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Continuing, I said, “I have seen enough to decide it’s the best. I know these things.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded.
He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off with my shriek of excitement. “Look!” I pointed, jumping up and down. “Face painting!”
Dean grumbled something unintelligible but followed me anyway.
“Hi,” I said excitedly to the woman working the booth. “How much for me and my Hot Buns?”
“Willow!” Dean admonished and I swore his cheeks turned pink.
“What?” I batted my eyes innocently. “You’re the one that said boyfriend was weird and I should pick a new name. I chose Hot Buns. Deal with it.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
He groaned and shoved his fingers through his hair so that it stuck up wildly around his head. “You really shouldn’t take anything I say seriously,” he grumbled.
I shrugged. “Too late.”
The woman watched us with barely contained laughter. When I met her gaze she busted out into a full-blown laughing fit.
Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “You two are too adorable for words.”
“Eh, he’s just okay.” I shrugged and then tossed Dean a wink over my shoulder. “So…yeah. Face painting?” I pointed to my face like the woman didn’t know what she was supposed to do.
“Of course. Price depends on what you want. I can do anything.”
Beside me, Dean gasped. “Can you do Bulbasaur?”
“Bulba-what?” She asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion.
“It’s from Pokémon.” He hastened to explain. He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly typed it into the search engine. “Him.” He pointed to the image of the green creature—Dean would be horrified if he knew I called it a creature.
She studied the image and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Yes!” Dean chanted and I had to laugh at his enthusiasm. If Pokémon was involved Dean always got excited.
“And what do you want?” She asked me, tucking a piece of vibrant—too vibrant to be natural—red hair behind her ear.
“Pinkie Pie.” I declared with a nod.
“Ah, I know who that is. My five-year-old is obsessed with ‘My Little Pony.’ Come on around here.” She motioned for us to step behind the booth where chairs waited for us to sit down.
She gave us the price and once we paid she started.
Dean insisted I go first. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be a gentleman, or if it sucked he was going to bail on getting his face painted. If he tried to weasel out of it I’d tackle him so fast he wouldn’t see it coming.
“Are you guys from here or visiting because of the festival?” She asked us. “Oh, I’m Rachel, by the way.”
“Dean and Willow.” He pointed to himself and then me like that was necessary or something. “We’re on a road trip and stumbled upon this festival when we couldn’t find a place to stop last night and people kept explaining it was because of this. Figured we couldn’t miss it.” From the corner of my eye I saw him shrug.
“Ah, yeah,” Rachel nodded, “places book up for miles around here for this thing. It’s a big deal.”
“So we gathered.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and paced the booth restlessly.
“Did y’all find a place to sleep last night?”
“Nope,” I told her, “he got to be my snuggle bunny in the back of the car.”
She laughed at that. “You guys can stay with me tonight if you need a place.”
