Chapter 25
Teddy
I’d been up since five in the morning, which wasn’t unusual, except that I’d barely slept thanks to Fatima’s enthusiastic snoring.
I was just grateful I hadn’t been sharing a room with Chloe – after watching her dance with that girl and laugh all night, and after that moment by the toilets when I’d almost kissed her, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d been uttering her name in my sleep.
I’d certainly dreamed about her. Unfortunately, though, like that charged moment last night, the dream had ended right before the good part.
I decided at around six thirty that I’d better just get going for the day, so I pulled on my all-black festival get-up – god, it really did look like a bad Westley cosplay – and decided to head out early.
I’d text Chloe and let her know to meet me there.
I didn’t need to in the end; I found her in the kitchen, all sleepy and dishevelled in tiny striped pyjama shorts and a vest top that left very little to my keen imagination.
She looked adorable, all soft and cosy in a way that made my chest tight with wanting.
Made me want to cuddle up behind her, nuzzle my face in the hair pooling on her shoulder, wrap my arms around her exposed middle, feel how warm she was from sleep…
I shook off the intimate image and headed out as quickly as I could, grumbling for her to meet me at the stall when she was ready. Better to get to the festival grounds early, I figured, and throw myself into work. Safer that way.
* * *
I had everything set up at our tent by the time the other vendors started arriving.
The grilled cheese vendor Chloe had been emailing gave me a friendly nod as he arranged his signage, and others greeted one another warmly as they spotted each other.
I loved the camaraderie among the sellers.
There was something comforting about being part of this temporary community, all of us setting up shop just for the weekend.
It was like seeing Dylan and Alice at the artisan market.
I imagined that, in this line of work, a friendly face could make even the worst sales day feel worthwhile.
As I arranged our stock and checked our cash box, my mind drifted to Chloe’s party.
I’d known her birthday was coming up – despite my borderline hermit tendencies, I’d been in the queer community long enough to know when Leo season was – but I hadn’t necessarily expected an invite.
Even though I was pretty sure it had come from Fatima and not Chloe herself, I’d agreed, and I was sort of …
excited? I wanted to get her something, but I wasn’t sure what.
Maybe I could spare a few minutes to look around the other stalls?
Or even make her something? I had decent woodworking skills, so maybe I could craft a cutting board or serving tray specifically for mead and cheese pairings…
But no, that didn’t feel quite right. If I were going to get her a birthday gift, I didn’t want it to have anything to do with work. She loved this job – anyone could tell that – but she was more than her job, too.
Chloe arrived just before the festival gates opened, slightly out of breath, her chest heaving from exertion in an attention-grabbing way that made me feel like a male author writing his girl Friday. She was indeed breasting boobily. Was I complaining? No. Was it torturous to watch? Yes.
I tried to focus on what she was wearing instead.
Said breasty boobs were contained in a spotted, green linen stay, and a matching skirt was hiked up at the front to reveal green fishnets and green leather boots.
The green was almost the exact colour of the Gwenynen logo, I noticed, and as she came around the table, I saw that the dots on her top were in fact tiny bees made of gold and black thread.
A small lump formed in my throat for reasons I didn’t have the bandwidth to examine.
“Sorry,” she said, setting down a bag of extra sample cups. “I know you’ve been here for ages, but I wanted to bring—”
“You’re right on time,” I interrupted, willing myself to stop staring at her chest. “Ready for this?”
She looked at me for a moment, and something passed between us – a moment of mutual understanding; of shared nerves and anticipation. When she took a deep breath, I found myself breathing with her, and despite all the swirling feelings inside me, I actually did feel calmer.
“Let’s do this.”
* * *
I’d been sceptical of how epic the festival would be, despite what Chloe and the others insisted.
I’d worked far more established Ren Faires in the States, with permanent sets and jousts and professional entertainers creating an immersive setting, and I wasn’t sure how a single weekend event comprised of tents and temporary stages would compare.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Sure, the setup was a bit less intricate.
But I’d never seen such a big group of people so collectively committed to the bit.
It was a rarity to see anyone walk by without some form of costume or nerdy reference, and everyone was so friendly, both to us and to each other.
Stopping one another for photos, trading trinkets, and even speaking in character.
I was pretty sure I heard a full-on Wookiee conversation at one point while I was speaking to someone in the tent.
I didn’t get to see much of it, being closed in by canvas on three sides, but the atmosphere was absolutely electric, especially as folk-rock bands and vintage-style crooners took to the stage in the field behind our stall, adding the perfect soundtrack to the day.
The morning passed in a blur of conversations with customers, restocking displays, and stolen glances.
Chloe was sensational, as always. When we discovered that the official festival mead at the merchandise tent wasn’t selling because their point-of-sale system had crashed and they didn’t have a cash back-up, she somehow managed to redirect disappointed customers to our stand instead.
And when the wasps were so bad that people were losing entire pints to their intrusions, she quickly worked up some signs advertising that our bottles could be easily re-corked after opening.
“Mead this way,” I heard her saying to a group of festivalgoers who looked frustrated. “We’ve got plenty of bottles, five different kinds. Plus, you can taste before you buy, and our bottles are fully wasp-proof!”
People were naturally drawn to her because of the way she looked, sure, but more than that, she genuinely cared about giving people a good experience.
I watched her explain the differences between our varietals to a curious couple, recommend the oak-aged mead to someone who mentioned they preferred drier wines, and chat about it all easily with everyone from serious mead enthusiasts to people who’d never tried it before.
Despite how nice the wheel was, we’d decided to swap it for the dice again, pandering to our audience.
In fact, Chloe had bought a big sack of amber-coloured twenty-sided dice so that people could take them home as a souvenir after rolling.
And boy, did it work – we had countless people stop just because they saw the dice, and with Chloe’s salesmanship, more often than not they ended up buying something just so they could roll.
The rest of the group stopped by an hour or so into the day in a spectacular, nerdy rainbow.
They were all in different monochrome outfits like Chloe’s, comprised of classic Ren Faire items like tunics and hiked skirts, but in modern, vibrant hues.
Morgan was in bright pink, Jack in red, Grey in orange, Amy in yellow, Chloe in green – of course – Fatima in blue, and Phil in purple.
Grey had even dyed their closely buzzed hair to match their outfit.
“It was Chloe’s idea,” Amy said when I complimented their coordination. “She wanted you to fit in.”
Amy gestured at my all-black outfit, and something warm bloomed in my chest. I looked up at Chloe, who smiled sheepishly at me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, my voice thick, amazed at how little it took to make me feel genuinely touched. “You all look amazing.”
“You, too,” Fatima said, but I was still looking at Chloe, whose eyes were fixed at her feet.
A hobbit walked up and tapped Grey on the shoulder, asking if they were queueing, and Chloe jumped to wave them over and help them.
I watched her work for a long moment, appreciating the way her auburn hair looked against the green corset, and how the pink flush from her embarrassment stood out against them both.
She sold the hobbit a bottle of mead, and another after their dice roll, then waved after them as they left. It wasn’t until I looked away, not wanting to get caught staring, that I realised at some point the others had gone.
* * *
As the afternoon wore on, I started noticing a problem. Our stock levels were dropping fast – way faster than I’d expected, even with the extra we’d brought. It was a good problem to have, I guessed, but we still had another day of the festival to go.
By the time the sun set, the wicker burning ceremony began, and the market area emptied of customers, we were down to maybe a dozen bottles left.
“We’re going to sell out completely in about five minutes tomorrow,” I said to Chloe as we watched the massive wicker structure go up in flames in the distance.
“That’s great though, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to look at me with bright eyes. “We could close up early tomorrow, and you could actually enjoy the festival.”
The way she was looking at me – hopeful, excited, like she was imagining us wandering the festival together – made my chest tighten with possibility. I could see it, too, picturing myself relaxing into the weekend, letting her lead me deeper into this nerdy world she loved so much.
But I was leaving in less than two months now.
Because Chloe was here – because of the decision that had brought me all of this magic to begin with – I didn’t get to stay.
Not this year, anyway. And if I didn’t take every opportunity to make more money for Gwenynen, maybe not next year, either.
And I didn’t want to be thirty years old, still splitting my time between two realities.
I didn’t have it in me. So what good was one day of fun, even with Chloe, if it cost me years?
“Actually,” I said, my voice apologetic, “I think I should drive back to the farm. Get more stock for tomorrow.”
Chloe blinked. “Tonight? Teddy, it’s a four-hour round trip. You’d be driving until two in the morning.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind the drive. And maybe I’ll just come back early tomorrow morning.”
“But why?” She was staring at me like I’d suggested setting myself on fire like the wicker owl burning two fields over. “We’ve had a great day. We’ve made more money than we projected. Why won’t you let yourself have fun?”
Because if I stay here, I thought, if I let myself enjoy the festival with you, something’s going to happen between us. And I can’t afford that right now. Not when I only have a few weeks left.
“More sales are better,” I said instead. “And you can still enjoy tomorrow without having to work. You could enjoy the festival with your friends, and I’ll just need you to cover for a lunch break.”
“I don’t mind working,” Chloe said quietly. “I like working with you.”
The admission hung between us. I knew she understood what was really happening; that this wasn’t about stock levels or sales projections. But I could feel my heels digging in. I couldn’t go there.
She gave in before I did. Her jaw set in determination, and she nodded once – sharp; final. “Right. Of course. Very practical.”
“Chloe—”
“No, you’re absolutely right. More stock, more sales. I get it.”
But how could she get it? I couldn’t explain that every moment I spent with her made it harder to remember what I should be focused on.
That watching her work today, seeing her fit so perfectly into this world I wanted to be part of forever, made me desperate for a life that wasn’t mine yet.
Might never be. A life I could only have for a matter of weeks before I had to give it up again.
“I should get going,” I said, already reaching for my keys. “Long drive ahead.”
“Do you want me to come with you? Keep you awake?”
For a moment, I was tempted. But I couldn’t pull her away from something she’d been excited for since last year.
“No. You should stay. Enjoy the rest of the evening with your friends.”
Chloe looked at me for a long moment, then simply said, “Drive safely.”
I walked away before I could change my mind; before I could do something stupid. The night air was cool against my skin as I made my way to the car park, the sound of music and laughter from the festival growing fainter with each step.
I had four hours of driving ahead of me, through the countryside in the dark, just me and my thoughts and the growing certainty that I was doing everything terribly wrong. But it was better than the alternative. Safer, anyway. Even if it felt like running away.