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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.