“Sure do, m’lady.” Rebecca had a small table set up next to her to hold the chainmaille rings and supplies she needed. So she transferred the project in her lap to the table and reached inside the tent to grab her tablet from the messenger bag she used as her purse.

Turning it on, she brought up her credit card software, swiped the woman’s card through the reader hooked into the earbud jack, and then e-mailed the woman a receipt while she put the bracelet on.

“Oh, what an adorable dog!” she said, making Rebecca glance behind her.

Chewi, awakened by the discussion, was standing at the opening of Rebecca’s tent. The little four-year-old, short-haired tri-color terrier-Chihuahua mix wore an ornate chainmaille vest of many colors. Just over fifteen pounds, he frequently acted like he weighed a hundred and fifteen.

“Thank you. Chewi’s my baby. He goes everywhere with me.”

Chewi sat and sneezed at them.

“Do you sell online?”

“I sure do.” Rebecca reached over and plucked a couple of cards from a business card holder on her table, handing them to the woman. “I have an Etsy store and a website.”

“Great, thank you!” The woman tucked the cards into her purse. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks! You, too.” Rebecca sat in the camp chair again and reached over to pet Chewi. “Well, that was another couple of weeks of your kibble,” she joked. “Guess I can keep feeding you.”

This was an old private joke between them. He simply glared at her, as if the idea of her not feeding him was ludicrous.

Here I am, thirty-seven, and I’m talking to my dog.

Worse, there were times, frequent times—as in every day—that she held full conversations with Chewi, including an entire mythos about him trying to rule the world.

And he talked back.

I need help.

No, what she needed were more friends, or…well, maybe she did need therapy.

Over in “the pit,” as everyone called it, she heard a roar from the crowd as the jousting display kicked off. That likely meant business would be slow for the next thirty minutes or so. Once the crowd broke up, they’d head for the main row of food tents located just past her, meaning a flood of people.

Including ones with sticky fingers.

She was lucky she lost very few items to theft, and then usually only small things like earrings or bracelets.

For good measure, she pulled some of her more expensive pieces off the table and slipped them into a glass-topped display box with a few intricate and ornate pieces she never left in the open. Then she thinned out the bracelet display, removing a couple of duplicates, as well as some of the earrings.

Never hurt to be safe.

By the end of the day, she’d made over five hundred dollars in sales and didn’t appear to have lost anything. Not her best day, but not bad for a Friday, and at least she’d almost made back her vendor fee for the event. Tomorrow would be busy, and she’d tip over the scales into the black in terms of what she’d shelled out for the vendor space.

After noting which pieces she’d sold so she could remake them, she packed her merchandise and supplies in totes to stack on her cart to take back to her RV. All the while, Chewi sat and watched her with a baleful glare.

“This would go faster if you’d help me, you know, instead of giving me dirty looks,” she shot back at him.

He sneezed at her.

* * * *

Some of the other vendors boondocked on the grounds at the South Carolina park, tapping into an iffy electrical system or using their gennys, but Rebecca didn’t want to do that. Not at this venue.

Not when there was an excellent RV park literally five minutes away with all the comforts of home, including free Wi-Fi.

And, since she worked from her “home,” she could deduct part of her costs as business expenses.

She loaded her stuff into the back of the Toad, her green Honda CRV, got Chewi’s safety harness on him, strapped him into the passenger seat, and hit the road.

The RV park was a nice one she’d stayed at plenty of times before, always booking herself a space in advance as soon as she had the next Ren fair’s dates in her calendar and had confirmed herself a vendor space. For this fair, which lasted three weekends, she’d spend the entire time living there at the RV park. It meant catching up on shipping orders for her Etsy store, replenishing her supplies because she’d be in one spot long enough to receive a shipment, and being able to actually sit and make new products instead of driving to the next venue.

It also meant her best friend, Eliza, could ship her any mail she had sitting there at her and Rusty’s house in Sarasota. Most everything Rebecca did was online, including paying her bills, but there were things, like renewing her license plates and her insurance, that required a permanent address.

She’d known Eliza and Rusty for years, meeting them through their participation in Ren fairs and the SCA in Florida back when Rebecca was in college. Any time she was in Sarasota—which wasn’t often, unfortunately—she parked at their house and she and Chewi stayed with them for a few days. Normally she saw them a few times a year up in Tampa, or Orlando, or at other events around the state, where they came to see her.

Sarasota, unfortunately, was an area Rebecca tended to avoid.

Too many bad memories, and as unrealistic a fear as she knew it was, she didn’t want to run into her ex.

And with her luck, she likely would.

* * * *

Rebecca had arrived at the RV park late Wednesday night, and Thursday had been spent checking in with the fair officials, finding her vendor space, and getting her tent and display tables set up. So she hadn’t even had a chance to settle in to her temporary home yet.

After nearly ten years of existing like this, she had it down to a science. Living in an RV suited her, allowing her the freedom to vend at different events without worrying about a home left behind.

It also meant no way for Sam to be able to track her down.

She knew she was being paranoid. It’d been four years since the last time she’d received word from someone that Sam had asked about her or mentioned her.

Not one to take chances, she preferred the anonymity of a roving life to being a sitting duck.

This RV was her second, and at thirty-two feet it was ten feet larger than her last one. She’d saved up for it, buying it used, but it’d been only two years old and had less than ten thousand miles on it when she got it.

So far, it was holding up well. One day she’d like to upgrade to a slightly larger one, but that was future thinking. And the Toad, as she’d dubbed her green CRV, was in great shape even though it was ten years old. Most of its road miles were earned while being towed on the car dolly behind the RV.

Tonight she got Chewi and her stuff unloaded and inside the RV before locking herself in and taking a long, hot shower.

That was another reason she didn’t want to boondock. After years of doing this, she knew some of these Ren fairs were dusty, dirty events. She wanted the luxury of a long, hot shower without worrying about water supplies or how full her grey-water tank was getting. Being hooked directly into the sewer line, and with an incoming fresh-water supply, meant she could take as long a shower as she wanted. Her tankless water heater kept up with it, no problem.

Finally, she emerged, wearing a T-shirt and with her long, curly brown hair wrapped in a towel. She sank down onto the couch and stared at where Chewi had taken up residence in his bed on the passenger seat, which she’d turned around backward so he could see the interior.

“Ready for dinner?”

He sniffed at her.

“Of course you are.” She scooped him out a bowl of kibble and set it down for him next to his water bowl.