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God, where did that come from? She was usually a private person and here she was blabbing out her intentions.

Like an adolescent who had a crush on a rock star.

A cold feeling began in the pit of her stomach and she stopped unloading the goods while one hand gripped the handle of the basket. How often had David picked up a fan and spent time with her after a performance? She’d read about performers who used sex to come down from the music high.

Did he just take advantage of me? It had been like one of her teenage dreams come to life.

“You alright, luv?” Jules was looking at her curiously and she lifted her eyes slowly to the older woman’s face. Her gaze was kind and Megan nodded.

“Yes, thanks, I’m fine.”

And I will be. She’d been a willing participant in the whole episode and she just had to take him on trust.

But maybe she’d give the candles a miss. He’d probably run a mile if he thought she was trying to be romantic.

##

Megan stepped back and looked at the table setting. In the end, all she’d done was put a couple of place mats down and placed a jar of yellow roses in the centre of the table. The aromatic sauce was bubbling on the stove and her stomach grumbled. Hunger was gnawing at her but she’d wait for David. It was almost midnight and he should be back soon. In a way, she regretted not going back with him to see the performance, but based on the last two trips through the time slip, she would probably have slept through the entire performance anyway.

A bottle of red wine sat decanting on the table and she walked over to the window above the sink. In the distance, blue light bathed the spire on Glastonbury Tor. There was so much to see here and she intended to do as much sightseeing as she could before she went back home to Sydney.

Home.

It was hard to focus on her life before the past two days. There were only a couple of days left of the festival. She really should go to the festival she’d come to attend. Then she would focus on going home and sorting out her appeal.

Maybe David could come with me?

Shaking her head, she determined to do some work towards her thesis. Her research since she’d arrived was nonexistent. She must get herself out of this thrall she seemed to be caught in. Guilt rippled through her as she thought about how she’d ended the call to Tony and Kathy. Her brother-in-law had only been trying to help her and she’d cut him off. In the morning, she’d call and apologise, and explain why she couldn’t come home.

But how to explain what had happened to her?

I don’t really care about my job and my life at home because I’ve fallen in love with the rock star of my teenage dreams? Not to mention the time travel that had gotten her into that situation.

God. They’d lock me up. Then she replayed the words she’d just admitted to herself.

Fallen in love. Where the hell did that come from?

A noise outside caught her attention and Megan’s heart accelerated as she hurried over to the door with a smile. She opened the door and looked out into the dark, but there was no one there. The scuffling continued but it must have been a small animal in the garden.

Disappointment overcame the impatience filling her chest. She wished he’d hurry up. The anticipation was becoming unbearable. Lowering the flame on the old gas stove, she gave the sauce a stir and filled another pan with water ready to cook the pasta as soon as he came in.

After pouring a glass of wine, she went outside and sat on the back porch to wait. Even though it was midsummer, the night was cool and the stars glistened in the clear sky. In the distance, the soft music of the current festival drifted across the fields, broken only by the occasional low moo of a cow.

Sipping her wine, she waited…and waited…and waited.

##

By 3:00 a.m. and two glasses of wine, the table on the porch was wet where the dew had begun to settle. Anger had replaced Megan’s disappointment. Picking up the glass, she pushed open the kitchen door and went inside. She turned the stove off and tipped the water out of the pasta pot, tapping the pot loudly on the old stone sink to vent some of her disappointment.

God. How gullible am I?

David had obviously found someone else to take care of his needs. What was the saying?

Any port in a storm?

Too restless to sleep, she turned on her laptop and pulled up her files, curious to read the old articles about the festival and David, now that she could see him from a different perspective. First she pulled up the newspaper headline she had seen in the village store.

Her chest closed and tears welled in her eyes as she read about the death of the band’s publicist in 1970. As much as she’d known about his past from her reading over the years, it was the first time that had been mentioned. That piece of information had been omitted from his biography.