Chapter 1 #2
The wheelbarrow clunked down the dirt road as her friend returned with the final touches for their shop. “Did somebody order a sign?”
Lilian’s heart gave a nervous little flutter as she caught sight of the colorful wooden sign her friend carted in.
“Prepare to be amazed!” Margo laughed as she lifted the piece. Bodice and Brawn was painted on the large wooden plaque. The lettering was an exact copy of the old Harlequin typography, complete with elegantly swooping letters.
“Oh my god, it’s perfect!” Lilian loved it instantly; she wanted to hang it in her house and stare at it day and night. But for now, all she could do was let out an excited squeal of delight and wrap her arms around both Margo and the sign. “You are the most talented artist in the entire faire!”
“I don’t know about that,” Margo said, unable to hide her smile, “but I did do a pretty good job.”
“Now,” Lilian said, looking from the sign to the bare spot above the doorway, “how do we hang it up?”
The thing no one told you about owning your own shop at the Renaissance Faire was that you had to do everything yourself. Absolutely everything. Including hanging your shop sign.
It should have been simple. It proved to be the most difficult task of the day.
She and Margo had brought tools for exactly this reason, but the faire was already out of ladders.
They would have to wait until the equipment became available.
For now, all she could do was hydrate and stare lovingly at all their hard work.
Her shop.
The thought still sent a thrill through her body.
“Is this one of the new ones?”
The sound of an unfamiliar voice pulled her out of her daydream. Lilian turned, expecting to see a volunteer carrying a ladder. Instead, she found herself staring up at the clean shaven, well-dressed figure of Hawk Carlisle.
She instantly tensed at the sight of him.
Hawk Carlisle was faire royalty. His mother and father, the owners of the faire, had played the roles of king and queen as far back as Lilian could remember.
Their love of history and theater had led them to name their one and only son Hawk.
A truly theatrical name for the least theatrical person alive.
In all the years she’d been at the faire, not once had she seen Hawk wear faire attire.
If he could wear a suit and not melt in ninety-degree Midwest weather, he would.
Today, he wore a short-sleeved polo and gray shorts that looked like they’d been dry-cleaned and pressed.
He never grew a beard or even let his hair touch his ears.
Everything about him screamed modernity, in the worst way.
Hawk had been there since her first days at the faire, working the business side. Otherwise known as the boring work.
Which was fine. He was a good fit for it. From what she’d gathered, he’d gone to school for business and accounting, and he worked at the faire as a side job to help his parents. Of course, this was all hearsay, because she’d never once talked to the man.
The faire had three main managers. Jacqueline, who corralled the volunteers managed the entrance gate, helped with parking, and set up the carnival games.
Elliot, who managed the actors and show.
And Hawk, who only interacted with the contracted staff, the food vendors, and (of course) the shop owners.
Which now included her.
Lilian quickly climbed to her feet, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. She grimaced when they left wet stains on the dark green of her skirt. Best not to shake hands.
“Hi,” she greeted, putting on her best smile. “I’m Lilian. Welcome to Bodice and Brawn.”
“A bookshop?” he asked, eyes focused on the open doorway.
“Yep.” She watched closely for his reaction. He was one of the first people to lay eyes on her baby, and this was a moment to cherish. A moment to savor the first reaction.
Hawk’s face remained expressionless. “Interesting…” He glanced at the clipboard in hand and wrote something down.
Lilian did her very, very best not to lean forward to look.
When he was done, he clicked the pen and turned his attention back to her. “Is Lilian your stage name or real name?”
“Real name,” she answered promptly. Every actor and shop owner was required to be committed to the Renaissance show, which meant everyone had a stage persona.
When her shop had first been accepted, they’d asked her to come up with a name and even a little bit about the character.
“My stage name will be Ms. Bodice.” She made an attempt at an Old English accent.
It wasn’t the best, but it was halfway decent after years attending the faire.
Hawk was not impressed. “Of course it is,” he muttered, writing again.
Um… rude. Lilian bit the inside of her cheek to keep her comment in check.
“Do you have your business license?” He didn’t even bother to look at her.
“Oh! Yes.” Lilian turned back to her small shop, and her stomach dropped at the mess of opened boxes, tools, books, and folders still scattered across the wooden floors. “Somewhere…”
A deep, long-suffering sigh came from the man in front of her.
“Find it and present it to me by the end of the day.” He pulled a pile of papers from the board and let the metallic clip go with a loud snap.
“In the meantime, here is the contract for the fairgrounds hosting your business. You should have seen this before.”
“Yeah, of course.” Lilian took the stack of papers. It was a lot bigger than it had appeared on her tablet. A heft of legal mumbo jumbo that she had only scanned for the important bits: the sales tax and the cost of her rented cottage, along with rules and policies for the shop.
The Carlisles prided themselves on authenticity when it came to their faire and their actors, which resulted in a long list of strict regulations.
All cast members must be in costume and in character at all times during faire business hours.
All items worn must be handcrafted (not necessarily by the actor) and preapproved.
All shops must be staffed at all times.
No cell phone usage in view of the guests.
No modern attire can be worn when in character, such as electronics, jeans, leggings, jackets, watches, shoes, etc.
The restrictions had originally caught Lilian off guard, especially given the fact that the faire served food and beverages that certainly weren’t authentic to the era.
But it wasn’t all bad. There were some fun rules as well, like saying “huzzah” whenever the town crier deemed it and bowing when the king and queen walked past. And an unspoken rule that allowed drinking on the job as long as the employee didn't get shitfaced.
She turned to the last page, where a line for her signature was waiting to be inked. “Um.” Lilian patted herself down quickly. “I don’t have a quill on me.”
“A pen will do.” He handed her a metal monstrosity of a pen.
When Lilian looked up, she noticed Hawk was staring at the contents of her shop. His eyes were transfixed on the large romance section visible through the window.
“Are those Harlequins?”
“They are.” Lilian bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. Talking to men about romance novels was always an interesting experience. Sometimes bad, sometimes good. But she’d been dealing with the same predictable questions since she was a teenager. There was nothing she hadn’t heard before.
“Huh.” He took the clipboard and pen back in hand and pointed at the doorway. “You’ll need a sign then. 18+ only, unless accompanied by an adult.”
What?
“You can’t be serious.” Laughter burst from her lips, but Hawk was not smiling. The man never did.
“I’m very serious. We can’t have minors come in here skimming those books. It could make us liable.”
“They’re books,” she shot back. “Ones I read when I was a minor.”
“Well, whoever gave you those books probably wasn’t vulnerable to lawsuits.” Hawk tucked his pen into the clipboard and shrugged his large shoulders at Lilian’s flabbergasted state. “I’ll expect to see that business license before the end of the day.”
Asshole! The word burned hot against the wall of her mind. Maybe she had been a little too young when she'd first picked up Johanna Lindsey.
But she was never going to admit that out loud.
This was her first day, her first shop, and she knew making an enemy of Hawk Carlisle would make the next ten weeks very long.
“Fine,” she said, arms crossed. “But as the fair manager, I need you to go get one of the contractors to help me with my sign. We’ve been waiting for an hour already.”
Hawk followed her gaze to the large Bodice and Brawn sign that sat at the base of the floorboards. His mouth pursed in distaste, but his tone remained professional. “I’ll have someone come by.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t much, but getting the last word in came with a delicious swell of petty pride.
This would be the first of many interactions with Hawk Carlisle. And she was ready for him.