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“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.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Winnie gasped, rushing forward. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

Matthew let out an embarrassed chuckle, covering his face with his hands as he grunted. “Yeah, I’m all right.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, looking at the mess of wood strewn across the floor beneath him and doing her best not to laugh. Now that she knew he wasn’t hurt, the image of his fall—his eyes widening in shock as he came down, arms and legs flailing about—was too funny to ignore.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he said, still lying down, his features hidden behind his fingers.

Winnie bit her lower lip. “As they say, pride goeth before the fall. In your case, literally.”

He raised his hands so he could meet her gaze, and she gave him an innocent smile, to which he responded with a hardly amused expression. Slowly, he stood, straightening from his position on the ground and groaning again as he rubbed his backside.

“Well, I guess I’ll be adding this to my tab,” he said, scooting a few pieces of the wood together with his foot. “Maybe I can fashion these scraps into a bed for myself tonight. Have any spare nails?”

“Only the ones on my fingers.”

“That is entirely unhelpful, Miss Knox.” He clicked his tongue, and Winnie grinned.

“Well,” he began again, “how about instead of wasting away the evening trying my hand at carpentry, what if I ring Mrs. Kitchingside, confess my vandalism, and ask her if she has any spare VHS tapes lying around for us to watch? You know, end the evening on a high note instead of on the ground.”

Excitement simmered in Winnie’s chest. Watch a movie with Matthew? She could think of no better way to end their trip together.

Well, almost.

A few short minutes later, Matthew hung up the phone, having received grace from Mrs. Kitchingside, as well as instructions as to where to find the closet that held the movies. Sure enough, outside of their room, at the end of the hallway and past the bathroom, they found the stash of tapes.

And what a stash it was. As they opened the door, their mouths dropped at the sight of the hundreds of VHS tapes filling the entire closet from top to bottom.

“Wow,” Matthew breathed. “That’s a lot of movies.” He moved forward, pulling out two of them. “But how are we ever going to choose between Legends of the Fall and”—He read the other—“So I Married an Axe Murderer?”

Winnie laughed. “Two very good choices.”

“If you fancy that sort of thing, maybe.”