His eyebrows went up, and I knew he was bursting to turn it into an innuendo, but maybe it was out of character for him to do so, because he refrained. He stepped closer to me, taking the bottle from my hand. “That’s because you’re not cooling off properly.”
“Oh, really?” I crossed my arms and attempted a glare, but God, he looked too good. You couldn’t glare at abs like that.
“Really.” There were at least fourteen r’s in the word. “If you’ll allow me?” I nodded, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to. I tried not to flinch away as he reached for me, his fingers skimming the back of my neck as he brushed my hair over one shoulder. A shiver went across my skin that had nothing to do with hot or cold and everything to do with Mitch touching me. Before I could say anything he laid the still-icy bottle across the back of my neck, and the sudden cold was a shock of relief.
“Oh, God,” I moaned. My gaze flew up to his and the cold I felt was almost burned away by the fire I saw in his eyes. He’d heard me moan like that before, and I could see in his expression that he was remembering it too.
“Good?” His voice was a low rumble, meant just for me, and all I could do was nod dumbly. “Good,” he said again, and this time the word promised something so intimate I didn’t want to contemplate it.
Thankfully, just then a man in royal dress announced the beginning of the chess match, calling the cast to their places. I reached up to grasp the bottle, brushing his fingers with mine as I did so. Once I had a good grip on it, he let go, stepped back, and quirked a small smile. Then he placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “Milady.”
And then he was off, taking his place on the board for the match to begin.
Stacey nudged me. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.” I took the bottle off my neck and uncapped it again, taking a gulp. My neck was cold but the rest of me burned.
“Oh, ’tisn’t nothing,” Emily piped up from the bench behind us. Where the hell had she come from? She leaned between the two of us and grinned at Stacey. “You’ve missed a lot around here lately.”
“I have? Like what?”
“Like April and Mitch, that’s what.”
“What?” Stacey’s squeal was drowned out by the fighting that had started on the chess field. Fighting that none of us were paying attention to. Good thing we were sitting in the back.
“Shhhh,” I said. “Show’s started.” I pointed out toward the field, where teenage costumed actors took swings at each other with a staff and a sword.
But the girls didn’t care. “You should see them together, Beatrice.” Emily was back in her accent, using Stacey’s in-character name. “They make quite a pair.”
“Do they?” Stacey’s smile was wide as she turned her interested gaze back to me. I scowled. It was getting annoying, being the only person not playacting here. It was either that or being gossiped about. Teased about something that wasn’t real. Book club all over again.
But this wasn’t book club. Emily threw her arms around my shoulders, hugging me from behind. Reminding me that she was on my side through everything, and this was sisterly teasing, not gossip. I shook my head hard. “We were just doing each other a favor,” I said. “That’s all, honestly. Nothing going on there.”
Stacey sighed. “Well, that’s too bad. Because I can see it. I bet you look good together.”
“They do,” Emily confirmed, and I batted her on the arm while she tried to look innocent. “I am telling the truth, on my soul!” She was loving this way too much.
I turned back to the chess match, where Mitch blocked an attack with that massive sword of his, and there I was, with no choice but to watch the way his back muscles worked under his skin as he pushed his attacker backwards. He went through the steps of the choreographed fight, and I tried. I tried so hard to not remember how those powerful legs felt tangled up with my own. I tried to block the memory of the feel of his skin against mine, the way those same back muscles rippled in the same way under my hands when engaged in more intimate activities.
I tried. But unfortunately, I had a really good memory. I was going to need a lot more water.
Sixteen
I barely survived the human chess match, and fled not long after that, leaving my costumed friends behind. I’d been there long enough anyway. I was supposed to have gone home hours ago. As it was, I barely got home in time to take a long shower and order Chinese food for dinner—our Saturday-during-Faire tradition—before Caitlin got home.
“Did you catch up with everyone at the chess match?” Caitlin was wrapped up in a bathrobe, her wet hair combed down her back, as she scooped sweet and sour chicken into a bowl of rice, spooning neon-orange sauce on top of it all.
“I did.” I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to. What was I going to say? Remember how I’m not dating Coach Malone? Well, that’s still true. However, there may have been some drooling today. And some slightly dirty things involving a water bottle. That man should come with some kind of advisory.
But something about the day felt wrong. I felt it in those moments when Emily and Stacey conversed in character, like it was a language I didn’t know, or a club I didn’t belong to. Something about how all of my friends and family in their bright costumes made me feel like they were on the other side of a chasm I couldn’t cross. They weren’t mean about it or mocking. But it was clear that their experience here was much different from mine. I wasn’t used to that. And I wasn’t used to caring about it. I’d always kept to myself—wanting to belong wasn’t exactly in my DNA.
So the next morning I reported for my shift at the ticket office, stayed my requisite four hours, and went the hell home. I didn’t want to run into Mitch again. I didn’t even want to run into my daughter or my sister while they were in costume. All of them with their characters and their accents just made me feel like an outsider.
There was little point in getting involved, anyway. I’d only be getting attached to something I was about to leave behind. I should be focusing on my future. On selling the house and leaving Willow Creek. I didn’t need to be putting down more roots.
From now on I was going to do my volunteer shifts and no more. I would ignore the seductive thumping of the hand drums and the clash of steel on steel from the various stages while I sat in the box office. Who needed the distant sounds of bagpipes floating on the breeze and the faint smell of horses coming from the jousting field?
I sure as hell didn’t.
* * *
? ? ?
Yeah. That resolution got me through that first weekend and no more. But in my defense, what happened next wasn’t my fault.
I got to the Faire early in the morning on my second weekend as a box office volunteer with a to-do list in my head. After I was done here, I was going to hit the grocery store on the way home so I could relax that evening. Get my shower before Caitlin came home so she could clean up after a long day of Faire. Then I’d go to bed early, maybe read a book before going to sleep and doing it all again on Sunday.
It was a good plan. And it was shot to hell by about ten thirty.
Nancy was right—working the box office was probably the best people-watching spot at the whole Faire. Everyone was bright-eyed and energetic when they first arrived. Costumes were fresh and perfect, not yet marred by the dust of the lanes of the Faire and the sweat that came from the inevitable heat of the day. Patrons were excited to be there, and went through the gates like kids on Christmas morning. People met up in front of our booth and greeted one another with hugs and cheers. There were lots and lots of cries of Huzzah! to the point that I now understood those times that Emily or Caitlin slipped the word into a regular conversation.