“I guess you’re right.” Spencer drained the last of his water. They picked up their cycles. As they walked out, Eric brushed against Scarlett ever so lightly. If it was anyone else, she would have thought it was an accident. But one thing she had learned living with Spencer and knowing the tricks—those little moves never were.

“Don’t think about it,” she said to herself quietly. “Do. Not. Think. About. It.”

When she stepped out, Mrs. Amberson immediately latched on to her and started introducing her around. She had clearly had a few glasses of champagne herself. Spencer and Eric decided to entertain the crowd with a fight this time, starting with a casual bump, like the one she’d just received. This escalated into slapping, and soon, the crowd had given them room to have a full-on smackfest. It was just a taste of what was coming later.

As an afterthought, Scarlett pulled out her phone and checked it. Three calls had come in—all from Lola. But there were no messages.

She tried calling her back, but there was no answer. There was something a bit disturbing about this.

“Everyone!” Mrs. Amberson called. “Please get your drinks refilled and take your seats again. Take a whole bottle in if you like! We’re about to start!”

Spencer staggered over in Scarlett’s direction, landing hard against the wall, close enough that she could clearly see him strike it with his hand and cushion himself against the blow.

“What’s the matter?” he mumbled under his breath. “Why are you staring at your phone like that?”

She clicked it shut.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s all good.”

He had no time to reply, because Eric grabbed him by the collar in an unexpected bit of extra comedy and threw him into the dining room. Then he shut one of the doors and stepped in front, out of view of the people in the room. He stayed there just a moment too long looking at Scarlett, until Mrs. Amberson swept past.

“Coming, O’Hara?” she said.

“I think I should…” She looked at her phone again. “I think I should stay out here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She waved Eric inside, and slid the doors closed herself.

For the next hour, Scarlett sat at the desk, listening to the action and staring at her phone. She missed the big fight, but it was clear that the audience enjoyed it immensely. They were just burying Ophelia when Lola called again.

“Where have you been?” Lola asked. “I was trying to call you earlier…”

“In the show. What’s wrong?”

“We’re on our way home,” she said cheerfully, at normal volume. Someone else was obviously there. “Yeah, probably about a half an hour.”

Scarlett felt her heart tremble.

“Half an hour!” she hissed.

“Right!” Lola went on, using the same clear, chipper tone. “About a half an hour! It’s been a great day! But it’s raining! And we have to come in!”

“The show’s still going on,” Scarlett said. “Lola, do something.”