Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
And when he stripped out of costume to take a pie or ten to the face, it was a mini melee. A tattooed, ripped hunk with a cocky attitude who was willing to be the butt of a joke was comedy gold.
Ezra was just…wonderful. He was everything I knew he’d be and more.
My heart burst with pride for him and my fellow HRS members. We’d hosted a memorable festival and raised more money on day one than we had over a two-year span. Val was over the moon.
“I can’t believe it. We absolutely killed it!” Val grinned, shaking her head in happy wonder. “Whatever you did today, do it again tomorrow, gang!”
I didn’t have an opportunity to talk to Ezra on my own again that day. We were surrounded by people all afternoon and came home separately to a full house that night.
Asher and Blake, George and Aiden, and Topher and Simon had helped Noah move some of his furniture and clothing into the house. We had an impromptu Script Club pizza dinner to congratulate Noah on his new home purchase and spent the evening reminiscing about our grad school days. Ezra seemed a bit distant as the night wore on, which he claimed was exhaustion.
I snuck into his room that night when everyone left and the house went quiet. I burrowed close, resting my head on his chest as I listened to him breathing. I studied our shadows against the wall and lay there for a while, contemplating what came next.
My work calendar was set. After I registered for my PhD courses, I’d visit my family. I hadn’t booked my flight yet, but that wasn’t an issue now that I didn’t have to hurry to find a place to live. Everything was okay.
No reason to worry. No reason to panic. Everything is okay, I chanted…over and over. And when the chorus in my head reminded me that sneaking around and lying were the opposite of okay, I squeezed my eyes shut and chanted faster. Don’t worry, don’t panic. It’s okay.
One day at a time. I needed to get through day two of Renaissance in the Park and hope it was as fabulous as today.
Day two sucked.
It started out fine. The skies were still blue, the performers were still enthusiastic, and we had more volunteers on hand than yesterday to help manage the larger-than-yesterday crowd. But the temperature skyrocketed around one p.m., which was roughly when the ice cream truck’s freezer conked out and the lemonade stand ran out of ice.
We sent volunteers to the store for ice, wiped the sweat from our brows, and got on with the show. But I had to admit, the air was a tad ripe with body odor and spirits flagged in the scorching sun. I did what I could to keep our troops peppy—not an easy feat with my heavy cloak pasted to my skin and my hair matted under my itchy wig.
Of course this was the day my friends and some coworkers came to show support.
I waved at Blake and Asher, and did a double take when I spotted Tommy and Noah chatting with Marlon. I surreptitiously watched them from behind my fan, and told myself that Marlon was just being supportive. And that was nice. Sort of.
I wished they’d all come yesterday when everything seemed fresh and not so…hot. I sighed, stepping behind the curtain delineating the staff area from the festivities.
“Good afternoon, Professor Galymer. I’m reporting for duty.”
“Mallory. Hello. Um…thanks. You can check in with Presley or Val. I’m sure they’ll have something for you to do.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come yesterday and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay long today, but I’m willing to help while I can,” she declared, twisting the ribbon in her ponytail as she surveyed the festival in progress. “My parents decided to come with me and insisted on driving together.”
“That’s okay. Any little bit helps,” I assured her, eyeing the shirt in her hand. “You’re probably rather warm in your cardigan. You might want to change into your volunteer shirt.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She unfurled the fabric and shook it loose. “This is Ezra’s lacrosse jersey. Do you happen to know where I might find him?”
“Ezra’s jersey?”
“Yes, he lent it to me when he spilled soda on my sweater at the Del Taco last month.” Her gaze took on a dreamy look that spoke volumes. “I haven’t had a chance to return it.”
“Del Taco,” I repeated lamely.
Mallory wrinkled her nose, then pushed her glasses when they slipped. “I don’t make a habit of frequenting such establishments, but I wanted to chat with Ezra about you.”
“About volunteering?”
“And transferring schools.”
I frowned. “I’m not following.”
“As you may know, Ezra works at Rossman and Engle. I haven’t done well in your class, and my father thought Ezra might be able to help me through his connection to you. And he did.”