Well Played (Well Met #2)(83)

“No problem,” April said. “I figured you could use some moral support of the female . . .” Her voice trailed off as she plopped into her seat and closed the door. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Mitch put the truck in gear and backed out of April’s driveway.

She didn’t say anything for a second, just sat back against her seat and shook her head. “You had to wear the kilt, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s a Renaissance faire.” He said the words slowly, as though she’d have trouble understanding. “Of course I’m wearing the kilt. Question is . . .” He raised his voice and looked in the rearview mirror, clearly aiming his next words at me. “Why are you wearing civvies?”

I smoothed my hands nervously over the skirt of the sundress I’d worn today. It was still late August: way too hot to spend the day in jeans. Besides, I looked good in this dress. It was the same color as my bridesmaid dress, and Daniel had really liked me in that. The dusty rose shade warmed my skin, and the top of it was cut almost like a bodice, suggesting a period outfit without actually being one. “Because my costume is at the dry cleaners. I didn’t think I was going to need it before next summer.” I didn’t mention my old costume, clean and packed away in the bottom of my trunk. A different Stacey had worn that outfit, and I wasn’t that girl anymore.

He shook his head before directing his attention back to the road. “Play your cards right today, and you’ll be wearing it a lot sooner than that.”

“And a lot more often,” April chimed in. “You’ll need to get a couple more outfits. You know, if you end up doing this kind of thing full-time.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” I took a pull off my travel mug of coffee and regretted it almost immediately. I’d hardly slept the night before, so caffeine had been a must. But my stomach was already jumping around like crazy, and adding coffee just made it churn. I was a live wire. I was a raw nerve ending. How was I going to survive the drive to Annapolis?

It took less than two hours to get there, but it felt like two weeks. Eventually, Mitch’s pickup bounced us across the grassy field of the parking lot for the Maryland Renaissance Festival. Three car doors slammed in quick staccato as we got out. For a long moment we looked around at the lot, where we were just one in a massive sea of cars. Patrons who parked in the lot of the Willow Creek Faire could see the entrance when they got out of their cars: a two-dimensional castle fa?ade that some volunteers had put together about five years ago. But not here. Our entire Faire could probably fit in this parking lot, and all we could see around us was row after row of cars. Like parking at Disney World, but without the trams or mouse ears.

“Holy shit.” April wasn’t part of our Faire, but even she sounded impressed. “Where’s the entrance?”

“Up that way.” I couldn’t see the gates I was pointing toward, but the stream of people told me I was indicating the right way.

“A little bit of a hike, then.” April looked behind us, where the grassy lot continued to fill slowly with cars. “Holy shit,” she said again. “This isn’t a Faire. This is a town.”

“Yeah.” Mitch had been here before—so had I; if you grew up around here you went to the Maryland Renaissance Festival at least once during your childhood—but even his eyes were a little wide at the vastness of it all. “This place is . . . It’s pretty big.” He paused. “That’s what she said.”

I was too nervous to snicker, but April elbowed him in the ribs, and that was good enough.

“Okay. We’re going in.” He reached over his head for the back of his T-shirt, pulling it off and tossing it into the back of the truck.

April sighed. “All right, Kilty. Naked enough?”

“Look on the bright side.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he stuck his keys into the sporran he wore attached to the kilt. “I’m not working this Faire. Which means I get to wear this kilt the way it’s meant to be worn.”

I coughed. I didn’t want to think about what Mitch was or was not wearing under there. Which was sad, because thinking about Mitch in a kilt used to be one of my favorite hobbies. The man was born to wear that green plaid, just long enough to brush his knees, leaving a glimpse of thigh when he walked. He wore boots strapped over his powerful calves, and now that he’d doffed his T-shirt that was the whole of his costume. Looking at Mitch in costume had been the best part of Faire for years. My priorities had changed a lot lately.

It took April a beat longer to follow Mitch’s innuendo, but I could see the moment when it clicked. She rolled her eyes, shook her head again at him, and then turned to me. “You ready for this?”

Why did she have to ask me that? My stomach rolled, and the butterflies in there took flight, wiggling their way through my bloodstream until everything tingled. I was in no way ready for this. But I sucked in a long, slow breath and wiped my damp palms on the skirt of my dress.

“Yeah.” I didn’t sound at all convincing. “I’m ready.”



* * *



? ? ?

Comparing our Faire to the Maryland Renaissance Festival was ridiculous. If Willow Creek’s Faire was a small town, then the Maryland Ren Fest was New York City. The Big . . . Turkey Leg? Whatever. You couldn’t compare the two was what I meant.