Well Matched (Well Met #3)(74)

“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.

“They’re nice,” I said.

“They’re expensive as hell,” he said. “But they last. This is my third year with these.”

“Hmm.” Okay, maybe that dickhead of a leather guy knew his craft. I still wasn’t buying anything from him.

Mitch wasn’t kidding. Even though his job right now was “walk around and look good” he was still busy. Patrons stopped him for photos, and I found myself dragged into a few of them myself. “Try and look happy about it,” Mitch murmured in my ear, but he couldn’t see how I was already smiling. It felt so right to be here with him, doing nothing in particular. Just existing next to him. I’d made it to the other side of the chasm, and I loved it here.

We stopped for my now-traditional frozen lemonade, which I forced myself to eat instead of dumping directly down my dress. He checked in on the volunteers up front, making sure they were staying hydrated and weren’t screwing around on their phones when they should be handing out maps or otherwise interacting with the guests. We lingered in the back of the crowd when the Gilded Lilies sang, and I enjoyed watching Caitlin’s eyes pop out of their sockets when she caught sight of me. I bobbed an awkward curtsy in her direction before the set ended and we moved on. We took the circuitous route to the back of the grounds, where the last joust of the day was in full swing.

It wasn’t far from there that Emily flagged us down. “Oh, thank God. I need your help.”

“What’s the matter?” Mitch’s attention snapped to her with a concerned expression.

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just need warm bodies.” She tugged on the both of us, pulling us toward the Chaucer Stage. “The crowd’s thinning out, since everyone’s heading up front for pub sing. But the kids have one more show, and there’s like three people in the audience. Just come sit and pretend to enjoy their performance, okay?”

That didn’t seem like much of an inconvenience. “I don’t mind sitting for a little bit. What’s the show?”

“It’s theatre,” Emily explained. “It’s a few scenes of Much Ado About Nothing with some of Simon’s honors kids. They get extra credit next fall for surviving the whole experience.”

I smirked. “That seems fair.”

But Mitch groaned at Emily. “Aw, come on, Park. You know I don’t like all that Shakespeare stuff.”

“Well, I do.” I led the way into the clearing of trees where the Chaucer Stage was set up. Behind me Mitch grumbled out another protest but he followed me to one of the benches in the back. I picked a bench that was under a tree, and the shade was pure cool bliss. Emily was right; the audience was sparse for this last show of the day, so it was fortunate that between my skirts and Mitch’s sheer size we took up a good amount of space.

Caitlin had never been too interested in theatre. She’d done Shakespeare scenes with Emily one summer of Ren Faire but otherwise had steered clear. I didn’t realize until now just how I lucky I was, because high school students mostly murdering Shakespeare was painful.

“Are we gonna have to sit through this whole thing?” Mitch’s voice was low in my ear and just for me.

I elbowed him in the ribs and tried to deny the rush of heat I felt from his voice in my ear. “Hush. This is art.”

“This is crap.” That earned him another elbow and he caught my arm with a snort, capturing it while he wrapped his other arm around my shoulders, keeping me from injuring him any further. I grinned and relaxed into him, even going so far as to rest my head in the hollow of his shoulder.