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“I’ve never been to a Renaissance faire or anything like that,” Toby said, smiling at Duckie while his insides twisted. “It might be fun.”

“It’s settled, then,” Mr. Hawthorne said, looking far less certain than Toby thought he should. “I expect to see both of you there bright and early on Saturday, when the gate opens.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Duckie said, sending Toby a toothy grin, like the two of them were working together.

Toby laughed, but all the bravado he’d had in his verbal joust with Robbie was gone. He’d been thrilled when he’d been assigned to assess the Hawthornes, but now he felt like he had, once again, been set up to fail by people who thought they were better than him.

FIVE

Toby Tillman would not leavehim alone. For days after the initial meeting, Robbie had to suffer through Tillman poking into everything he did, both in his classes and in the administrative work he sometimes helped Rebecca with. The man was pernicious and arrogant. Every time they got into a conversation, they butted heads. It didn’t matter how many times Robbie took his dad aside and told him they could figure things out on their own in an attempt to get rid of him.

“Toby is a professional,” his dad explained. “He comes highly recommended. He’s already come up with half a dozen suggestions that will definitely make this place more profitable.”

“Yes, but he’s?—”

“He’s what?” Dad had asked, the corner of his mouth twitching and his eyes glittering with far too much amusement.

“He’s a nasty little wanker,” Robbie had blurted, knowing full well he sounded weak and sullen. And probably like he had a thing for the little rat, which he didnot.

His dad had just laughed at him. “Hurts when someone you don’t like turns out to be better at something than you, doesn’t it.”

That had been the end of the conversation. Dad had left Robbie standing there, mouth working, emotions bristling, thoughts scattered.

Now, two days later, as Hawthorne House swarmed with guests there to attend the Renaissance weekend, Robbie still didn’t know what to say.

He threw every bit of his emotional turmoil into his pottery demonstration, letting the wheel and the clay pull away the confusion and dismay that the past week had left him with. Usually, it worked. The current problem was that Robbie had far too many things to be dismayed about.

It wasn’t just Tillman, he told himself as he kicked at the antique wheel to make it spin. It was his family, the impending gig with The Ceramics Challenge, and, if he were honest with himself, the break-up with Keith. Everything weighed on him, telling him he was a mess, he wasn’t good enough, and he was destined to fail.

His art seemed to be reflecting that at the moment. He was making a simple mug, one of the sort hanging from pegs along the corner posts of the outdoor workshop that tourists purchased as souvenirs. He could form and shape the clay in his sleep. But it wasn’t even noon yet, and he’d already had to scrap half a dozen false starts.

As yet another mug spun out, losing its shape, Robbie leaned back with a heavy, irritated sigh, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist and probably streaking it with wet clay. No, it was Tillman. That bastard was the only new element on his list of things that distracted him. He’d been dealing with his family for ages, The Ceramics Competition was entirely scheduled now, and he didn’t care about Keith anymore. Tillman was the only new thing that had charged in and messed up Robbie’s life.

As if the universe could hear his thoughts, Tillman strolled up to his workshop with a smug, “Aren’t you supposed to be an internationally recognized potter or something?”

The thwarted emotions that had been swirling through Robbie’s gut for days, like a lump of clay that wouldn’t center, suddenly came together and had a direction to vent in.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a proud member of the working-class?” He nodded to the ridiculous, velvet-trimmed costume Tillman wore.

Surprisingly, that jab had some effect. Tillman glanced down at himself with a sullen frown. “Early made me put on a costume,” he said, a slight growl to his voice that went straight to places in Robbie that he refused to acknowledge. “Apparently, you all rent costumes out. While I approve of the extra measure to make money, I’m not entirely convinced Early isn’t getting revenge on me for getting their pronouns wrong.”

Sensing a vulnerability, Robbie snorted and raked Tillman with a gaze. He did look like a prick in his Elizabethan doublet, pantaloon, and hose. The semi-authentic codpiece that poked out from the front of the pantaloons was the icing on the cake. It didn’t matter that the costume was predominately black with silver trimmings, Tillman still looked like a fool. Early wasn’t even remotely the sort to seek revenge for anything, but Robbie was glad they’d stuck Tillman in the velvet.

Although, for some reason, a rebellious part of Robbie was more attracted to the snake than ever.

“You look like a prat,” he said, standing from the wheel and taking the ruined mug he’d just scraped off the bat to a tub of clay to be reclaimed later.

“I just look like a prattoday,” Tillman said with a sneering grin. He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the posts that supported the overhanging roof. “You look like a knob every day, even dressed like a bloody peasant.”

Robbie fought not to take the bait as he wiped his hands on the old, stained apron he wore for Renaissance weekend demonstrations. “It’s called authenticity,” he said, moving closer to Tillman.

He crossed his arms as well, but he stood straight and tall instead of leaning. He figured that he had about six or seven inches of height on Tillman, but that didn’t stop the man from looking like he wanted to crush Robbie under his heel.

“Business good?” Tillman asked with a smarmy smile, as if he knew something Robbie didn’t.

“It’s wonderful,” Robbie said flatly.

It was a lie. Usually by that time of day he would have sold a dozen mugs, give or take. Only about four people had bought anything since they’d opened the grounds, though. The teenager who’d been hired to man the retail aspect of the booth was at the far side, chatting up his girlfriend. Since Robbie wasn’t having any luck getting his creative mojo going for the day, the few people who had paused to watch him work had moved on.

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