Chapter Nine #3
“Long.” The word was a lengthy sigh. The day was over and I had a right to tell the truth.
But it felt wrong to complain. It wasn’t like I had a show or anything.
Performing onstage was ten times as exhausting, as I remembered from my days as one of the Gilded Lilies.
Whining about being tired felt disingenuous, especially when talking to someone who not only had his own show but was filling in over at the chess field.
That was five shows a day when he usually did three, and those two extra ones were extremely physical.
If I was tired, he had to be dead on his feet.
While Alex had every right to scoff at me, he gave a thoughtful nod instead. “Well, sure,” he said, as though I had every right to feel the way I did. “You’ve got one of the hardest jobs here.”
“What?” I peered around the tree at him.
Poor guy looked as tired as I felt. Back here, where no one was expecting him to perform, it was like he’d let a mask slip, allowing his exhaustion to show.
His red-brown hair was dark at the roots from the day’s exertion; he’d raked it back but now it fell across his forehead in damp spikes.
His face was red from a day spent out in the sun that no amount of SPF could touch.
His shirt hung open, the brown leather cord disappearing underneath; I knew now about that silver ring that rested over his heart.
I could even see a slick of sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat.
Nope. Not looking at any hollows.
I jerked my gaze back up to his face, where it was safe.
Wait. No, it wasn’t. I’d forgotten about that sprinkling of freckles across his nose.
Freckles that I’d once spent a lazy afternoon counting, always losing count around twenty-seven because kissing had taken over.
Nope. Not thinking about that, either. I forced my mind back on topic.
“Hard job?” I repeated. “All I do is walk around behind the Queen. Wave a few times.”
“Is that what you think?” He raised an eyebrow and huffed out a little laugh. “You need to give yourself more credit. I see what you do. You’re the one in the royal retinue who always knows where the Queen should be, and makes sure she gets there. And all with a smile on your face.”
I snorted. “Retinue is overstating it. It’s just me and Toby. And we’re in a transitional phase.” Defensiveness crept into my tone. “I’m sure Miss Chris knew this schedule like the back of her hand.”
“Transitional,” he repeated. “Sure.” His gaze went back to the stage, where the belly dancers had finished up and an assortment of musicians from different acts took their place. “I know the feeling,” Alex said, so faintly I almost didn’t hear it over the guitar and pipes from the stage.
“Hey!” I hadn’t seen Dex take the stage, but there he was, locks of hair escaping from his man bun, framing his sharp jawline.
He strode now to the front of the stage, pointing through the crowd right at me.
Adrenaline spiked through my blood; was he going to make me sing?
No. Please God no. But then he said, “Shakespeare boy!” and I let my breath escape in a sigh of relief. Not me, then. Whew.
Alex pointed at himself in an exaggerated motion, already part of the act as he pushed himself off our tree and made his way to the stage.
By the time he got there all the tiredness he’d shown earlier was gone, and his performer’s mask was back on.
He’d just added another show to his day, and wasn’t making a single complaint.
“I don’t suppose you play guitar or anything, do you?” Dex flashed him a grin as he strummed a couple chords.
“Now, where on earth would you get that idea?” Alex headed just off stage left while their banter continued.
“Well, I don’t know.” For a guy from Michigan, Dex had a pretty good southern drawl.
“You have that Shakespeare improv show, so you’re pretty smart.
I saw you over there earlier doing the human combat chess match, so you’re athletic.
If you could play the guitar too, that would just be unfair. Too much talent in one man.”
“Oh, no.” Alex emerged from offstage, slinging the strap of an acoustic guitar over his head.
“I agree, that’s way too much talent.” He struck one chord, then two, in emphasis, making the crowd laugh, and I smiled despite myself.
Sure, he was showing off, but Dex had a point.
That much talent in one person was ridiculous, but he’d also earned the right to show off.
To Alex’s credit, he didn’t take the lead of the little ren faire supergroup that had gathered on the stage, he just added his music and voice to theirs as they began to sing.
“Oh, ho, the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley-o”
This time my sigh of relief was more fervent.
I hated singing “Rattlin’ Bog,” so thank God it wasn’t me up there.
It was a pub sing standard, and for good reason.
Kind of like “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” each verse built on the one before it, and when sung in a group like this, it became a competition.
The verses got longer and longer, and the performers sang faster and faster until someone screwed up the words and was kicked off the stage to lighthearted jeers.
Whenever I was in the song, I was always the first one out.
I could barely remember the branch on the limb on the tree in the bog, much less all the ridiculousness that followed with birds and feathers and nests.
I crossed my arms and leaned back against my tree. Alex probably remembered all the words.
Instead, he was out almost immediately. “And on that tree there was a branch, a rare branch, a rattlin’ branch…” he sang, before breaking off with a howl. “It was supposed to be limb before branch! Noooo!”
The crowd erupted, half in jeers and half in applause, while the rest of the musicians onstage looked at Alex in wonder. “Are you kidding me?” Dex said. “It’s like verse two, and you’re out already?” He shook his head in amazement. “We can give you a freebie if you want, let you back in.”
But Alex was already taking off his guitar. “Nope,” he said a little too cheerfully. “Rules are rules. See ya!” The lighthearted jeers continued as he hopped off the front of the stage. He accepted high-fives and fist bumps on his way through the audience back to my tree.
“Anyway.” He leaned his shoulder against the tree and turned back to me. “What were we saying?”
I squinted at him. “You know ‘Rattlin’ Bog.’ Did you seriously forget the second verse?”
He laughed, shaking his hair off his forehead. “Gets me off the stage faster, doesn’t it?” I choked back a laugh, and he grinned. “Dex promised I wouldn’t have to stay onstage long. They just wanted a little banter at the beginning.”
“Good job.” I nodded, and a companionable silence fell between us as we both turned our attention to the show.
Dex had just flubbed a verse, and it was down to a guy who had a bagpipe show and, oddly, a guy who did a magic show on the children’s stage.
Bagpipe Guy had a good voice, considering he didn’t use it during his act.
Finally, he was out, and the magician brought the song home, taking an exaggeratedly deep breath as he juggled three clubs while singing at the same time. Talk about ridiculous talent.
“Annnnnnd a rash on the flea, and a flea on the feather, and the feather on the wing, and the wing on the bird, and a bird in the egg, and the egg in the nest, and the nest on the twig, and the twig on the branch, and the branch on the limb, and the limb on the tree, and the tree in the bog, and the bog down in the valley-o!”
The remaining performers on the stage sang one last chorus to thunderous applause.
Next to me, Alex gave a piercing whistle while I clapped harder and cheered.
After a break for a swig of…something from their tankards, they started the final song of the evening.
It was a slow, sweet ballad, matching the late-afternoon light around us.
The sun was even lower now in the sky, and the shadows started to lengthen.
It was that golden, magic time when the day was drawing to a close, and sunset wasn’t too far off.
My eyelids drooped, and I thought again about comfy pajamas.
Next to me, Alex shifted a little closer. “This is my favorite thing.” His voice was a low murmur in my ear, sending prickles all over my skin.
“What’s that?” I turned my head and caught my breath.
He was close, so close that all I could see were those freckles.
I felt a familiar flutter in my chest, one that hadn’t been there in years.
This is how it always used to happen. We’d be talking about something and then he’d lean in closer.
Still talking, still smiling right into my eyes.
But our voices would lower, and we’d lean in to each other as though drawn by magnets, until words stopped and our mouths were otherwise occupied.
Those kisses were slow, they were sweet, and now I remembered why none of my relationships since Alex had ever worked out.
Because no one had ever made me feel like I was something to savor.