Page 73 of Fall Into Me

When Gus walked in, it was the perfect opportunity to take back control of my day by using my word of the day.

Okay, yes, I had to Google it, but I had no issue using it in a sentence, and that felt like a win I really needed.

The moment Gus placed his regular order, I pounced. “Gus, you’ve made a felicitous choice!”

He proceeded to look from me down to his already stained shirt and then asked, “Is it on me?”

“What? No. It’s my word of the day.”

“Is this like when you were phlegmy a couple weeks ago?”

I handed Gus his coffee and cookies with a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, Gus.”

“Right.” He picked up his order before giving me a serious look and said, “Well, I’m glad it cleared up.”

The rest of the day was just like that; the embodiment of climbing a flight of stairs and taking an extra step when you’d already gotten to the top.

My dad arrived in his usual time slot as second customer and asked about Fane. Asked if we got the lasagnas he’d dropped off, and said that Ashton–who he was still calling Aleron much to my delight–was an “outstanding kid” who was now expected at all future family dinners.

I was typing out a message to Fane to ask for Ash’s number just as Mags walked in, right on time, but looking like someone had rained all over her parade.

“Mags?” I tucked my phone away and rounded the counter. “Are you all right?”

She sat down and let out the most exaggerated sigh I’d ever heard. It was hard to tell whether she was up to her old tricks or if she was in a real state of panic, which forced you to take her seriously one hundred percent of the time.

“The stall for Mags’ is all set to go at the fair like every year.”

“That’s awesome!” I smiled at her, taking the seat across from her.

“Except my bartenders pulled out.”

“All of them?” She had like five of them.

“Every single one.”

“I’m so sorry, Mags. Could Delilah fill in? Or you said Dylan is staying with her, maybe him?” I hadn’t seen Dylan since we were in high school, and Delilah had never poured a beer in her life that was drinkable.

She waved me away. “She can’t pour a beer to save her life.” It turned out this was one of those times when Mags was actually not in a state of panic, but rather in the midst of yet another diabolical plan. “Say, what about that guy of yours?”

“My…Fane?”

“I remember you saying he used to be a bartender.”

“I don’t think I—”

“Perfect, it’s settled. You two will man the tent! You won’t need to do a thing. It will be there and set up, ready for you to go. Just pour the beers and collect the cash.”

“Wait, Mags—”

“Oh, I do appreciate it, sweetheart.” She leaned over the table and patted my cheek in the same tender way she’d done my whole life.

“You’re not staying?”

“I’ll be back later! Have an appointment for my hair.”

And then she was gone and I’d been once again delicately manipulated into doing her bidding. The rest of the day was more navigating the new normal of a busier day while simultaneously getting more and more excited about the prospect of telling Fane that he would be tending a bar tent at the Darling Autumn Fair in just over a week.

It felt like getting a universe version of Fane’s panty-melting winks.

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