“Mistress Penelope?”
She popped her head above the rack. “I’m over here.”
He walked over holding several shirts, and she caught the admiring gaze of two women as they walked by, arms laden with shopping bags. Narrowing her eyes, Penelope watched them until they were out of sight.
“Okay, I have no idea what size shorts you need, so try on a couple. I made my best guess.” She handed him khaki, navy, and red in a couple of sizes.
“Where does the music come from?” He stood there blinking at her, and she pointed to the dressing room.
“From the ceiling. I’ll explain later. Go in there where it says ‘fitting room’ and try this stuff on, see what fits.”
He nodded at her, and as he walked into the dressing room, for a moment she felt like she was sending her kindergartner into the first day of school. He looked so forlorn.
While she waited for him to come out, she caught up on email, accepted three new copywriting requests, checked social media, and ignored the thirty-seven texts from Mildred, instead answering an email from Alice. They had taken the girls to California for a week and were having a great time. She said they would be heading back, making the cross-country drive in a few days, and what had she ever been thinking to let the girls talk her into so much time together in a car?
Time passed, and Penelope looked toward the dressing room a few times, but there was no sign of Thomas. She was starting to worry when she heard a whisper.
“Mistress.”
She walked over to see Thomas peeking around the corner of the dressing room.
“What’s wrong?”
He beckoned her toward him, and she hurried due to the look on his face.
“I can’t come in there. It’s the men’s dressing room.”
“You must. There’s something wrong.” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, so with a quick look around, she stepped into the dressing room.
“Okay, I’m here. What’s wrong?”
The door opened, and for a moment she lost all train of thought. Thomas smelled of the ocean, leather and pure male, and it took her a moment to place it, that unique combination of scents, but she did: the night of the storm. Had the universe granted her wish? And if so, was he truly from the past? No, that was fanciful, even for her.
The man in question was watching her, and there was an undeniable pull between them. He stepped forward.
“What are you doing in here? Honestly, what is with these couples today who can’t keep their hands off each other for two minutes?” A man stood there, wearing a bright pink pair of pants, hands on his hips, glaring at them.
Thomas stepped around her. “Begone.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he fled the room, making her laugh.
“You’ll have to teach me that. Might come in handy someday.”
“I will send these weak men away.” He chuckled, but the moment was broken.
“You look amazing.”
She meant it—he looked like a model stepping off the pages of a magazine, a man’s man obviously used to spending a great deal of time outside, and she must have been staring longer than was polite, because he made that sexy sound in the back of his throat again.
“I cannot wear these garments.”
“Why not? They look fantastic.”
“’Tis scandalous.” He was looking at his bare legs in the mirror.
It was a challenge to keep the grin from her face. “It’s what everyone wears. Trust me, you look fine.”
He looked uncertain, but, seeing the look on her face, nodded. “If you say.”
He headed back to the dressing room, and she stopped him with a hand on his forearm.
“Give me what you were wearing when you came in. I don’t think you want to wear those out of here. After we pay for these, we need to get you a pair of loafers as well.”
He kept the navy shorts and pale blue shirt on and gathered up the clothing he had worn, along with everything else, which she put back on the hangers.
“Wait, you need at least a couple more shirts and shorts.”
He caught sight of the tag, turned it over, and blanched.
“’Tis so expensive, and I have no gold. Mine was lost in the storm.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
He went back and forth between a couple of the shirts, and she could tell he liked three of them but didn’t want her to spend the money, so she took all three from him with a firm shake of her head. “What did I say?”
He nodded and handed her three pairs of shorts to go with them.
The guy at the register looked up. “We’ll take these, and here are the tags from what he’s wearing.” Then she stopped and looked back at the clerk. “Oh, where’s the underwear?”
The man led them over to a rack behind him, and she motioned for Thomas to look.
“I’ll just hold these at the desk—let me know when you’re ready,” the clerk said.
She absently nodded and pointed to the underwear. “I totally forgot. I’m sure you’ll need some of these.” She handed him a package, and he looked at her blankly. She pointed to the picture and then at him, and his face reddened again.
“Nay, I will not go around in those. Those are much too short, even for these things you call shorts.”
She started to laugh, and the more she laughed, the funnier it became, until she was laughing so hard she was crying.
“No, you don’t wear underwear by itself. They go under the shorts you’re wearing.”
He frowned and took the package from her, reading, his eyebrows going higher and higher until she could no longer see them. He handed the package back to her with a firm shake of his head.
“I will not wear such a tightfitting garment. I will go without.”
She grinned at him. “Good choice. Going commando is always a good thing.”
They went back to the clerk and paid for the clothing. Thomas insisted on carrying the bag for her.
“The shoes are over here. You’ll need a pair of loafers—they’re good for walking on the sand, and you won’t be able to go into the restaurant wearing those ratty old flip-flops.”
“Is that what they’re called? They do make a sound when one walks.”
She looked down at his feet, and thought that even his toes were perfect. In the shoe department, he quickly went from shoe to shoe, lovingly caressing them, smelling the leather.
“All of these? I can pick any of them?”
She nodded and showed him the loafers most of the men around Holden Beach wore. “These are really comfortable from what I’ve heard, and I think they’ll look great on you.”
“How long will it take to have them made?”
“They have them here in the store in the back. We just tell the clerk your size.” She thought again how sad it was, whatever was going on inside his brain that he thought he was from the past. She was going to question him or over dinner, find out exactly from whence he thought he came, so to speak.
The salesclerk approached, sidling up to Thomas, and Penelope wanted to smack the drool from the woman’s face, which was totally unlike her. She was really jealous over anyone.
“How can I help you today?”
Thomas handed her the shoe. “I require these.”
“Okay, what size you need?”
He looked blank, and Penelope stepped in. “He’ll need to be measured.”
When the girl sauntered to the back to fetch the size thirteen shoes, Thomas sat there looking around, touching the chairs, looking at the lights and back to Penelope so many times that she knew he wanted to ask.
“They’re electric lights. You flip a switch like in the bathroom at home, and they come on.”
“But how do they come on?”
Penelope shook her head. “That’s a discussion that’s beyond me. When we get home, I’ll sit you down in front of the computer and you can read about it to your heart’s content.”
The girl brought the shoes, and with a hopeful look waited around for a few minutes, but when Thomas dismissed her, she flounced back to the desk.
He stood and admired the shoes in the mirror. “These will do nicely.”
“Good. Why don’t you wear them home?”
Penelope took the box up to the clerk and paid her. “And could you throw these away?”
She handed her the ratty flip-flops, which the clerk accepted, wrinkling her nose.
As Penelope led him out of the store, she couldn’t help but notice the glances women threw his way as they passed. He was an incredible-looking man, and so far he’d been exceedingly polite. She was determined to solve the mystery of Thomas Wilton.
EIGHT
Thomas’s stomach growled yet again, so Penelope walked faster.
“I know, we missed lunch, but you’re going to adore this pizza place.” They detoured to make a stop at the roadster, where she stowed the packages in the trunk. As she straightened up, it all happened so fast: Thomas stepped away from the car as she screamed, “Look out!”
Heart pounding, sounds amplified, and the smell of burning tires permeating the air, she pulled Thomas back by the arm right before he would have been flattened by a Suburban.
“Those horseless carriages are much faster than my horses.”
And like that, he broke the tense moment, making her laugh, because instead of looking shaken at almost ending up like a crepe, he looked terribly intrigued as he stared after the vehicle as it sped away, school stickers plastered across the back windshield, window down, pop music blaring out, and a cigarette hanging out the window.
“All the buildings have so many windows. Do they not fear attack?”
“No, unless it’s hurricane season, and then everyone boards up the windows.”
He watched as a couple came outside and the man held the door, and as Penelope reached out, he reached around and opened the door for her with a slight bow.
“After you, my lady.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She was a grown woman, thirty-nine years old, and yet she felt like a giddy high school girl again being around Thomas, having fun bantering with him. The man had a quick wit and an easy laugh, traits she loved.
They were seated in a booth next to the window so he could look outside, and she’d given him the seat facing the door so he could watch the people in the restaurant. The place was cozy, from the traditional red and white checkered tablecloths to the painting of dogs playing poker on the wall. It was set up to offer sit-down dining and also offered carry-out, a good choice based on Thomas’s reaction to all the people on vacation taking time out from the beach to grab a bite to eat.
In the short time they’d spent together, she had decided he was either suffering from a delusion or…well, the alternative might make her head explode. Where was he from? The waitress approached, pen poised above her pad.
“What can I get y’all to drink?”
“Going full octane today. Pepsi for me.”
Thomas looked around and pointed to the couple seated at table next to them.
“Ale.”
“Light or regular beer?”
He looked perplexed, so Penelope spoke up. “Regular.”
Seeing the look on his face, she explained. “She wanted to know if you wanted a light beer, one that has less alcohol, or the full amount. I figured you would want the full amount.”
“Ale is not heavy. Are the men here so weak they cannot hold a cup of ale?” He sneered at the man seated diagonally from them who was drinking a glass of water. “What is a calorie?”
“Something that strikes fear into the hearts of woman everywhere.”
The change was instant: Thomas scanned the room, hand twitching next to his hip, so alert that he almost vibrated, seeking any danger around them, making her feel as if he’d stand and hold off an entire army of calories wishing to do damage to her waistline. It was a primal reaction, one that made the base woman inside her sit up and take notice. This was a man who would always put her first, defend her with his own body if necessary, and love her until the end of time. Either he was an incredibly gifted actor suffering from the belief he was a medieval knight, or he was a medieval knight… Right now she didn’t care. She could talk to him for hours and feel like mere moments had passed, so she’d enjoy their time together and give thanks they had found each other. Whatever was wrong with him, she’d help him face it head-on.
“No, they’re not something you can see. Calories are in food, nothing really bad. When people eat too many of them, they gain weight. I’ll explain more later. You said you were from England?”
He nodded at her, his posture relaxing as he examined the fork and the knife, touching the tines of the fork and testing the blade of the knife. When he ran his finger across it, he made a face of distaste before putting it down.
“It isn’t very sharp. How will we cut our meat?”
“The knife is sharp enough for the pizza, or you can hold it in your hands, like those people.” She pointed across the restaurant. “You’re going to love pizza.”
The waitress brought their drinks and, realizing he was at a loss for what to order, Penelope took charge.
“A large pizza with all the meats and extra cheese, pan style.”
He took a sip of the ale and frowned. “This does not taste like proper ale.”
“No? I guess the beers are more full-bodied in England?” She studied him as he drank, looking like he fit in, except he was much better looking than anyone around, and his bearing marked him as some type of aristocrat. But the more she studied him, and watched him studying not only the people coming and going and how they were dressed, but how they used their fork and knife to eat, she couldn’t help herself. The signs were all there, laid out for her. Why didn’t she believe?
“What’s the date?”
He looked at her. “Lady?”
“The last day that you remember, what was the date? You know, the year?”
He leaned back in the chair, taking up all the room in the café, his presence filling the space around them, blotting everyone else out.
“Aye, I remember the date well—’twas the day my home burned to the ground.”
“That’s terrible. What happened?”
Very matter-of-fact, he told her about Oakwick Manor catching fire, how it was thought a candle tipped over, but he wasn’t sure after a mysterious man was seen leaving the estate. His brother and sister, along with the stables and horses, were saved. He’d begun to tell her about his ventures as a wool merchant when the waitress brought their pizza. Thomas leaned so close to the pie that she thought he might burn his nose.
“The smell—I fear I am drooling. This is the pizza you spoke of?”
“You think it smells divine, wait until you taste it.”
She took a slice and put it on his plate, and another on her own plate.
“Once it cools down, you can pick it up and eat it like them.” She gestured to the couple next to them. “Or if you want to go ahead and dig in now, you can eat it like this.”
She picked up her fork and knife and showed him how to cut it, since he acted like he’d never seen a fork before.
Thomas took a bite, closing his eyes, the look on his face making Penelope look around.
“’Tis even better than it smells.” He opened his eyes, took another huge bite, and chewed, the look of pure bliss on his face telling her she’d picked the right place to eat.
“This food is delicious. Might we have more?”
Penelope laughed and waved over the waitress to order a second large pizza.
She waited until he’d eaten the second slice and helped himself to another before she reminded him of his story.
“Your lovely home burned down and you were about to tell me the date.”
“August. The Year of Our Lord 1305.”
Penelope’s fork clattered against the plate. “1305? As in more than six hundred years ago?”
He looked at her, looked around the restaurant, out the window at the cars. In a quiet voice, he said, “What year is it, lady?”
“1999.”
“How is it possible?” He wiped his mouth on the paper napkin and finished off the rest of his beer. Seeing the distress he was in, Penelope caught the waitress as she went by and ordered another, along with a glass of wine for her. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
“I was abducted, taken to the cliffs, where Roger and his men meant to kill me. There was a terrible storm—the earth trembled under our feet and gave way as we went over the cliff, fell to the sea. When I surfaced, there was no sign of Roger.” He ate another slice of pizza, chewing thoughtfully as she picked up her slice to finish it but put it back down, her stomach protesting. By the time their drinks arrived, he had composed himself.
“A sea monster pulled me under, and when I woke, ’twas to your face on the beach.”
She sipped the wine, thinking. “The wounds? Did you get them fighting Roger and his men?”
“Aye.”
Penelope couldn’t quite believe it. “Nature is powerful. Here it was the summer solstice, a day of great power and blood. Somehow you traveled through time.” She took another sip of the wine. “Though I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t found you myself.”
The part of her in tune with nature believed his story, but the rational mind wasn’t so eager to get on board. It said, Hold on, he just took a blow to the head and is suffering some kind of brain trauma. Take him to a doctor. But…had she and her friends somehow conjured him here? Was this all her fault because she’d wished for him? If it was, how could she ever forgive herself for stealing him from his life?
He looked longingly at the empty plate in front of them, making her laugh.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get pizza again. Wait until you have dessert.”
As they left, instead of going back to the car, he offered her his arm, and they walked along the path that meandered around the shopping center. There were several fountains, and with the nice weather, kids were playing on the grassy areas while tired parents looked on. The smell of freshly cut grass made her inhale deeply, and she caught the scent of him again.
My One and Only Knight Page 4
