James laughed in Ali’s face when he arrived to pick her up for the Renaissance fair that Saturday morning.
She’d woken up brimming with excitement as if it were Christmas. It hadn’t been easy to play the skeptic when James had said he would consider her series proposal if she went to the fair with him. In truth, she’d always wanted to go to a Renaissance fair. Every time she saw one on TV, or in photos on a friend’s Instagram feed, Ali’d been struck with a serious case of jealousy.
The joke was on him that she would have agreed to go with him deal or no deal. It was just a bit of luck he’d consider the proposal while she spent a day sipping mead, eating turkey legs, and watching knights compete for fair maidens.
It was that anticipation—and her love of a good project—that had kept her up late at night researching outfit ideas. It’s what had sent her to three different vintage shops and as many party and craft stores on Friday afternoon when she should have been editing James’s latest pages. She’d stayed up half the night playing catch-up so her mother wouldn’t find out that she was causing any delays with the book.
When she stood in front of her mirror that morning surveying the results of her labors, it had all been worth it.
She’d started the ensemble with an oversized white blouse that she’d found at a secondhand store. Removing the collar, she created a scoop neck, leaving the edges rough and frayed. She thought it looked more authentic that way. With a few folds and a couple of strategically placed safety pins, she transformed the oversized sleeves to form bells at her elbows. Then, she found an old velour brown vest and removed the buttons, replacing them with leather shoelaces. She cinched it in tight, which made the blouse billow more.
And gave her some nice cleavage.
Then she donned a full, floor-length burgundy skirt. She covered it with an apron made out of a strip from an old bedsheet soaked in a bucket with tea bags overnight.
She left her hair loose in soft waves over her shoulders.
For her final touch, she’d created a crown of flowers and ribbons.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t historically accurate, but the ensemble worked. She might not look like a member of any noble’s court, but she would make a passable wench strolling through the festival.
Tingling with anticipation, she was waiting at the door when James arrived.
Dressed in his usual uniform of jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket, he took one look at her and burst into a fit of laughter.
Clearly the outfit hadn’t turned out as well as she’d thought.
She folded her arms and scowled. “Fine. I’ll go change.”
“Don’t.” The laughter stopped, and James grabbed her arms, turning her back around. His expression contrite. “Please.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look wonderful.”
She shook her head, too annoyed to meet his gaze. “It was a silly idea.”
“It wasn’t.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I promise you.”
“Then, why—” She cut herself off. She wouldn’t dignify his response by asking why he’d laughed at her attempt to get into the spirit. Even if the question was practically choking in the back of her throat.
His hands moved up and down her arms, soothing her. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at myself.”
Her eyes flew up to his then, searching for any hint of a lie. All she found was contrition. Despite her resolve, she had to ask, “Why?”
His lips curved up slyly then. “Just that it would figure. I, the person who’s been the biggest naysayer of this event, would show up with someone who looks like she could have planned the whole thing.”
Oh. She supposed that was a reasonable explanation.
Still, while it might make sense, and did mollify her somewhat, it didn’t change the fact that he’d laughed. She was ready to tell him he could go without her—and she’d find her own way—when he reached up to grip her chin, pulling her gaze back up to his.
“I’m sorry I laughed. I promise to get my poop in a group and mind my manners from now on.”
She fought a grin, but it was becoming more and more difficult to stay mad at him.
“The first round of mead is on me. And the second,” he added quickly.
“Add in a turkey leg for good measure.”
“Deal.” The last bits of irritation ebbed out of her. She grabbed her purse and locked up. She turned back and found James extending his arm out for her.
“M’lady?”
Unable to resist, she looped her arm in his and grinned. “Good sir.”
A crowd was already forming at the front entrance by the time they arrived. Ali tried not to gawk as they walked toward the Renaissance fair. Though she hated to admit it, Ali was impressed by Becca’s work. Somehow, she’d turned an empty field into a sprawling adventure through history. And while it wasn’t on the scale of festivals in big cities, she’d done well.
According to the signs pointing in various directions, the “faire” boasted a wide assortment of food stands, carnival games, and even a jousting tournament. A horse whinnying in the background stoked fresh excitement in Ali. A tournament with real horses. Even if the whole thing was staged like a wrestling event, there was no way it would disappoint.
She only hoped she and James would be able to sneak away from whatever they’d been signed up to do long enough to watch.
A juggler in oversized pants and flip-flops darted across the walkway. A young woman dressed as a fairy wrapped her arms around someone in a Storm Trooper outfit. All around them people whirled by in varying degrees of costume to jeans and T-shirts.
No, it wasn’t like being swept back to the court of Henry VII or Queen Elizabeth’s Golden Age at all.
James snorted.
“The banners are all wrong,” he said.
She glanced up at the bright purple banners hanging from the trees and tents. “They look nice to me.”
“And there’s no way you could have picked up a funnel cake. And—”
Ali covered his mouth. “Could you cool it for just one hour? Some of us are trying to have fun.”
She peered into his dark gaze and waited for his nod. His lips twitched against her palm, and her heart fluttered for a second.
“Fine,” he mumbled, his breath sending another shiver through her.
Dropping her hand, she took a deep breath to steady herself. “What should we do first?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I suppose we should check in.”
Grateful for the reprieve from his criticism, she moved forward, careful not to touch him to keep her heart from fluttering again. She tried to focus on the excitement around her. You could practically see it blowing through the air like the banners billowing from the tent poles.
A student dressed as a jester jumped in front of them. He held out his hand, offering her a rose with a lavender ribbon carefully tied to its long stem.
“My lady.” He bent low in a dramatic bow. “A fair maiden with a beauty such as yours requires no ornaments, but whilst thou prithee accept this small token all the same.”
She swept into a curtsy. “I thank thee. Good morrow!”
“And,” the jester continued, turning his attention to James, “it would appear we have a time traveler within our midst.”
This time, it was Ali’s turn to laugh. For his part, James just rolled his eyes. “Come on, fair maiden. We have places to be.”
Placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her toward a tent marked, “Information.”
“Any idea of what you’ve been volunteered to do?” she asked, raising the velvety red blossom to her nose and breathing in.
“None at all.” His voice betrayed a hint of apprehension. “Seth said he’d signed us up as ‘flexible.’ Whatever that means.”
That was an awfully Zen approach for someone who didn’t want to be at the fair in the first place.
“You didn’t follow up to find out?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t figure it mattered. Whatever I’m doing, it’s still at this ridiculous spectacle.”
“You mean you don’t care whether you’re hocking turkey legs or jousting in the tournament later.” She pointed at a sign advertising both. “You’ll be fine with whatever.”
“Of course.”
Yet his voice had pitched a little when he spoke. Now it was her turn to bite back a grin. Somehow she didn’t figure he’d be too excited if he found himself shoved into a pair of tights and thrown atop a horse. Although she wouldn’t mind the sight of that.
She gestured to the information tent. “I suppose you’d better go find out what your ex has in store for us today.”
His jaw ticked, but James made no further remark as he strode into the tent. Willing to wait a few minutes longer to learn their respective fates, Ali wandered over to a booth where a woman dressed in full-period garb was selling handcrafted jewelry. Ali was sure James would be quick to point out that it wasn’t period specific, but she didn’t care. Pretty was pretty.
She was leaning in to inspect a piece of topaz on a copper chain when Becca herself appeared.
“Ali.” It was funny how one word—her own name at that—could be said with so much meaning behind it.
“Becca.” She hoped her own tone held as much barely concealed measurement.
The other woman placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Harder than probably necessary. By the looks of it, her costume hadn’t been thrown together at the last minute with pieces pulled from thrift stores. More than likely, she’d had the emerald velvet dress, complete with a tight bodice that showed off her already more than ample chest, custom made for her.
Making an overly dramatic spectacle of looking over Ali’s shoulder, Becca arched an eyebrow. “Where’s your babysitting charge?”
Ali longed to set Becca right where the professor was concerned, once and for all. But to acknowledge the dig—to take any exception—would only give her what she wanted.
It was all so petty and calculated. It was almost like being back in high school instead of amongst academics. That made the whole situation even more sad and—if she was being completely honest—pathetic. Ali had always been led to believe that maturity came with age. In some instances, it was maybe even true.
She’d also always wanted to believe in the idea of a universal sisterhood. The kind where women would support and help each other no matter their backgrounds or present circumstances. She’d experienced that with Sidney the moment they’d met. She’d had it with other women throughout her career.
It probably wouldn’t ever be the case with Becca.
In an ultimate moment of pettiness, Ali wondered what James had seen in the other woman. She would’ve liked to explore the notion, but it was even more pathetic than the high school mentality.
And—like calling her out—it would probably only make things harder for James. Ali might not be above having judgmental thoughts about Becca, but she liked to think she was past creating drama for her friends.
Instead, she just answered the stupid question as politely as possible. “James is at the information booth to check our assignments.”
Glancing at the tent, Becca’s lips curved up. “I admit, I was surprised to see James’s name show up on the list. I appreciate how flexible you both were willing to be. I took that into account.”
That was considerate of her. Maybe Ali had misjudged her.
She was about to thank Becca for the special consideration when the other woman wrinkled her nose. “How attached are you to that costume?”
Ali scanned her outfit, which did pale in comparison now that she was standing next to Becca. But she’d also spent a lot of time putting it together. “Moderately attached, I suppose.”
“Would you be willing to upgrade?”
Did Ali really have a choice? “Yeah, okay.”
“Good.” Becca’s eyes squinted. “Because I think you’re just about the right size for the one I have in mind. It was my backup actually.”
Well, that was sweet of her.
“It was a little too big for me,” Becca said. “But I think it’ll fit you perfectly.”
So much for kindness. Ignoring the dig, Ali replastered the smile on her face. “We’ll need special attire then for our assignment?”
“Oh, absolutely. The whole joust would lose its integrity if the players didn’t have the correct costumes.”
“Joust?”
Becca nodded, and Ali’s heart pounded a little faster. A joust. It sounded incredible to her. Knights on horses. Crowds cheering in the stands. Fair maidens offering their favors.
A giggle bubbled out of her.
There was just one problem with this picture.
James stepped out of the tent, jaw slack. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, looking a little pale.
It was a shame he was about to be the most miserable man at the fair because she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.