Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Years of the Faire happening in this town meant that we had a reliable dry cleaner with overnight service, so after opening the bookstore for Emily on Tuesday, on my way home in the afternoon I was able to pick the dresses up, all bright and fresh in their thin plastic bag wrappings.
As I got out of my car, I was greeted with the familiar steel-on-steel clang. Because didn’t everyone have sword fights going on in their backyards?
“At least they left me a spot in the driveway this time,” I muttered as I hauled the dry cleaning out of the trunk.
When I’d gotten home yesterday it had looked like we were throwing a barbecue: the driveway had been packed, and cars lined both sides of our quiet street.
I’d parked at the end of the cul-de-sac and followed the sounds of shouting and swords to where Simon was directing a full run-through in the backyard.
From my vantage point on the deck, I’d leaned on the railing to watch.
My timing had been perfect—I’d gotten there just in time for Alex and Simon’s big fight scene.
My heart raced, and not just from the caffeine I’d had that morning.
Even at a distance I could see Alex’s bright eyes and exuberant expression; he moved through the steps of the fight as elegantly as if it were a dance.
His slim but powerful legs lunged and retreated; his arms moved in graceful arcs.
As he moved back a step from Simon’s attack, he shook his hair off his forehead, still grinning despite the clashing swords inches from his face. He was relishing this.
I was so caught up in watching them that I barely noticed when they’d stopped to take a break.
Alex and Simon exchanged a few words, then Alex lifted his head, his eyes finding mine right away.
My heart stuttered, and I reminded myself that he wasn’t anything to me.
Not yet. Probably not ever. This was going to be a fling, someone to have fun with.
But I was frozen as he took a step toward me, then another.
He’d just hit the stairs leading up to the deck when Jeremy chose that moment to show me the new quarterstaff he’d gotten from a merchant at the Faire.
By the time I was done admiring his stick (that’s what she said), Alex had gone.
So much for having fun.
Today, as I heaved the gowns into my arms, I started a round of my new favorite game: Who’s Rehearsing Today?
I didn’t recognize the cars right in front of the house, but Alex’s white van was two doors down, parked in the street behind Simon’s sensible if outdated sedan and a black Dodge Challenger.
Ah. That explained the acoustic guitar I was hearing.
Dex hadn’t been around much this summer yet.
He and Lulu usually embraced the RV lifestyle when his band did the Willow Creek Renaissance Faire, and the Maryland Renaissance Festival that came right on its heels.
But when they were in town, sometimes they’d stay a few nights in the guest room.
I couldn’t blame them; van life was probably great and all, but there was nothing like a real shower.
I hung the costumes up in the hall closet, grabbed my laptop off the coffee table, and made my way through the empty house to the back deck, where there was practically a mini renaissance faire happening in my backyard.
Mitch and Lulu were on the deck, Mitch in one of the Adirondack chairs, his leg up on an ottoman.
Lulu sat at the wooden picnic table, under the shade of the table’s umbrella, her laptop open in front of her.
Dex was at the top of the steps that led down to the yard, his back against the railing, picking out a melody on the guitar in his lap.
I dropped into the chair across from Lulu and opened my laptop to mirror her. “How’s it going out here?” My eyes zeroed in on Alex right away, out in the backyard in his little crop top and cutoff shorts. Had his ass always looked that good, or had kissing him again changed everything?
Lulu sighed at her laptop, obviously not enjoying the view the way I was.
“Fine, once I get this contract sent over.” She hit a few more keys and frowned at what she’d typed.
Her concentration got me back on task. I hadn’t received any responses from the jobs I’d applied to last week, and I made a disgusted noise at my inbox before clearing out the spam and taking a spin through the job postings online.
Ooooh, new listings. I bookmarked a few to apply to tonight; I wanted to tweak the keywords on my résumé first.
It was a hot day, and the backs of my thighs stuck to my chair when I shifted position.
Out on the grass, Simon and Alex ran through their fight again.
I got a Diet Coke out of the deck cooler and squinted at them.
This past weekend their fight had looked rather basic—a thrust here, a parry there.
Nothing flashy, but good enough to get the message across.
Yesterday they’d incorporated some new moves, and today they put those moves into practice, running them at full speed.
Simon advanced with his rapier, slashing again and again at Alex.
My heart thrilled, even though I knew Alex wasn’t in any danger.
One vicious attack brought Alex to his knees, sword arm raised to block a killing blow.
His sword clattered to the ground, then he himself dropped to lie flat on his back.
In one smooth movement, he brought his knees up to his chest and rolled to his shoulders, using the momentum of his legs and the leverage of his hands to bring him surging to his feet, scooping up his sword again in an easy, practiced motion.
Damn. That man was flexible. Had I known that, back in the day? Not that I would have known what to do with him if I had. I knew now, though. Damn, did I ever. I took a long, cooling drink from my soda.
Thankfully oblivious to my growing horniness, Mitch cheered from his place on the proverbial sidelines. “Yeah! That’s more like it!”
But the two men kept going as though Mitch wasn’t there, and this time it was Alex’s turn to advance and Simon’s to retreat. Alex whirled away from Simon, his sword behind his back before bringing it down in an arcing swing, stopping just short of the other man.
“Something like that?” Alex broke the moment and lowered his sword. A smile lifted across his face like a sunrise, chasing away the pinpoint focus he’d had just a moment ago.
Simon sucked in a ragged breath. “Something like that.” His nod was an exhausted drop of the head; how long had they been at this? “Let’s take a break,” he all but wheezed. “I need some water. And so do you.”
“No kidding.” Alex’s chest heaved with exertion, but it seemed like the more tired he was the wider he grinned as he followed Simon to the stairs leading up to the deck.
“Okay, fine. Take a five-minute break. Oh, what the hell, make it ten,” Mitch said, as though it was all his idea. He shifted in his chair, frustration flickering across his face.
By the time Simon and Alex got waters out of the cooler at the top of the steps, I was safely back in my chair, innocently tapping away at my laptop. Simon dropped into the Adirondack chair next to Mitch. “What do you think?” He twisted off the bottle cap and took a long drink.
“It’s good.” Mitch nodded enthusiastically. “I like the thing he’s doing at the end there, the twirl. And the spring up from the ground is great. I need him to teach me that.”
“It’s called a kip-up.” Simon dragged the half-empty plastic bottle across his forehead before settling it on the back of his neck. “Yeah, I like it. I know it’s not flipping you over my shoulder like I’ve been doing for the past, what, fifteen years? But it’s nice and showy.”
Mitch snorted. “Yeah, maybe it’s time we retire that move.
We’re not getting any younger, are we?” His voice was low, but I was close enough to hear the resignation in his tone.
Wow. Wasn’t it just last week that he’d been protesting that he wasn’t old?
One sprained ankle was enough to change his entire worldview.
Beside him, Simon sighed in agreement. “Maybe.” He sounded uncertain, the way he always did when someone suggested that something about the Faire had changed.
Simon Graham was not a guy who embraced change.
I was surprised he was rolling with the past couple weeks as well as he was.
Rechoreographing the chess match, a rotating cast of Queens? This should have sent him into a coma.
“Nah, it’s good,” Mitch said. “It’s not like we’re retiring, you know? Just maybe…taking it a little easier. Let the kids carry the load for a while.”
Simon’s nod this time was less defeated, more thoughtful. “I get it. Along those lines, I was thinking. Jeremy’s been getting better every year with that quarterstaff. Maybe he could…”
As they kept talking, verbally reworking the entire chess match yet again, guitar chords caught my attention.
I looked over at Dex; he wasn’t playing any particular melody, just strumming one chord, then another, in a thoughtful, meditative motion.
While I’d been distracted by Simon and Mitch, Alex had taken his bottle of water and started back down the steps, dropping to sit just below Dex.
“What’s that?” He nodded toward the guitar. “Sounds good.”
“Nah, it’s nothing.” Dex stopped strumming, folding his arms over the top of the guitar. “Just messing around.”
“You were working on those old Irish ballads a few years ago, right?” Alex took a sip of water and exhaled a long, tired sigh. “How did those go?”
“Oh, they turned out great.” He nodded happily. “We added some of them to the show a couple years back, they seem to be working.”