Well Matched (Well Met #3)(61)

“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?