Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“You all right?” Matthew asked.
Winnie blinked, shaking herself mentally from her stares. “Sorry, I figured you’d dress in the bathroom. I can come back.”
“No need. I’m finished.”
She nodded, walking in and closing the door behind her.
He straightened his thin, gray t-shirt over his torso, revealing just a sliver of his skin, but Winnie forced herself to look away all the same, hanging her wet clothes near the wall heater, where Matthew’s shirt and pants already rested.
He motioned to the brittle table near the window, cake and teacups now balanced precariously atop the small surface. “It was a good job I was here when Mrs. Kitchingside brought the slices of cake. She might’ve come in and rifled through all our luggage to see what we’re really doing here.”
Winnie smiled, though still frazzled. She took a few steps forward, blinking away the image of him once again and staring at the cake slices, the smell of sugar and strawberries tickling her nose.
There was nothing that could distract a girl more than sugar.
And yet, when she sat gingerly down on one of the toothpick-legged chairs, not even a bite of the delicious, homemade cake could distract her as he took a seat across from her and his knee pressed up against hers.
She looked up at him furtively, wondering if he had touched her on purpose, but when he didn’t move, taking a bite of the cake himself, she had to assume that he thought he was pressed up against the table’s leg instead of hers.
Her flesh burned, heat coursing through her heart, reminding her again of the other night, how close they’d been to each other, how his lips had looked drawing toward her.
“You mind if we crack the window open?” she asked, stuffing another bite of cake into her mouth.
Come on , sugar. Work.
Matthew nodded, standing to push one side of the window open a few inches, the cool breeze brushing past Winnie’s face at once.
The minute he moved, Winnie shifted her legs to no longer sit beneath the table, allowing no further chance of touch between them. As much as she wanted to feel that heat for the rest of all time, she needed to calm down. She was spending the night with the guy, for heaven’s sake. She shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him.
“Better?” Matthew asked, sitting down again, his chair creaking in protest.
“Yep,” she lied. “Thank you.”
She shoveled another bite into her mouth. It was a delicious cake. Just not as delicious as Matthew in his pajamas. Nothing could ever compare to that.
Except maybe Matthew in his pajamas on a horse .
A phone buzzed, and Winnie forced the ridiculous image away from her mind as he pulled out his phone from his pocket.
“Oops. It’s Char. I forgot to call her back.” He looked up at Winnie. “Do you mind if I…?”
She waved a dismissive hand, unable to speak due to her mouthful of cake. The food was working now, right? It had to be working now .
“Hey, Char,” he answered. “Sorry. We made it to the inn and got a room.”
“Oh, good. All right, I was just checking.”
Her voice was perfectly clear to Winnie, despite Matthew not putting it on the speaker phone this time.
To avoid imposing without his knowledge, Winnie looked down at the street below, the orange lamp in front of the bed and breakfast casting a perfect halo beneath it. A couple walked past, their gentle whispers drifting up toward her as they walked beneath a single black umbrella together.
“Wait,” Char said. “Did you say a room?”
Winnie took another bite, focusing outside all the harder.
“Yeah, there was only one available.” Matthew leaned back in his chair, running his free hand through his wild hair that became even more unruly as it dried from the rain.
Would he let her touch it, smooth away one of the curls from his brow?
Pull yourself together, Winnie.
“Wow,” Char said. “That escalated quickly. Didn’t you guys hate each other, like, yesterday?”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
Winnie couldn’t help herself. She glanced to Matthew, his eyes on her with a deep, lingering look.
“So…you like her, then?”
Matthew’s smile faded, an unreadable expression stretching across his features. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew he was wondering if Winnie had heard Char’s question. Still, Winnie couldn’t look away.
“That,” he began, “is a question for another day.”
“Aww,” came Char’s disappointed response.
“Enjoy your date, Char,” Matthew said.
“And you enjoy your night, Matty.”
He hung up then, though their eyes remained locked.
Winnie’s mouth dried, the cake turning to crumble as she chewed. It didn’t taste so sweet anymore. Not with Matthew’s kiss on her mind.
Winnie.
She pulled her eyes away, chastising herself once again. “So,” she said, finally pushing the cake away and carefully leaning back in her chair. She needed something else to distract herself—and there was something that always worked, even more than sugar. “About the festival…”
Her abrupt change in conversation didn’t faze him, his smile remaining. “What about it?”
“Well, since this is a bonus night neither of us was expecting, I figured we could talk about it for a bit.”
“Sound logic. If that’s what you prefer to talk about, then let’s get to it.”
Winnie would prefer to talk about how Matthew had managed to obtain such formed muscles and how he looked better than half the men in New York City with their gym memberships and personal trainers.
But work would have to do.
She moved to the bed, sitting on the side of it as she rifled through her luggage and found her writing tablet.
“I’ve done really good with not thinking about work…when we’re out and about.” She opened her tablet and pulled up the document she’d been working on each night. “But once I’m alone and trying to sleep, my mind just wanders. I decided to make good use of that time by putting together a few ideas for the festival.”
She stood with the tablet, walking toward him. “I realized,” she explained, feeling more self-conscious and hesitant by the second, “that I was trying to turn the festival into a spectacle, basically a busy-book for adults and kids—always something to do, always something going on, super stimulative, super action-packed, super loud. But after this trip, I dunno. I guess I’ve just seen how different it is here. I realized that most people don’t always want a busy, stimulating, action-packed event. With your festival, they expected what they receive from the rest of Yorkshire— beautiful surroundings, things that help them feel active, moments that help them connect with history, time to process what’s going on, and choosing what best they’d like to do.”
Matthew looked up at her, his eyes soft and eyebrows raised.
She extended the tablet to him, and he reached for it, but she quickly pulled it back. “None of it is set in stone,” she clarified. “And anything can change. And please, for the love of all things medieval, if something isn’t going to work, tell me .”
He smiled, still holding out his hand. “I promise.”
She sighed, then finally handed him the tablet.
Be gentle, she prayed.
Over the next several minutes, she sat on the edge of the bed, chewing her thumbnail and watching his face carefully as he smiled, nodded, looked thoughtful, and sometimes even frowned, reading through her document of changes, suggestions, and ideas for his festival.
By the end of it, her nerves were shot. Matthew, who still sat on the fragile chair, lowered the tablet with a shake of his head. “Wow,” he murmured.
Winnie hesitated. “Wow, as in, ‘You’ve outdone yourself’? Or wow, as in, ‘You’re missing the boat again, Winnie, give up and go back to the States’?”
“No, wow, as in, you’ve entirely captured my original vision for the festival.”
Relief flooded through her, pushing a smile on her lips and a giddy feeling across her body. “Really?”
“Really,” he said with a look of sincerity. “All of these ideas are fantastic. Some of them might be a bit hairy to get sorted, but I think most of them will work.” He pulled up the tablet again, reading off some of the ideas she’d had over the last couple of days. “No more rides, no loud music, no script for the jousting.” He glanced up at her. “Those will go over so well with the others.” He looked back down. “The food suggestions are a great compromise—beef and veggie stew, yes. Turkey legs! Sounds amazing. And purchasing tents that look medieval with flags and everything? I love it. Oh, and this one—having the kids dress as knights and princesses to fight off a dragon?” He gave her an impressed look. “It’s not historically accurate, but that one is going to be such a hit. And the damsel! The damsel is back!”
She grinned. That had been the most difficult thing for her to finally get over. But after the trip, being the damsel in distress herself time and time again—being caught falling from a tree, being stuck atop a wall, being stranded in an old car, being lost within thoughts of her family—she figured, there was nothing inherently wrong with a man or a woman needing help from someone.
Especially if that someone was a knight willing and eager to help in return.
Still, she hadn’t brought the damsel back without compromising. “She’s not going to swoon from men sword fighting,” she warned. “That I can’t go back to.”
“I would never expect you to,” Matthew responded.
Winnie listened to him go on and on, describing his favorite ideas, sharing his concerns with others, and adding on to what she already had with his own suggestions.
They spoke of fortune tellers, fire breathers, double the falconry, knights jousting unscripted, sword fighting practice arenas, jugglers and jesters, magic shows and glassblowers.
“We can find local blacksmiths to teach their trade to kids, people who want to try their hand at archery, even ax throwing,” Winnie said. “And what did you think of the idea of having one day a month be solely devoted to schools? Then kids can come in and have fun, yet educational experiences. You could even teach them dressed as a knight.”
He shook his head with a grin, unable to say a word, which only made her all the more pleased.
“We can have souvenirs like wooden swords and mugs. Even magic wands like in Harry Potter .”
He grinned. “You knew you’d get me with that.”
She most certainly did. “There are quite a few things in there that aren’t authentic or historically accurate,” she warned. “Archery with the elves, wizards performing magic tricks. So how do you feel about that?”
He shook his head with a semi-amused smile. “I’ve been such a stickler for the rules, and what good has it done? I nearly lost the festival for good because of it.” He held up the tablet with a nod. “But this holds some real magic. Really, this is why my dad hired you. This plan has all the heart he saw in you from the beginning, and I genuinely cannot wait to get started on it.”
Winnie had to bite her lip to keep her grin at bay. She’d never been so proud of herself, never felt such joy from her work. To have it approved so wholeheartedly by someone who had practically hated her days before? She’d never known such satisfaction.
“Thank you,” she said, looking away. “But I can’t take all the credit. You were the one who decided to trick me into liking history by drowning me with medieval facts the last two days.”
Matthew chuckled, leaning back on the chair again. “I did, didn’t I? Well, you can’t say it didn’t work.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You also can’t say I wasn’t smooth about the whole thing.”
“Oh, you were so smooth,” she returned. “My favorite was when you talked to me about the butchers in York. The mention of blood running down the street? Loved that.”
“I bet you did.” He grinned, reclining farther, this time with his hands behind his head. “Well, it just goes to show, a man with as much talent as me can get anything he wants. Even?—”
A loud crack sounded, interrupting his final words, and all at once, the toothpick-legged chair crumbled to pieces, and he fell to the floor in a heap of wood.