the barn door, and a long blue strip of plastic tarp is laid in front of the door, representing the River Styx.
I close the barn door behind me and startle at the impressive rack of hunting rifles mounted on the wall to the left of the door. The whole rack is aimed in the direction of a long table where Liam, the ketchup-stained waiter from Paddy’s, is setting up the refreshments station.
The table is covered in a blue plastic tablecloth and dozens of tall glass bottles. Liam wipes down the table around a large punch bowl with a placard that reads Aphrodite Punch. He looks up when he realizes I’m staring at him.
“Am I supposed to report to Natalie?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Keep your head low and your hands busy, and you should be fine.”
“Right,” I say. I had that figured out already. Natalie has been a basket case all week worrying about tonight. Judging by her mood at the ferry dock this morning, I’m a little afraid to get in her way. Success or failure, I know she’ll take tonight personally. God forbid it should be the worst Summer Fest in the history of Little Bear. Natalie would “simply die of shame and take her mother with her.”
I pick up a roll of blue crepe paper and a roll of duct tape and walk bravely to the foot of the ladder. “Hey, Natalie,” I say cautiously.
She gives me a strange look—something close to pity that turns quickly to command. “Start on the far corner. At this rate we’ll still be at this tomorrow morning. We haven’t even got to the twinkle lights yet.”
I salute, and she smiles apologetically. I secure the crepe paper to a post and toss the roll up over a low-hanging rafter, twisting it then tossing it again until it’s looped around the beam, festooning the dusty, cobwebby ceiling of the barn. On the highest rafters, there are still crepe paper remnants from last year’s party.
Several minutes later, Natalie declares my corner of the barn “perfect” and directs the others to “see how Kate does it.” I laugh at myself, finally discovering my true artistic medium: Katherine D’Arcy, Crepe Paper Master.
Bennet arrives at noon with Alli sitting smugly in his passenger seat. Probably begged a ride. Everyone knows Bennet and I are together, but Alli is still trying to set her hooks. She knows I’ll be gone in a matter of weeks, or at least, she assumes I will be. I wonder what she’d say if she knew I wasn’t the average summer girl. Doesn’t matter. I’m not threatened when it comes to her persistent attentions toward Bennet. I am confident in how I fit into his life, and he fits into mine.
As confirmation, his eyes are searching for me, and his face lights up when he finds me. He comes over quickly, pushing me to the edge of the shadows, and gives me a quick peck on the neck under my ear, whispering, “I can’t wait for tonight.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks, but at the same time, all I can think about is that I want to drag him deep into a dark corner so we can really be alone. I tug at his flannel lumberjack shirt, and he chuckles.
“Patience,” he says, the back of his left hand surreptitiously grazing my breast.
“I’m not feeling very patient.”
“No?” He glances over his shoulder. “Then we’ll have to do something about that.” He grabs my hand and leads me toward the back corner of the barn and into a small, closed-off room where Mr. March stores his hand tools. I look back to see if anyone has noticed us, but they’re all focused on their tasks.
Bennet pulls me inside the room and quickly but softly closes the door, pitching us into complete and utter darkness. I yelp a little when his hands find my waist, and he lifts me up onto a wooden workbench. I can’t see him at all, only feel the stroke of his hands over my shoulders and halfway down my arms. His thumbs sweep across the peaks of my breasts.
This is better than merely closing my eyes. Completely robbed of sight, all my other senses are hyperfocused. Maybe next time we need to experiment with blindfolds.
“Nice of you to wear a skirt,” he says, his hands searching their way up my thighs, catching the gusset of my panties and ripping the seams apart.