He folded his arms across his chest and made a valiant attempt to glower. But these two had been married for barely a year, and there was no way that Simon-as-pirate could frown at his wife. “It is well past three of the clock, wife, and you were nowhere in sight when I was fighting just now.”
“Oh!” She clapped her hands over her mouth and looked around as though trying to find a clock. But of course no one was wearing a watch, and all three of us had missed the chess match. “I apologize, my love. Truly, I do. But as you can see, my friend Beatrice and I were otherwise occupied.” By the time she’d finished speaking I’d tucked my credit card back into my new leather pouch and turned around. There was this long, delicious beat as Simon realized it was me in this outfit, and his hazel eyes flew wide, his jaw dropping into an openmouthed smile.
“Why. My. Lady!” He strode forward and held out his hand, and I took it without thinking. He bowed extravagantly over our joined hands, and the little flutter my heart gave in response made a lot of things clear. Namely, why Emily had given him the time of day three years ago when he’d been a pain in her ass. Put a man in leather pants and eyeliner and a lot of sins could be forgiven.
I smiled at him as he straightened up again. “I’m not doing an accent,” I said.
His laughter was an involuntary sound that warmed my heart. Why didn’t he laugh like that year-round? He was so handsome when he did. “Wouldn’t dream of putting you out, milady.” He patted my hand with his other one, but when I thought he was going to release me, he instead tucked my hand in the crook of his arm. “Come along. There’s someone who needs to see this.”
This was inevitable, wasn’t it?
* * *
? ? ?
As Simon dragged me away I looked over my shoulder at Emily and Stacey, trying to telegraph a plea for help. But they were useless. Those traitors practically skipped along behind us as we made our way past patrons, most of whom gave me second and third looks. Anxiety made my blood thrum in my temples, not helped by the blazing sunshine and all these damn layers I had on.
“How do you do this all day? I’m already sweating.”
“Welcome to Faire life, darling,” Simon said under his breath but still in character, and I choked on a laugh.
“Thanks, I hate it.”
It didn’t take long for us to reach the chess field, and Simon was right: the match had just ended. A few patrons were milling around with some of the cast, asking questions and taking photos.
And . . . I tried to take a deep breath before I forgot that I couldn’t. So the air stalled in my lungs when I saw Mitch across the way. I was never going to get used to him looking like that, and I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on the plaid sash around my waist. The sash that, now that I looked from it to the kilt that Mitch was wearing, didn’t quite match. But it was damn close. Emily knew what she was doing.
I waited to feel that usual defensive surge of embarrassment, of denial. All the feelings that flowed through me whenever Emily gave me shit about whatever had been going on between Mitch and me for the past few weeks. But it wasn’t there. Something about being in this dress made things between Mitch and me very clear. And very right. Suddenly all I wanted was for him to see me like this. I wanted to be someone who belonged in this part of his life.
So I nodded to Simon and lifted my skirts, weaving around the audience benches and two children dressed as knights facing off with wooden swords, until I reached my target. I got there just as the patrons Mitch was talking to left, and he turned as though sensing my presence. Then he froze. His eyes became enormous.
“Holy shit.” He’d dropped the accent, as well as all pretense at character.
I tried to cross my arms, but it didn’t work too well with my boobs all hiked up, so I settled for putting my hands on my hips. “I don’t think that language is period appropriate.”
“It is now.” He looked me up and down, and if his gaze lingered on my cleavage a little too long, I didn’t mind a bit. Payback for all the back-muscle ogling I’d been doing. He held out a hand, and after I took it, he raised our arms and encouraged me to do a slow twirl under them. “You look incredible, milady.” The accent was back, and those r’s rolled right down my spine.
“Thanks, kind sir.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m not doing an accent.” The more people I told, hopefully the more acceptable it would be.
“Not required.” Was he using words with lots of r’s in them on purpose? Because that seemed mean. “May I ask what brought about this . . . transformation?”
I shrugged. “Thought it might be fun.”
“And? Is it?”
“Well, I never knew how much I took breathing for granted, but other than that . . .” For once, I let myself smile the way I wanted to. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice.”
“Good.” His gaze roamed over me again, and it was worth not being able to take a good deep breath if he would keep looking at me like that.
“Sorry I missed your show.”
He shrugged, his smile matching mine. “Ye’ve seen it. But I have good news.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“No more shows today.”
“Really? You’re done for the day?” Disappointment pricked my good mood. I’d spent a lot of time—and not a little money—getting dressed up like this. How was him being done for the day good news? Dammit.
“I didnae say that.” He cleared his throat and switched back to his normal voice since there weren’t any patrons around. “I said I’m done here. Now I walk the grounds, take pictures with patrons—”
“Of course.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but my usual annoyance with Mitch didn’t seem to be there. Huh.
He continued talking like I hadn’t spoken. “—check on the volunteers—especially the kids. Make sure everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.” He shook his head. “You don’t know how many times I’ve caught kids sneaking out to the woods to check their phones. Or worse.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I got his meaning.
“You’re actually busy. Got it. Then what’s the good news, exactly?”
“The good news is that my job is to walk around. And I’d love some company. You know, if you’re free.”
He held out his hand again and I didn’t hesitate to take it.
“Why yes, good sir,” I said in my accentless voice. “I’m free.”
As we stepped onto the lane, arm in arm, he glanced down at my feet when I twitched my skirts up a couple inches. “Nice sneakers,” he said sotto voce.
I dropped my skirts so they covered up my battered Converse. “I ran out of money,” I muttered. “This shit is expensive.” Plus I didn’t want to give any money to that leatherworker who sold the boots. He could kiss my no-longer-mundane ass.
Mitch snorted, putting the accent back on. “I can relate.”
I gave him a side-eye. “Seriously? You have on like half an outfit.”
“You think kilts are cheap? And these boots?” He hiked up a leg, and while I tried to ignore the way the fabric of his kilt slid up his thigh, I glanced down at the boots strapped to his calves. They looked similar to the leatherworker’s: sturdy black leather with pewter buttons the size of a silver dollar studded up one side.