Page 82 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

“Then put some pants on and let me in! This is how I’m repaid for being your errand boy? Sneaking around your parents’ attic, stealing family heirlooms from right under their noses? Driving two hours onmySaturday night and suffering through godforsaken city traffic?”

Growling, I let the door fly open. Fest comes stumbling in, his hands full of garment bags holding the clothes I need for my costume.

I yank them from his arms. “Thank you very much,” I tell him. “You can leave now.”

He stares at me, blue eyes wide, wearing an obnoxiously large grin. He’s got one of his usual loud ball caps on—this one is a neon rainbow watercolor print so bright, it hurts to look at it.

Tugging the ball cap off his head and revealing his mussed black hair threaded with silver, he fans his face. His eyes go straight to my barely there beard. “My goodness. Look atyou.”

I spin on the pretense of hanging up the clothing he brought, my back to him.

“I need to get ready now,” I tell him, unzipping the first garment bag, “or I’m going to be late.”

“Ready yourself, then,” he says, his boots clomping across the floorboards. I hear the mattress creak and a contended sigh. “I’m in no rush.”

“Fest,” I snap, glancing over my shoulder. “Get the hell out of here.”

He stretches his arms out wide, his face the portrait of martyrdom. “Can’t an old man rest his weary bones for a few minutes?”

“You’re five years older than me, not fifty. And you sat on your ass for two hours driving here,” I tell him, turning back to the next garment bag, unzipping that, too. “What could you possibly need to rest for?”

“Your parents’ attic,” he tells me, “is so crammed full of shit, it was like spelunking, fighting my way to that storage chest. I barely made it out alive.”

I roll my eyes. The dramatics with this man.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But if I hear a word from you about—”

“About what?” he says, setting his hands behind his head. He kicks off his boots, then stretches his legs out onto the bed. “That you haven’t shaved your face that close in over a decade? That getting dressed up tonight in this…attire is only something you’d do if there was someone whoverymuch wanted to see you dressed up that way?”

I glare at him. “Yes. All of that.”

“My, oh my,” he says, clucking his tongue. “Willy’s got himself a woman.”

“Fest, I swear to God, shut your mouth, or I’ll throw you out of this room.”

He rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t lay a hand on me. I’ve been much more obnoxious before—”

“That’s the damn truth,” I mutter, pulling out the shirt, hanging it on one of the hooks mounted to the wall.

“—and you’ve never so much as laid a finger on me.”

“Lovely to see you respecting my self-control, rather than exploiting it.”

“Ah, c’mon,” he says. “Talk to old Festy. Tell me all about her!She has to be special if you finally let her wrap you around her finger. And that is theonlything I can assume has happened, given what I’m seeing here. The getup, the urgency to acquire said getup.” He pauses meaningfully, and I know what’s coming next. “Theshaving.”

I glance up at the ceiling, praying that portion over my bed will drop down and knock Fest out. I can’t handle this.

“Fest,” I mutter. “Ease up on me, okay? I’m…I’m trying to keep it together, and it’s not going great.”

I peer at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser, the battle I’m waging inside myself written all over my face.

I’ve shaved, when I’ve otherwise kept my big beard to hide because I didn’t want to be seen by others but I’ve decided it’s worth it to be seen by anyone, if only for the chance to be seen by her.

I’ve pulled this costume together, because, after noticing the books on her shelves, their spines creased and cracked, the ones she loves best, I knew seeing me in this outfit would make Juliet light up like she’d swallowed sunshine and earn that snorting belly laugh that I live for.

The Old Will would have done none of this. But the New Will has, and I don’t regret a second of it. And that’s how I know I’m in trouble. Because if I had my feelings for Juliet under control, I wouldn’t have gone this far.

I’m wrenched from my thoughts when I hear the bed squeak, Fest’s socked feet crossing the floor. Fest peers up at me, his expression somber, so rare for this man who’s always happy, always joking and flippant. “Oh hell.” He searches my eyes. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

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