Chapter 17
“What on earth are you wearing?” I asked after pulling open the door.
JJ was standing on my front stoop dressed as… I wasn’t sure what. His entire outfit was black, from the knee-high boots on his feet to the scarf tied around his head. At his waist hung a plastic sword.
“You told me I needed a disguise,” he responded.
That was true enough. Today we were attending the Minnesota Renaissance Festival, and the fairgrounds would be packed.
Unlike our outing to the Everglades, I’d remembered to factor in JJ’s celebrity status.
The last thing I wanted was for him to be swarmed by fans, so I suggested we go in costume so he could blend into the crowd.
JJ could have dressed up as any number of things—a king, a knight, a wizard.
As long as it fell under the umbrella of medieval and included a beard or mask to hide his face, he was golden.
So why did he look like he’d received a last-minute invite to a Halloween party, forcing him to throw together a costume with whatever was at the back of his sister’s closet?
“Yeah,” I said, hiding a smile behind my hand, “but… What are you?”
“I’m the Dread Pirate Roberts,” JJ said, swishing his sword at me. “You know, from The Princess Bride? He’s roguish, right?”
I had to admit, it was a clever costume.
With the eye mask, it would be hard for people to recognize JJ unless they already knew it was him.
He was also rocking a pencil mustache, which made me want to giggle every time I looked at it.
But instead of a billowing pirate tunic, JJ had opted for his usual black tank top.
It was worn and had multiple holes near the hem, and I could almost make out the faint Metallica logo that was probably faded from years of washing.
“I know who the Dread Pirate Roberts is,” I told him. I even had a crush on Westley as a little girl. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ve quite nailed the character.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder!”
Oh my God, this boy was too much. If someone told me that JJ Morris could quote one of the cheesiest movies to come out of the eighties, I’d have called them a liar. “Be that as it may, your shirt is missing some fabric,” I told him. “Do you own a single piece of clothing with sleeves?”
“Sure, but why do the world a disservice by hiding my guns?” JJ flexed, then took a moment to look me up and down. “Also, hypocritical much? What the hell are you dressed as—a bush?”
At the moment, all I had on was a brown and green tulle dress decorated with fake leaves.
It was part of Stella’s Renaissance costume back in junior high—I’d been too cool to wear one myself—and when I pulled it from storage last weekend to try on, I’d been shocked to find it fit.
The hem was a little short, but I didn’t have funds to buy a new outfit.
“Give me a second,” I said, unlocking the screen door to let him in. “I’m not finished getting ready.”
Leaving JJ on the couch, I hurried back to my room and put the finishing touches on my costume: a crown of fake flowers dotted with plastic berries and acorns; shimmering, see-through fairy wings; and a pair of elf ears.
When I returned to the living room five minutes later, JJ did a double take, his eyes widening as he looked me up and down.
“Okay, I take it back,” he said, rising to his feet. He gave one of my wings a flick. “I was into the warrior princess persona, but fairy princess? She’s hot as fuck.”
I let out a laugh. “Do you have a secret wing kink?”
“I guess so.” He flashed me a grin and glanced around. “Where’s the rest of your family?”
“Gone. My parents are out of town, Drew is spending the weekend with Maisie, and Stella is visiting Oliver in LA.”
“So it’s just the two of us?” he asked.
Yes, but only by chance. Dad was in Detroit for a construction conference, the Great Lakes Development Expo, and Mom decided to go with him at the last minute. It also happened to be Maisie’s birthday. As for Stella, she’d left two weeks ago to spend the rest of the summer with her boyfriend.
“Yup.”
“Perfect.”
JJ leaned down and kissed me. The press of his mouth was demanding, and he nipped at my bottom lip almost immediately.
Wrapping both arms around him, I dug my fingers into his shoulders as I opened up, allowing his tongue to meet mine.
When his hand slid from the small of my back down to my hips so he could yank me closer, I pulled away.
“Wait,” I said, putting a stop to things before I got distracted. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be late.”
He pressed his lips to the pulse point on my neck. “Then let’s be late.”
“I thought you were here to help with my bucket list? If we miss the tournament, I’ll have to wait an entire year to enter again.”
JJ let out a long-suffering sigh. “As you wish.”
* * *
It was nearly a two-hour drive to the fair, but I’d planned ahead.
Instead of fighting over the radio like we did on our trip to the Everglades, I’d prepared a playlist for us to listen to.
There was the grunge and rock that JJ liked, along with pop and Broadway music for me.
By the time we reached the grounds, the sky had bled from blue and bright to gray and gloomy.
“I hope it doesn’t rain,” I said, staring up at the dark line of clouds as we made our way to the entrance.
“Looks like it should hold off until later tonight,” JJ said, checking the weather app on his phone.
We had an hour to kill before the tournament started, so after purchasing tickets and making our way through security, JJ and I wandered through the village and decorative stalls.
There were artists selling all sorts of wares, from handmade jewelry and pottery to leather goods and weaponry.
JJ tried axe throwing but failed miserably, so I bought him a giant turkey leg to cheer him up.
Finally, it was time.
My family had been attending the Ren fair since I was a kid, and my favorite part was the jousting tournament.
Not the normal one with trained professionals carrying lances and riding real horses.
We were fervent fans of the pickle jousting tournament, a competition open to all attendees.
Once organized into brackets, competitors were given a hobbyhorse and massive dill pickle.
To advance, all you had to do was run at your opponent while straddling the toy horse and knock the pickle from their hand.
It was bizarre but a blast to watch. The crowd was engrossed without fail, cheering for their favorites and booing their competitors.
Drew won the children’s tournament when we were twelve, and even though I’d secretly wanted to participate, I had never signed up because it wasn’t cool.
While writing my list, I thought about all the things I wish I’d done but hadn’t, like taking on the Mrs. Sprinkles Monstrosity or joining a polar bear plunge.
Missing out on the pickle jousting tournament was one of my biggest regrets.
Today wasn’t about winning.
Today was about doing.
Even if I was eliminated in the first round, I would be proud of myself for trying.
After everyone who was participating gathered inside the tent beside the jousting field, the event organizer—a man dressed as a town crier—went over the rules and drew places for the bracket.
I’d be competing in the fourth heat, and while I waited for my turn, I chatted with a friendly tavern wench who was helping run the tournament.
Eventually my name was called, and she handed me a dill pickle nearly the length of my forearm.
Juice dripped down my arm as I stepped out of the tent and into the roped-off arena.
From the stands, I heard a familiar voice shout, “Let’s go, Tinker Bell!”
JJ was standing on the bench in the front row, cheering and waving a second turkey leg in the air. The exuberance of his support gave me a morale boost, and I turned my attention to my opponent.
If I was being honest, I didn’t stand a chance against the massive man wearing an intricate Viking costume, but I winked at him like I had this round in the bag.
My confidence must have thrown him off, because when the town crier waved a banner, signaling us to begin, he nearly dropped his pickle.
I charged forward, shouting at the top of my lungs.
When we clashed in the middle of the field, a single pickle went soaring through the air and landed a yard away from us. Dirt rose in a plume from the impact.
I blinked at the pickle still clutched between my fingers.
Everything but the sound of my pounding heart faded to a dull buzz, like I was suddenly wearing earmuffs.
Holy. Effing. Banana.
Had I just won?
A second later, my hearing snapped back into place as the town crier announced my victory.
The people in the stands roared their approval, and with a loud whoop, I flung my arms out wide and spun in a circle.
My opponent reached over the wooden rail that separated us and offered me a handshake and bewildered smile.
I returned to the tent with a skip in my step. The instant I pushed aside the canvas flap and stepped inside, someone twice my size tackled me into a hug.
“Cara whatever-your-middle-name-is Samuel,” JJ exclaimed as he lifted me clear off the ground. “I’m so proud of you. That’s exactly how a warrior princess gets things done!”
“JJ,” I wheezed as he squeezed the air from my lungs. “Put me down.”
“Sorry!” He quickly set me back on my feet. Barely there pink colored his cheeks. “That was so exciting. I got carried away.”
Was JJ blushing?
“You’re good.” The corner of my mouth twitched before I reined in my expression. “And it’s Caroline. I was named after my grandma.”
“An alliteration, just like mine. Maybe I should call you CC.”
“JJ and CC?” I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds obnoxious.”
“No, it sounds like a pair. I like it. When’s your next joust, CC?”