calling me a good girl and for telling me to relax and take it easy. It’s the same thing as telling a woman to calm down, which never works. But coming from Rowan, it sits easier somehow.

OK, it helps that I like holding his hand. Who wouldn’t?

We move through the crowds, past the beer stand and the pumpkin pie bake-off. I thought I saw someone who resembled her at the face painting station, but I was mistaken.

After about five minutes of looking, Rowan taps me on the shoulder. “That her?”

I look in the direction he’s pointing, and sure enough, there is Esme. And she’s flirting with a huge, tattooed man who looks like he could get a gig as an extra on the set of Sons of Anarchy.

“Holy shit, who is she talking to?”

“That’s Sagan. He’s my boy. Come on.”

His boy? OK then. Whatever you say.

“There you are!”

Esme turns to me and squeals, showing me her hand. “Look!”

“What is that?” I say, examining the spot. “Oh my god, did you get a tattoo?”

She scoffs. “No, silly. He was just drawing a little turtle on me. Isn’t it cute?”

I let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank god. You disappeared on me and I thought I was in trouble.”

Esme touches my shoulder. “Would you relax? Nothing bad is going to happen to me. This day is too perfect.”

What is with everyone telling me to relax? Is it that obvious that I’m stressed out?

The man that Rowan called Sagan can’t seem to take his eyes off of Esme. “Perfect day, indeed.”

To the tattooed man, with an all-too-obvious crush on my charge, I give a tight smile and say, “Thanks for keeping her company. We should be going now.”

Sagan replies, “You should stay for the bonfire.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell them,” Rowan says.

Esme claps her hands excitedly. “Yes! Let’s stay for the bonfire. One more thing that I haven’t done. Will there be hot dogs?”

“And s’mores,” Sagan says.

“I’ve never had a s’more either!”

Sagan looks from her to me. “Did the two of you come from another dimension?”

Esme winks at him. “If I told you that, then I’d have to kill you.”

His eyes widen as if he believes her. She cackles. “Kidding. I just have to get you to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

I glance at Rowan, feeling a little panicky. Did I sign an NDA? Should I have not told him about Esme? What if we stay for the bonfire and people figure out who she is?

But looking at her now, I can see she’s determined. And if I wanna keep this job, I have to keep her happy, right? And if Frye’s out of town…

“Sure,” I say. “We can stay for the bonfire.”

She claps her hands again and shouts, “Yay!”