Give me a shot, p.20
Give Me a Shot, page 20
He hung the tag-less Henley he’d been wearing on the now freed hanger hooked behind the Folk School smithy door and stepped back into his work boots, stuffing his Fezzik pants in so they billowed sufficiently. The work boots were completely wrong for the Big Day, but he was sure the photographer would want to focus on him smithing, not…stomping or something.
As he straightened, the door was pushed the rest of the way open, Mo stepping back just in time to avoid getting the knob to his head.
“Doth mine eyes deceive me?” Rick laughed, looking Mo up and down. “Art thou in garb?”
Mo scowled.
“Very funny,” he said. “Where’s yours?”
Rick walked over to the high table, plopping a gym bag onto it.
“Gonna get changed right now,” he said.
“I’ll give you privacy,” Mo said, stepping around the door.
“Wait,” Rick called to him. “You know, you’re allowed to smile about this. Even enjoy it a little.” Rick winked at him as he pulled his polo out of the waist of his jeans.
Mo would have liked to explain what was going on inside him. It would have been nice to tell someone who was more than an acquaintance that it wasn’t even ten a.m. and that he was already tired from fighting to control the anxiety of being seen, feeling the weight of his responsibility to the Folk School and mentally preparing himself for the multiple times that day he’d have to live moments like this one—where he could feel the static of someone else’s excitement, their confusion about his lack of excitement, and the social requirement to mitigate that dissonance in a way that didn’t make the other person feel criticized or minimized.
He could either fake a level of excitement that matched Rick’s own—which would require Mo to deplete some of his limited energy and be a lie; or he could simply grunt, saving a little energy for future use. But most people read that second option as a personal rejection. He sighed.
“Yeah,” he said, giving a brief nod. “Maybe.” He stepped through the doorway, pulling the knob behind him.
“Don’t try too hard,” Rick called out, laughing as he closed the door.
Mo headed for the break room. He’d planned to stay in the smithy, getting things ready for the photographer, but he could do that once Rick was changed. He could hear people shouting to one another outside, the sound of hammers and nail guns. The physical structure of the Faire was almost halfway finished. He walked into the break room and headed straight for the thermos of hot water for tea among the refreshments that had been laid out, reminding himself that everything was going to go well, and the discomfort and fatigue he was managing—and would have to manage—were going to be well worth it because the School was important to him.
You’re good, you’re fine. Just breathe. Can’t get all jittery like you’ve got extra fingers.
“Do you always start conversations this way?” Jess asked from behind him, making him jump out of his skin. He turned, finding her perched on the arm of the pleather loveseat in the corner beyond the door. “Extra fingers, though…” she said. “Isn’t Inigo the one looking for the six-fingered man? Not Fezzik?”
The charge from being surprised was washed away by warmth at seeing her, not to mention how deadly gorgeous she looked. She wasn’t wearing a mask, and her clothes were brown. But other than that, she was 100 percent the Dread Pirate Roberts. Even down to the low ponytail.
“M’lady Roberts,” he said, placing a hand on his heart and bowing. “I didn’t know you were there.” He laughed, and she joined in. “And I didn’t realize that I was thinking out loud.”
Smiling, she strode across the room to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He smiled back and wrapped his arms around her. She looked up at him, her chin on his chest.
“You doin’ okay?” she asked, smile lingering, but one corner of her mouth turned down. His heart warmed. She was asking precisely because she knew he wasn’t. He sighed.
“Gonna be fine eventually,” he said, tucking some hair that had escaped the ponytail behind her ear. “I’ll just have to do a lot this evening to clear everyone else’s excitement and my own stress. More important, how are you?”
Jess narrowed her eyes and shook her head a little.
“I will accept ‘equally important’…,” she said. “I am much better than yesterday. No doubt fortified by the chorba I had for breakfast.” Her wink sparked heat in his cheeks. Her lower back tightened, followed by her arms around him. She took a breath. “And if it starts to be too much today, I’m going to imagine all the Little Cassies out there who might enjoy our Faire. Help them become as excited about it as she would have been.” He squeezed her back.
“That’s a great plan,” he said.
“Glad you think so,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “We’re doing this for the best reason.”
“The best,” he echoed.
“Okay, m’lord.” She glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here, just to breathe. I told Doug I’d meet the photographer outside a couple of minutes ago.”
“Okay, m’lady,” he said. He leaned to kiss her cheek, but she was already turning to leave. “See you,” he called out. She waved and slipped into the hall.
* * *
—
Once he’d finished some tea and tossed his emptied paper cup into the trash, he headed back to the smithy. The previous construction noise was gone, a near silence wafting into the building through the open windows. Mo found it quite odd, so he passed his smithy and headed out the back door of the School.
A small crowd of School volunteers was standing in a semicircle, facing the archery field, watching Jess shoot. Even though he didn’t have his sunglasses, and the light might start a headache, Mo joined them, nodding hellos. The photographer was lying on her stomach on the ground, her camera pointed up at Jess, who was down on one knee, aiming at one of the targets. Jess was listening to her instructions, and she moved a little bit this way, a little bit that, changing the way that she held the bow and arrow. Her beautiful sable hair with its warm depth glinted in the sunlight. Mo tucked in his smile at the fact that now he knew what that gorgeous curtain felt like on his skin. Then the photographer got up and the videographer came closer. Jess began shooting. The onlookers had been quiet during the photos, but the quality of the silence changed. Mo glanced at the others out of his peripheral vision. Then he let his gaze fall to the ground and go unfocused so that he could get a feel for the emotions in the group. Their quiet wasn’t one of restraint; it was a quiet of surprise. Mo furtively looked around. Eyes were wide, jaws slack, watching Jess. Ned was the only one who didn’t look shocked. Arms folded and standing off to one side, he looked like a proud father. Ned glanced up, met Mo’s eyes, and he smiled and nodded once. Mo returned the gesture, and then happily allowed himself to look back at Jess.
She’d gotten up from where she’d been half kneeling on the ground, and was stalking toward a bale of hay, slowly, as the videographer had asked. To a silent beat, she removed an arrow, shot. Removed an arrow, shot. Each one sailed silently through the air until it pierced the center of the bale. Mo wanted to keep watching, but he also knew he needed to get the forges going for his and Rick’s photos. His stomach flopped, and his breath stuttered for a moment.
It’s for the School. For the best cause.
He held on to the thought and Jess’s hug to keep his nerves away as he walked back to the smithy. Just as he was about to step out of the sunshine and into the building, he looked back at the crowd, still mesmerized by Jess. He caught sight of one of her arrows piercing a disk flying through the air. The “ah” that rose up from the others brought a smile to his lips. In agreeing to step out of his comfort zone for the School, he’d gotten the chance to know her. Before he could doubt himself, he slipped out his phone to text her a little encouragement she could find when she’d finished. He began to acknowledge a tiny bit of gratitude for the Ren Faire. Without it, he probably would have kept to himself, stuck in his grumpy, as Khalil liked to say.
Maybe this is a good thing for me, too.
* * *
—
Twenty minutes later, the forges were roaring away. Mo had laid out the tools that he thought looked traditional and placed a few bar stocks into the fires to heat up. He was feeling at ease, approaching the relaxed state he got into while working the metal, when Rick sauntered through the door.
“Hey, man, did you see her?” he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s awesome.”
“Uh, yeah,” Mo said.
Rick shook his head as he opened his tool bag.
“Silly me. Of course you’ve seen your girlfriend shoot,” he said. He peered at Mo out of the corner of his eye. Mo swallowed back the blast of nerves that had sparked at the word “girlfriend” and scowled.
“Didn’t want to interrupt you guys in the break room,” Rick said, winking.
Mo didn’t like feeling seen, especially without his knowledge. But a small part of him realized that Rick knowing was fine with him. He just didn’t want to be talked about. He didn’t like people examining him and his feelings. He wanted things to continue going well with Jess, though. That would mean the people around him being aware that he liked someone. He knew on paper that was a very good thing.
It just…feels safer when I’m single. When I’m in my quiet little bubble and no one on the outside can see what’s going on inside.
But Jess was…starting to feel like…one of his safe spaces. He’d been worried about opening up with her, and that had gone well. He could continue. Plus Rick had said “girlfriend.” He wasn’t the first person to bring it up. Maddie had, then Mrs. Sargysan. The idea made his skin tingle and throat constrict at the same time. Everyone seemed to be noticing, no matter how he felt about it. Even though it made him feel terribly shy, the idea of Jess being his girlfriend was appealing. It made his heart flutter a little. Rick was still smirking at him, holding back a laugh like Khalil would have. Mo narrowed his eyes and blasted a sigh through his nostrils.
“All right, all right, man,” Rick said, chuckling a little with his palms up. “Pretend I never said anything.” His hammer in hand, he grabbed the cool end of one of the heated pieces of bar stock and went to his anvil. “The photographer will be here soon, let’s bang some metal.”
Mo did the same, blowing out a metered breath and relaxing into smithing mode.
This is difficult, but it’s for the best reason, for the best cause.
He raised his hammer, bringing it down for the first blow.
And becoming Jess’s boyfriend might be the best thing for me, too.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jess
Back at the archery supply closet, Jess smiled at the message she’d discovered from Mo.
Mo:
Neither the Dread Pirate Roberts nor Princess Buttercup have anything on you, m’lady.
She didn’t know if things had begun in the smithy yet, so she couldn’t guess at his emotional state. She hoped the nervous discomfort of being photographed hadn’t built too much. It had been disturbing for her, but once she could move while they were shooting video, she had been able to get into the zone, far from any anxiety or worry. Any sadness about Cassie got tucked away where Jess couldn’t feel it. The applause from the other School volunteers had come as a surprise once they’d stopped filming. Jess had forgotten they were there.
Once changed, she locked up and headed down the hall to leave. Not knowing how long the photography would take for either of them, Jess had planned to head home right after and do some additional research, as she needed to update a course for the next semester, then check in with Mo in the evening. Almost to the lobby, she caught Doug’s voice somewhere behind her.
“The smithy is this way,” he said to the photographer following him at the end of the hall. “Make sure to get a lot of close-ups of Mo.”
Jess frowned. That was exactly the sort of advice Doug would give that would make Mo crawl out of his skin. Jess couldn’t let him deal with this by himself, even though Rick was in the smithy as well.
“Don’t pay any attention to me, or to Sam,” the photographer said to Mo and Rick while gesturing to the cameraman as Jess joined them in the smithy. “You guys just do you.”
Mo gave her a curt nod. Several of the other volunteers had come in from outside, and Jess discreetly made her way to the back of the group, standing against the wall just across from Mo. She hoped to catch his eye so that he’d know that she was there for moral support, but he’d turned his attention directly to the forge just behind him after listening to the photographer. He was slowly shifting a piece of metal back and forth in the fire. Jess made a mental note to ask him about how blacksmithing worked, about some of the processes. Because looking back and forth between him and Rick, she realized she didn’t know anything beyond “bang hot metal with hammer.”
Mo caught her full attention as he moved the long metal rod—now glowing red—from the forge to his anvil. He picked up a hammer from somewhere to the side of it. The room faded away as he brought it down for the first strike. The shower of sparks that exploded in all directions drew Jess’s attention to Mo’s bare forearms. First, she had a hint of concern because they weren’t protected. But that concern turned to something deeper and needier as he flexed, turning the cooling metal with one hand. The hammer came down again, and she followed its path back up, her gaze catching on the biceps flexing to move it. The room was already warm when Jess had walked in, the heat from the forges getting trapped by the walls. Mo had been in there longer than she had, and his skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat. Now that she knew what his skin tasted like, she could imagine savoring it right then, just a little bit saltier than it had been before. She let herself lean against the wall as she dragged her tongue across her now parched bottom lip to moisten it. Suddenly, the arc of Mo’s hammering faltered a bit, and she looked up at his face. In the brief second their eyes met, she winked at him. If she hadn’t known him better, she would have missed the red that deepened his already pink cheeks. But the way he tucked his chin, without losing his rhythm, was enough to let her know he was doing his shy thing.
So sexy yet so shy. She smiled, shaking her head a little. Makes no sense.
She tried to reposition to catch his eye again, but the videographer stepped in and blocked her line of sight. The photographer said something to him. All Jess caught was “blacksmithing god.” She chuckled.
Sounds right to me.
She pulled out her phone to send Mo a little encouragement for later.
Jess:
Goddamn, Hephaestus.
Glancing at the top of the screen, she noticed she’d missed a call. Checking the log, she saw that her mother had called her twice in a row, just a few minutes earlier. Jess’s heart leapt into her throat—her mother had only called her multiple times in a row once, to tell her that Cassie was gone. Jess inched toward the door, shooting Mo a quick glance, but he was focused on his work, clearly trying to pretend that the cameras weren’t there.
Everything’s fine, everything’s fine.
Walking around the side of the School, she called her mother back as she reached her car.
“Jess, hello!” her mother said brightly after the third ring.
“Is everything okay?” Jess asked, tossing her bag in the backseat and locking herself in.
“Yes, of course,” her mother said. “Why?”
“You called me twice in a row.”
“Did I?” her mother asked. “Oh, I tried to call but it dropped. I didn’t realize I called again. I tossed the phone into my purse just after.”
Jess let out an audible sigh, her shoulders unclenching as she rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” she said. “Good. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Um, I wanted to know what you thought about the picture?”
Something had always bothered Jess about the way her mother softened statements about her thoughts or feelings by turning them into questions sometimes. She’d learned during her master’s program that it was called high rising intonation, and her mom was probably doing it from a lack of confidence in her own opinions, which saddened and angered Jess at the same time. She sighed.
“Which picture, Mom?” she asked.
“Um…the one with…the two of you,” she said.
Jess swallowed down her frustration that her mom wouldn’t even say Cassie’s name.
“It’s nice,” she said.
“Oh.”
Jess waited, surprised at her mother’s flat tone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I…well. You just sounded a lot like your father,” her mom said.
Jess saw red.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, a blast of adrenaline making her heart take off.
“Well…” Her mom let out a whine-whimper sound that stabbed at Jess’s ears. “He won’t talk about Cassie; you won’t talk about Cassie. You two are so similar, boxing things up inside. How can we possibly do better, feel better if you all won’t talk?”
