“Oh, Mom, it does look magical, don’t you think?” Chloe said, twirling around slowly.
Emily was inclined to agree. The churchyard of Saint Bartholomew’s Catholic Church was transformed by a few cheap white twinkle lights surrounding the patio. Old wine barrels cut in half served as seating, and Father O’Reilly had tied a red bandana around his black-and-white priest’s collar and put on his straw cowboy hat. Clancy, also known as He Who Rides Naked, had thankfully put his clothes back on and was playing the banjo. Jimmy the mailman and Tom the veterinarian were strumming guitars, and Gladys the bank teller was on the keyboards. Gigi was holding court on one side of the patio with several of her stiff-haired geriatric friends, while Mrs. Bostwick and the Mahoney sisters sat at a table near the punch bowl. Eye-darts were flying back and forth. You could practically hear them zinging by.
“Now circle to the left,” Father O’Reilly called out over the music and the laughter. “And shoot the star.”
Emily’s gaze scanned the crowd, looking for Ryan.
“Hi.”
She spun around and there he was, standing there looking just as fine as always. Her heart did a slow twirl of its own.
“Hey, Ryan.” Chloe hopped over and gave him a fist bump. “Good to see you. Got to run, though. I see some friends.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Emily said, laughing. “What about me?”
Chloe gave an exaggerated shrug, along with an expression that said uh, what about you? “You wanted me to make friends, didn’t you? Mission accomplished. See you later.” And with that she was gone.
Emily turned toward Ryan, feeling awkward and exhilarated at the same time. “That’s the second time that kid has stood me up.”
“I like that about her.”
Emily felt a blush stealing over her skin even as she smiled. “So, what do we do now?” she asked.
“Pretty much anything except dance.”
“Now acey-deucey to the right,” Father O’Reilly shouted as Ryan stepped a little closer.
“I have some suggestions,” he said quietly in her ear, not that anyone would be able to hear them over the clamor.
She had some ideas, too, but at the moment, her brain was too distracted by the width of his shoulders to respond. She’d had her arms around those shoulders, so now she knew they were all muscle.
Before she could come up with any sort of clever response, Emily felt a hand touch her elbow.
“Peach? Finally! People kept telling me you were in town, but I didn’t believe it.”
She turned again to find Reed Bostwick garbed in full colonial costume, and her breath came out in one big huff of surprise. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since she’d seen him last, and other than the outfit and the British wig perched on his head, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. Maybe a little bit thicker, with a man’s face instead of a teenager’s, but mostly the same. A bored-looking stick figure of a woman with big eyes and small glasses, also in colonial costume, stood by his side.
“Reed, oh my goodness! How are you?” she said, leaning toward him. The hug was only mildly awkward, made slightly more so because when he leaned forward, his white wig fell right off his head. The stick figure automatically bent to pick it up and handed it back to him. This must be Mrs. Reed Bostwick, and she did not appear to be a fan of square dancing, judging from her terribly bored expression. Or maybe she didn’t like wearing a costume. Or the most likely reason? She may have heard Emily’s name before, and not in a flattering way. Thanks for that, Olivia Bostwick.
“I’m very well, thanks. Doing great, in fact. I work for the governor, you know. I’m terribly important, according to my mother.” He laughed, proving he thought his mother was just as pretentious as everyone else did, and the sound of it was also just as Emily had remembered. Big and genuine. She’d probably been dumb to leave him. She’d often thought that, and yet seeing him now? Nothing stirred inside her other than mild interest in an old friend and a wave of sweet nostalgia. No flutters or ripples or twinges. No regrets. Not really.
“Yes, your mother told me as much, but I was very glad to hear you’re doing well. And is this your wife?”
He seemed startled by the question, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What? Oh, yes. Emily, this is Marissa. Marissa, this is Emily. You’ve heard me mention Emily.”
The stick figure smiled tightly. “Only about a thousand times. Nice to meet you, Emily.”
Somehow Emily did not think Marissa found it nice at all. “Likewise.”
Ryan cleared his throat beside her.
“Oh, Reed, this is . . . my friend Ryan. Ryan, Reed Bostwick. He works for the governor and he’s terribly important.” She and Reed laughed. Marissa and Ryan did not.
Reed reached out to shake Ryan’s hand, forgetting he was holding the wig. He tossed it to his other hand at the last second, leading to a fumble of motions, some nervous laughter, and a roll of the eyes from Marissa.
“Good to meet you.” They did the he-man single shake.
“So, what’s with the outfit, Reed?” Emily asked. “You look quite convincing, by the way.”
He bent at the waist like a proper colonial might do, then righted himself. “I am currently wearing a British uniform of the King’s Eighth Regiment as earlier this evening I had the dubious honor of representing Captain John MacGillicuddy of His Majesty’s service during a reenactment at the old fort. Of course, I’m sure you recall MacGillicuddy is the guy who lost the fort to the Americans.”
“Well, I guess it could have been worse. You could have been representing Chief Eagle Feather.”
Reed laughed and nodded. He turned to Marissa. “Chief Eagle Feather was the one—”
“Yes. Yes, I know. He was the guy who rode naked through the town. I’ve been here before, Reed. I’ve heard the story a thousand times.”
He turned back to Emily, not seeming very insulted by Marissa’s manner. Something told Emily he was used to it.
“So, rumor has it you’re renovating one of your grandmother’s rental cottages. Which dead husband did that one belong to?”
Emily laughed again. “The second one.”