“I should have ignored you five minutes ago,” I mumble.
“Fair. Unfortunately, I have some not so good news to share, so I thought I’d soften it with something a little more...satisfying.”
“I’m sorry, this is what you considersatisfying?”
Because I’m just all sorts of frustrated after looking at that.
She shrugs. “I found it delightful.” She unlocks her phone, hesitating and keeping it in her grasp. “Now, before I give this to you, promise me you’ll keep a level head and don’t freak out.”
When has a person ever been told “don’t freak out,” and it actually prevented said freak out?
“I make no promises after the stunt you already pulled this morning.”
With a sigh, she shoves her phone into my hand with the Instagram app open. At the top of her feed sits a photo of a couple kissing with a homemade wedding bouquet obscuring their faces.
Underneath, the caption reads “Surprise! We eloped! Next stop: moving to Cali with my hubby, peace out NH. It’s been real, but it’s time to become a star!”
“I don’t get—” I squint, deciphering the handle. MrsEmmaJames. I don’t know anyone with that—
Oh, no.
Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No.
“Lydia and Wickham eloped?” I panic. The devastating news floats out into the misty morning air. “Oh no, no, no, if this is real, I’m ruined.”
Callen James and Emma Greene have been inseparable since they fell for each other at last year’s Annual Chawton Falls in Love with Jane Austen Festival. It’s a regency fair that I, as the events coordinator of the Wentworth Estate, host with the support of the local community college’s English Department every October.
A fair that Callen and Emma had agreed to reprise their roles of Lydia and Wickham for again this year. Something they won’t be able to do if they’re in California.
This fair opens in three weeks and I’m months behind in my planning process, which is my fault, mostly. This summer, I stayed with Jack in his apartment in Boston and assisted him with a smattering of hockey injuries he suffered during his team’s Stanley Cup run. It wasn’t the smartest decision for the fair or my sanity, but the people in my inner circle will always come first.
“I should just cancel the fair.” I groan. “Move to Canada and retire a disgraced, fair planning failure. Maybe start a goat farm. Although the goats would probably mock me for my failures, too. Yes, solitude would be better.”
“Yes, good. We’re not panicking or overreacting to the news at all. Glad to see it.” Emy wraps her Aurora-Berry-Alis lacquered nails around her steaming mug of homemade pumpkin spice goodness that I woke up way too early to brew.
While I adore waking up to the copper and rust-colored hills of Chawton Falls, there’s unfortunately no Starbucks in sight. The closest one is two towns and twenty-five minutes over in a resort town on Lake Winnipesaukee.
Apparently, the moose and deer, which far outnumber the human population, don’t appreciate the simple joys of life, like enjoying a hot cup of coffee on a chilly, relatively dreary, life-ruined morning.
Emy chuckles and inhales the wisps of steam from her mug with a soft smile. “You have to admit, it is kind of funny, though. Like what are the odds those two character-players would actually elope?”
I will admit nothing. Zero humor has been detected.
Dragging a collecting breath through my lungs, I resign myself to the situation, telling my frantically beating heart to relax.
I’m sure it’ll be eager to comply after I drown it in copious amounts of caffeine?
Keeping my gaze trained forward, I revel in the quiet waves lapping to shore. My mind and my heart calm a fraction from the brown noise.
Which is all the peace I can hope to find when my sacred color-coded and tabbed-to-perfect planner is continuously taunting me with an overwhelming you-should-just-bury-yourself-alive-now to-do list.
The last thing I needed was to recast two consequential characters so close to opening day.
“Do you have your emergency back-ups at the ready?” Emy asks, smoothing down the flannel blanket spread across both our laps.
“No, my list has dwindled over the past few years, but I’ll reach out to the primary group when it’s not so early in the day. Hopefully, somebody knows someone and can save me,” I say. Inviting a newcomer into the fold sounds horrendous. But Lydia and Wickham are too important to leave uncasted, so I’ll have to get out of my comfort zone.
Gross.