Twenty-One
Two motels later, Valerie had come to the conclusion that no one would be sharing any rooms.
“We’ve been booked up for weeks,” said the receptionist. “I don’t know if you’ll find a bed anywhere.”
“That’s what we’re hearing,” said Nico. “Is there an event?”
The receptionist waved her hand at a group of people dressed in outfits ranging from goth fairy to hardworking hobbit. “The Renaissance faire is on. People come from all over.”
Valerie touched her own boringly unpointed ears. “I’ve always wanted to go to a Ren faire,” she said to Nico. “I wonder if it’s the one Roger tried to jest for. Be a jester for?”
“Hey,” called one of the goth fairies. A closer look showed she had more of an elder barmaid vibe going on, with a purple leather corset and black blouse. “You two looking for a place to stay?”
“Yes.” Valerie answered before Nico could. This was adventure. This was exciting.
“We set up a tent for our friends, but they couldn’t come. You’re welcome to it, if you don’t mind a campground.”
Valerie turned to look at Nico, who had obviously decided that he might as well give in to fate, if the expression on his beautiful face was any indication. He nodded and she nearly jumped on him to hug him.
“Then we accept with thanks.” She tried to sweep a curtsy and the woman laughed.
“Come with us, then. I’m Ellie.”
They did a round of introductions and followed Ellie out. “We have costumes too,” she added. “It’s not mandatory to dress up, but it’s fun.”
Valerie was dying to dress up. Dying, but she didn’t have to look at Nico to know that was so far beyond his comfort zone, it was back in the Mariposas. Well, she would pass if he didn’t like it, especially after their earlier fight. It would be enough to see others in costume.
On the way to the fairground, they found that Ellie and her husband, Fred—a huge bearded man wearing a beige tunic belted with a rope—came every year to take a break from their tax preparation business and three teenagers.
“We considered auditioning as cast members, but prefer the freedom to come and go,” she said.
“Plus, Freddie is a rabid anti-monarchist. It would kill him to have to bow when the king passed.”
The tent Ellie led them to was surprisingly spacious and complete with sleeping bags and inflatable pillows. A portable lantern hung from a hook on the center pole.
“At least it’s not raining because this place turns into a quagmire,” Ellie said. “Last year I was washing mud out of my ears for two days.”
“We really appreciate this,” said Nico as Valerie tested the entry. There was something so satisfying about pulling a superlong zipper. “Can we pay for the campsite fees?”
Ellie snorted. “No way. It’s a shame to let a tent go to waste, so you’re welcome to it. Did you want to check our costume stash?”
“I would.” Nico glanced over. “Valerie?”
“Sure!” Valerie gawked at him, shocked that Nico seemed, in his serious way, totally into the idea.
Ellie sized them up before fetching an armful of clothes. “Wear what you want, and you can leave the rest in the tent. I put travel toothbrushes and toothpaste there as well. We always bring extras.”
“Make sure you drink lots of water if you go for the mead!” said Freddie. “Have fun, kids.”
“Try the turkey legs,” added Ellie. “They’re technically anachronistic, but so are potatoes and no one’s complaining about French fries.”
Then they were alone in a tent, about to go to a Renaissance faire in full costume because why the hell not. Nico fished around until he found a white tunic. “Should I go as a peasant?”
“Or a visitor from the future.” Valerie pulled out a Star Trek costume. “Oh no. It’s a red shirt.”
“Low life expectancy for all wardrobe choices, then.” He held up a jerkin and examined it closely.
“I have to say I’m a little surprised you’re into this,” she said. Nico was full of wonders.
He gave her a confused look. “I played D&D for years. My only concern is whether elf ears are too much with a wizard’s staff.”
Valerie left so he could change. The scene outside the tent was calm. Most people were at the faire, and she could hear the music—it sounded like a banjo, but not quite—in the distance. The zip of the tent flap came sooner than she expected, and when Nico emerged, her mouth went dry.
He hadn’t dressed as a high fae–warlock hybrid, but he was obviously born to wear clothes from a past generic European century. The white tunic was wide at the neck and she wanted to slip her hand down the opening to feel his skin. Over it he wore a navy velvet jacket that approximated a doublet.
“Are those leather pants?” she asked, trying not to stare. They were tight.
“They were better than what I was wearing.” He thrust his leg out and flexed. Valerie lost the battle and her eyes bugged out almost as much as his quads. “I left the codpiece. There was a cape too. Should I grab it?”
“No, oh my God no.” It would be a crime worthy of the stocks to cover him up. He looked divine, and when he turned to fix the tent flap, she stared without shame. Nico in leather pants, what a gift.
“Your turn.”
She rushed in and sorted through the outfits, which seemed to fall under two categories: wenchy and wenchier.
Well, when in Rome. She grabbed a white chemise that dipped down over the shoulders, then pulled on a green layered skirt, which she tied up to her knee.
Taking out her phone in lieu of a mirror, she saw her bra was too high over the neckline.
Off it came, and she searched for a corset that opened in the back to have an excuse for Nico to lace her up—a fantasy originating with her first foray into historical romance—but came up empty-handed.
Damn. She found a little brown leather corset that tied in the front.
It took a few tries, but soon she had it at the perfect tightness to snatch her waist in and hike her boobs up like a shelf.
She tugged the neckline down a smidge, checked her phone again, then gave the chemise a mighty yank.
Perfect. Luckily, she’d worn sandals so she didn’t have to worry about sneakers ruining the look, although she hoped Nico would be looking higher than her feet.
Valerie flung open the tent flaps and stepped out, feeling unnaturally bouncy and swinging the voluminous skirt with her hands. It had pockets! Nico was looking at the main road. “Do you think—” He turned and stumbled over his next words.
This was exactly the response she wanted. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“You are.” Nico collected himself and took the hand she’d extended palm down to kiss the back.
His lips were firm on her skin, but the contact sent pulses up her arm.
His fingers stroked her wrist, making her tremble.
Bent over her hand, Nico looked up and met her gaze.
He didn’t look away, and neither did she.
She wanted him. That’s all there was to it, and it wasn’t only a physical response to a tormentingly hot man.
She liked him too. Nico made her feel safe.
The problem was that while she was sure he liked her at the moment, she also knew how she could grate on people over time.
How everyone, including her own parents, at some point found other people they liked better, no matter how hard she tried.
She didn’t want to feel that pain with Nico.
The flirting was fun, extremely fun, but she was hesitant about what would happen when he’d had enough.
Especially given what he’d said about his sister, as much as he’d tried to walk it back.
The singing got louder as the crowd joined in, and Nico held out his arm. “Shall we?”
In the evening the faire was almost dreamlike, with tiki lights and torches illuminating small tents decorated with medieval banners and selling jewelry, clothes, and food. Valerie wanted to go every direction at once.
“Are you hungry?” Nico asked.
“I’d love to look around first.”
Valerie soon understood that her admiration of Nico and his outfit had not been a subjective thing.
It was clearly objective, as people gave him lingering looks as they walked through the tents.
She was self-aware enough to find it amusing that she was getting territorial, but weak enough not to fight it. She made sure to keep his arm in hers.
He didn’t seem to mind and brought her in closer. “It’s crowded,” he said as an excuse. “We don’t want to get separated.”
Like she was going to argue.
Apart from the minor distraction of trying to catch glimpses of Nico’s ass in those pants—she’d seen him in a swimsuit, but this was a lateral and ruinous tier of sexy—Valerie found the faire endlessly interesting.
Sparks flew from a blacksmith’s forge as her hammer rang down on the dagger she was shaping.
A man knotted a net near a woman working leather into what looked like shoulder guards.
Away from the main action, a woman dressed in a flowing red gown monitored the fenced-off archery area.
“Give it a shot,” she said as she held out a few arrows. Hay bales painted with targets sat about five meters away.
“Do you know how?” Nico asked Valerie.
“No, but how hard can it be?” She’d watched the Lord of the Rings extended edition. She grabbed a bow.
“You’ve got it backward,” said Nico. He turned to the woman running the booth as if to check to see if she wanted to step in, and she gestured that he was free to help.
Then, as God was her witness, Nico stepped behind her and reached around to adjust her grip.
Valerie melted, encased in his strong arms. When she looked over at the woman running the booth, desperately needing someone to witness this movie-perfect moment, the woman had both hands to her face to cover her grin of total delight.
But Nico was set on making sure she didn’t embarrass herself at the Ren faire archery range, so she did her best to pay attention to what he was saying instead of the way he felt pressed against her. She also did her best not to push her hips into him, but man, it was hard.
Too hard. She gave in to the teensiest of test grinds and felt a surge of triumph when she heard his quick inhale. Sometimes her impulsivity had benefits.
“Draw the bow until it’s at your cheek,” he said in a slightly choked voice. She listened instead of teasing as he helped her pull it back, because this thing was legitimately difficult. “Then aim for the target and let go.”
She released the arrow, expecting a recoil that never came, and watched as the arrow arced beautifully under the lights to land barely two meters on its path. “Dang. You try.”
Nico took her place after shucking off his jacket.
She watched avidly as he pulled back the bow, muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt, and let the arrow go.
She didn’t move her eyes from his arms until he turned with a small smile—in Nico-speak, this was swaggering pride—as the vendor said, “Bull’s-eye. ”
“You’re kidding.” She squinted to where the arrow sat in the center of the target. “Nico. That’s amazing.”
“The best we’ve had so far,” said the vendor, coming up to admire the shot. “I have to be honest, this isn’t the best-quality equipment. Most people can barely reach the bales.”
“Just luck.”
He was so modest. Valerie would have been demanding congratulations from everyone in the vicinity. Nico seemed quietly happy to have done well.
“Luck makes the man.” The vendor gave him a small stuffed gnome. “Your prize.”
Nico handed it to Valerie. “Would you like it?”
She was almost starry-eyed. Jake had kept any prize he’d won. “I’m going to call her Odile.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s her name.” She couldn’t explain it, but the gnome was clearly Odile. “Want to get something to eat?”
They got in line and Nico went up to peruse the options. He was the kind of person to look at a menu online before going to a restaurant. She knew it. They ordered two meads and a single brontosaurus-sized turkey leg.
“That’ll be thirty-eight dollars.” The guy behind the counter was wearing a Spock costume.
After some joint sticker shock and a brief scuffle about who would pay, Nico pulled out his card.
“Cash only.” Spock pushed back his hairnet.
“I only have twenty-five,” Nico said.
Valerie tensed, waiting for him to get offended about the prices to cover his embarrassment, the way Jake always did, but he only turned to her. “Valerie, can you help?”
Valerie searched through her pockets—she loved this skirt—to find the twenty she’d shoved in thanks to her mother’s one piece of advice growing up, which was never to leave the house without some cash.
“Thanks.” Nico took it without making a fuss or a joke to point out how comfortable he was taking her money. It was truly no big deal to him. This was the best date ever. If it was a date.
She wanted it to be. It had to be. Was it? She glanced over at those leather pants again.
Yes, she decided. It was.
She’d make sure he knew it before the night was over.