Page 17 of OctoBEARfest

"You know what I mean, Jon. Anyway, yeah, if Mom and Dad get here before we have to leave for Gwen's pick-up gig, I'm introducing her. But not as my mate." He gave Jon a gimlet eye. "And you're not either. Not until I've got a chance to explain it alltoher."

Jon raised his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't dare."

That, at least, Bill thought was probably true. He nodded, finished the rest of his beer, and with a wave, left Jon at the bar so he could join Gwen at her booth. Although really, he stopped at the edge of her booth, aware she was involved in her texting. "Mind if I join you?"

She glanced up from her phone with a smile, and he was shocked all over again by the pale electric blue of her eyes. "Please do. I'm posting to the Fits groups."

Bill slid into the other side of the booth, laughing. "'The Fits.' Is it weird calling them that?"

Gwen wrinkled her nose, which was an incredibly cute gesture completely at odds with her winged eyeliner and red slash lipstick. "So weird, but they named themselves, so who am I to argue? And it's better than calling them our 'followers.' Then it sounds like I'm a cult leader."

"I think rock stars kind of are."

"No, they're cultfigures," Gwen disagreed like she'd thought about it. "It'd be much worse if they were cult leaders. Generally you don't want somebody with legions of fans telling people what to do. Anyway, the chat rooms are afire and there are a bunch of people planning road trips, and it turns out I've got some hardcore enthusiasts right here in River City."

"…this is…Renaissance?"

Gwen laughed out loud. "Oh, no. Not a musical fan?"

"I'm not…nota musical fan. I just don't know much about them…?"

"Oh, we're going to have to fix that."

Bill's heart lurched. On one hand, Gwen Booker was his mate, and he knew that meant that one way or another, they would be together. On the other, the very idea that she was planning—no matter how frivolously—to make sure he saw some musicals suggested shewantedto spend more time with him, and somehow that seemed more concrete than something as whimsical as fate. He suddenly felt like he needed something to do with his hands, and wished he'd brought the beer glass to the table even if it was empty.

Gwen, blissfully unaware of his emotional turmoil, smiled at him. "It's a line from a song inMusic Man.Or part of a line. Point is, I've got some fans coming to the Harlequin tonight and are showing off the receipts for the tickets tomorrow and Saturday. See, it's all going to work out."

For the first time in a long time, Bill thought he might actually believe that.

CHAPTER 11

By the time Gwen finished her ginger ale, a surprising number of people had chimed in on her social media fronts to proclaim their intention of showing up at the brewpub by 8pm the next evening. "Look at this," she said in delight, and got up to sit next to Bill so he could read her phone screen with her. He scooted over in the booth, leaving most of a warm spot for her to sit in. His scent was absolutely delicious, kind of outdoors musky mixed with a malty smell that she figured must be from the beer-making. It was distracting, and even though she had her phoneright there, for a moment she couldn't remember what she'd wanted to show him.

"All those people are coming?" Bill asked in surprise.

That cleared Gwen's head—kind of—and she nodded enthusiastically. "I figured we'd get some from Denver and Colorado Springs and everything, but I wasn't counting on anybody from out of state. But there are people coming from California! Chicago! Look at GemJones9921! She'sdrivingfromSeattle!Obviously she won't be here until the Saturday night gig."

"Obviously," Bill echoed, sounding bemused. "You're kind of famous, aren't you? Mike mentioned it, but I didn't realize quite who I'd booked."

"Mmph." Gwen rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. "I'm not can't-walk-down-the-street famous, but I have fans, yeah. I told you they'd rally."

"I know, but I didn't think it was a 'drive from Seattle' kind of rallying. That's pretty cool, Gwen. Can I ask you something?"

"As long as it's not something like 'what kind of diet are you on that you stay in such good shape' or 'how are you going to manage being a rock star and having children', yeah."

Bill blinked, clearly taken aback. "Do people ask you things like that?"

"You wouldn'tbelievesome of the stuff I've been asked."

"Hnh." The single sound seemed offended on her behalf. "Well, if you ever need somebody swatted for that kind of question, I volunteer."

Gwen laughed and balled up her fist. "Thanks. I've got a mean right hook, but playing guitar with a broken hand is hard."

"I'm at your service," the big man promised. "Anyway, I wanted to ask what happened with your fir—oh, God, they brought the cousins." A commotion at the door interrupted him, and Gwen, who couldn't see over the tops of the booths like he could, leaned sideways to find out what was going on.

A wholepasselof people were trying to get through the door together. Gwen didn't normally think in terms of 'passels,' but in this particular case, they really struck her as a passel. There were eight or nine of them, two of whom she recognized from Bill's family photo: his parents were in the midst of the passel. Both of them were taller than she expected, although his dad wasn't as tall as any of the brothers she'd met so far. His mom was almost dwarfed by the people around her, although she had to be at least five ten herself. It was just that everybody elsewas enormous. There were two women, both easily over six feet, and the rest were men, all of them taller than Bill's father, who matched one of the women in height.

Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth and completely failed to muffle a laugh. Bill groaned and put his head on the table momentarily. "I know. We all look alike."

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