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“Just a second,” Charlie yelled late the next evening, pausing to check his reflection in the hall mirror.

He hadn’t expected Jean for another hour at least, so it was lucky he was already dressed.

The rest of him could have used more work.

He shook his head as hard as he could, then roughed up the top with his fingers.

For the first time, Charlie regretted not devoting more of his teen years to mastering his hair, instead of treating it as an independent entity with a will of its own.

The second knock was louder, clearly telegraphing impatience. Charlie was surprised Jean hadn’t let herself in. She must not want to spoil the surprise.

“Coming,” he called, hurrying through the cottage. After one last adjustment of his costume, he threw open the door, stepping back to assume what he hoped was a sexy yet funny pose, biceps flexing.

And then he jumped high enough to give himself a wedgie, because it wasn’t Jean standing on his doorstep, and this costume wasn’t really one size fits all.

“What the hell?” Mugsy threw up a hand to shield her eyes. “I do not need to see that.”

“I’m not naked, Mugsy.”

“There were nipples.”

“Just the one.” He glanced down to double-check.

She cautiously lowered her hand, looking only slightly less freaked out. “Please tell me you’re not involved in some weird sex cult. I do not want to walk in there and see a caveman-themed orgy going on.”

“Of course not,” Charlie said as she squeezed past him. “I’m supposed to be Tarzan.”

That was what the costume place said anyway, though now that Mugsy mentioned it, the furry one-shouldered bodysuit could pass for prehistoric.

It was the black spots on the tawny background that did it.

Charlie had a feeling that if he went back to the website and searched “Flintstones,” the same outfit would pop up.

He’d been so sure Jean would laugh, and then they could eat the banana cream pie waiting in the refrigerator, and maybe she would dress up too (it was a couples costume), and so on.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mugsy. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Ha,” she said from the kitchen, where she was helping herself to a glass of water. “Tell me about it. We are out of time. The first guests are arriving in a matter of days.”

“So soon?” It was easy to lose track of the calendar when you were mostly living at night. And also trying very hard not to think about anything beyond this cottage.

“It’s a centennial. That should have been plenty of notice.”

He put his hands on top of his head, which had the unfortunate effect of making his fur suit ride up.

It was scratchy on the inside, to the point that he’d been tempted to put on an undershirt, but that would have spoiled the effect.

Besides, he hadn’t been planning to keep it on for long.

“Is there any chance we could talk about this later? Tomorrow, for example.”

Mugsy gave him her most Mugsy look. It was an expression that said, Can you hear yourself right now? “No, Charlie, we can’t. There’s no time for that.”

“But it’s so late, and you must be tired from traveling—”

“Exhausted. Especially since I didn’t have ‘last-minute trip to Hawaii’ on my bingo card for this week.

Seeing as how I’m already up to my eyeballs in prepping for the biggest event in the history of the company your great-great-grandfather built from the ground up.

So if you could hurry and grab your stuff, we need to get this show on the road. ”

“I’m not a child, Mugsy. They can’t just send you to fetch me.” It was a slight improvement on you’re not the boss of me .

“Nobody sent me, Charlie.” She looked a little sad.

“Oh.” That was… good. He wanted his parents to give him more space.

“I told you they’d be fine without me.” Charlie lifted his chin in a posture that allegedly communicated strength and confidence, according to one of the many books his dad had given him about how to be a Man in Business Who Succeeds at Manliness and Business.

Mugsy shook her head. “This is a rescue, Charlie.”

“What?”

“How do you not have a Google alert set up for your name?”

“That seems a little egotistical—”

“Not when it’s this important! You have to think. Take precautions. Be less trusting.”

“I do plenty of thinking.” The rest he couldn’t speak to, but if Mugsy wanted a tsunami of thoughts, Charlie had a surplus. “Also, I can’t leave. I have a previous engagement.”

“With your mysterious lady friend, who just happened to stumble into your life?” Her voice was muffled by the closet door, but he still picked up a strong note of sarcasm.

“Why do you say it like that?”

Mugsy dragged his suitcase into the middle of the bedroom, throwing it open before straightening. “Because somebody sold you down the river.”

He shook his head, but Mugsy didn’t stop.

“Your cover is blown. In a couple of hours, this place is going to be crawling with reporters and photographers and screaming teenagers. We’ll be lucky to get out before the swarm descends.”

Charlie swallowed the reflexive surge of panic. There was something he needed to say first. “It wasn’t Jean.”

“Who else knows you’re here?”

“You,” he pointed out, but Mugsy only shook her head, pulling open a drawer and throwing an armful of clothes into his suitcase.

“I told you to be careful, Charlie.”

“I was!”

“Not careful enough.” She reached for the field journal on the dresser, but he grabbed it first.

“Will you please listen for a second?”

Sighing, Mugsy turned to face him.

“It can’t have been Jean, because she doesn’t know who I am!”