It’s funny—I’ve only known Austin as his retired-from-baseball self, who cares about his company to the point of micromanaging every detail. I struggle to imagine an irresponsible, debaucherous young man. “I bet you have some stories.”
“I have some stories,” Austin confirms. “Seb and I once got briefly stranded in Acapulco after some…”
“Shenanigans?” I finish, arching an eyebrow.
“Shenanigans.” He grins devilishly. “I learned my lesson, though. And my tequila limits. What about you? Have you got stories from your wayward youth?”
“I never had a wayward youth,” I inform him, primly. “I’m an Elinor Dashwood, thank you very much.”
“Who?”
“Never read the Other Austen?” I joke. “Sense and Sensibility.”
“Can’t say I have, no.” Austin grins. “Will you hold it against me?”
“Yes,” I grin back. “Anyway, Elinor is the sensible one. Like me.
I’ve always been the friend who gets everyone home safely from the party. And Ilikebeing that person,” I add.
“I like that person, too,” Austin says easily, and I feel the flush across my chest.
“But I do wish I had a few good stories.” I say quickly.
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that,” he says, gesturing around. The festival is a blur of color around us. “We can make up for lost time.”
His eyes meet mine, and the proposition hangs like music in the air. I clear my throat. “Does that mean I’m going to meet Tequila Austin?” I ask lightly.
“Oh God, I hope not.” He laughs. “How about we start with slushies, and see where the evening takes us?”
I look over at the line at the slushie stand—and my heart stops.
Standing there in a mesh dress, booties and a bikini is… Other Jennifer Walker?!
Oh my god!
“No slushies!” I panic. “Line’s too long. Let’s try… This!” I grab Austin’s sturdy bicep and pull him blindly towards the nearest tent as fast as humanly possible.
What the hell is she doing here?She’s supposed to be finding inner peace somewhere off the grid.
Somewhere far, far away from me and my perilous web of white lies!
I shoot a glance back, but the woman has turned away. Wait, is it even her? Or just a random blonde in a flower crown?
Either way, I’m not taking the risk. I steer Austin into the tent, my heart racing. In an instant, we’re swathed in darkness. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, a throaty voice says, “Hello and welcome to Madame Odette’s Tarot.”
“Uh, hello,” I stammer out.
To my surprise, Madame Odette is a sleek-looking woman in her thirties, wearing a chic kaftan and dangly earrings. She raises her thin eyebrows at us. “Please, sit down.”
“No, thanks—” I’m saying, just as Austin announces, “Thanks, we will!”
I gape at him. He grins back, mischievous. “I don’t know about you, but I’d love a reading. Jenn, why don’t you go first?”
What’s he playing at? I’m still reeling from my maybe-near-miss with Other Jennifer, so I can’t think of a reason not to sink into the cushions on the ground opposite the woman.
Maybe she can tell me how to get out of this identity switch-up mess I’ve created.
“Three card? Five card?” Madame asks, hands poised over a deck.