Well Matched (Well Met #3)(64)

But I had to do this.

“Goddammit!” The word was a growl, and I punctuated it by slamming the car door. I didn’t so much walk as stomp back toward the front gate.

And that’s how I became the grumpiest person to ever walk through the front gates of a Renaissance Faire.



* * *



? ? ?

At least I knew my way around this time. I threaded my way through the crowd, my eyes focused straight ahead. I refused to let myself be distracted by all the shiny things on either side of the lanes. I wasn’t here to shop. I wasn’t here to take in any of the shows. I was here on a mission: to intercept my fake boyfriend and tell him that I was his fake girlfriend. Again.

“Last time,” I muttered under my breath as I walked faster, past the Marlowe Stage, where I glimpsed Stacey and Daniel, their band in the middle of a set. “He’s gonna have to tell them we broke up sooner or later. May as well be sooner.” Who was I talking to? Did it matter?

“Beloved sister! Good morrow!” Emily emerged, smiling, from the tavern right in front of me, and not for the first time I wondered how she could breathe in that getup. Last weekend she’d been in blue, but today she was dressed in colors to match her husband: dark wine and black, and a red rose was threaded through the updo she’d made of her curls. Even despite my low-level panic I could appreciate how right she looked here.

I couldn’t just blow past her like I hadn’t seen her. “Hey. Yeah. Good morrow and all that.” I’d stopped walking, but my eyes darted ahead, behind, around. Looking for a tie-dyed trucker hat ushering a couple octogenarians through the Faire.

Her brow furrowed, but since there were a lot of people around us, she stayed more or less in character. “Is everything all right, sister? You seem troubled.”

“Yeah. Just . . .” I didn’t see them, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. They could have already found Mitch. Which wouldn’t be an utter disaster, but I needed to get over there. Emily was still waiting for my answer, so what the hell. Might as well fill her in. “Mitch’s family is here. His grandparents. His cousin.”

Emily’s eyes went wide and she tugged my arm, pulling me off the path and to a quiet copse of trees so she could drop the accent. “The douchey one?”

“No, no.” Thank God for small favors. “Lulu.”

Emily made a face. “Who names their kid Lulu?”

“It’s short for something. Louisa, I think?” I shook my head; not the point. “Anyway, she’s the nice one.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad.”

“It is when he doesn’t know they’re here. And they’re going to be all ‘where’s your girlfriend?’ and he won’t have an answer for them.”

“Ahhh.” Emily blew out a breath, and honestly, how could she do something like that in a corset? It was a mystery.

“Yeah.” I pointed toward the chess field, where a small crowd had started to gather, but not enough to signify that a show was starting. “Is he over there? I wanted to try and talk to him before—”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Emily slipped back into her accent as she put her hands on her corseted hips, following my gaze. “I do not see him, but he cannot have gone far. Their first show begins soon, after all.”

More importantly, I still didn’t see any other Malones, so that was promising. “Okay. I need to find him.”

“Of course,” she said again. Then she grinned at me, dropping the accent once more. “He’s gonna owe you a new roof at this rate.”

I snorted. “No kidding.” If it were earlier in the summer, I would have absolutely leveraged this into more work on my house. But that was the last thing on my mind now. Besides, having him anywhere near my house was a bad idea. Not with my nosy neighbors. Not to mention, spending time with Mitch had stopped being a transaction long before now. I hadn’t talked to him—really talked to him—for a few weeks now, and I missed that. Missed him.

The revelation was startling. It was unwelcome. And it was something that I absolutely did not have time to contemplate right now. Because I’d spotted the tie-dyed trucker hat, not too far from the chess field. I swore under my breath.

“I gotta get over there,” I muttered, either to myself or to Emily. She gave me a small smile and pushed on my shoulder.

“Go.”

I went, skipping the lane entirely and cutting through the grouping of trees between the tavern and the chess field, emerging behind the benches that ringed the field. And oh, thank God—Mitch was right there, his back to me, in conversation with one of the other cast members. His sword lay on the bench beside him. A match was imminent, like Emily said; the rest of the fighting cast had begun to gather.

I was a polite person; I didn’t like to interrupt people when they were talking. But I was also desperate, and the other Malones were on their way. So I reached out, laying a hand on Mitch’s arm, trying to ignore how warm and solid his flesh was, and how that warmth seemed to radiate up my arm. That wasn’t what I was here for.

He turned immediately at my touch, his eyes registering surprise. He gave a dismissive nod to the person he’d been talking to, then turned his full attention to me.

“Good morrow, milady.” He didn’t look particularly happy to see me. In fact he looked guarded, not like a boyfriend at all. That was my fault, pushing him away the way I had. And while this wasn’t the time to fix it, I had to do something.