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How would he know where she was? Mikah squeezed the back of his neck to ease his tension. He wasn’t coupled up with Piper. His guess would be as random as the next guy’s. Why were they screwing with him? There was no way he could know what Piper was doing right at this very moment.
“C. Dressing up for Tudor weekend at the Renaissance Festival.”
Fuck.
* * *
Piper, Calista, and Dahlia strode up to the entrance to the Renaissance Festival. Mostly this was for fun, but she also wanted the extra credit. Piper gave their tickets to the entry guard and waved for Calista to go ahead of her. “Stop messing with your kirtle.”
Calista wiggled. “It pinches.” The gorgeous royal blue overdress swayed with her motions.
“It’s not optional.” Dahlia lifted the maroon velvet skirts of her Anne Boleyn-inspired gown. “Suck it up. Sooner we get in, the sooner we get out.”
“That’s the spirit.” Piper tilted her head, grateful they were going with her despite their whining. Her own outfit, turquoise silk, had been a gift from her parents when she’d been accepted into her master’s program. The three of them looked fabulous, the perfect state for the heartsore. She wouldn’t think about Mikah, though. Today wasn’t about him.
A family came in behind them, yelling for churros and funnel cakes. They went left toward the food booths.
To the right sat a heart-shaped booth selling love potions. Piper sighed. Bet they had a shelf full of products to solve commitment issues. Shelf. Hah. They probably had a whole wall specializing in curing that charming trait. Mikah would need a triple dose.
Dahlia followed her gaze. “You’re better off without Mikah.” Dahlia smashed her lips together in a thinking gesture. “He’d distract you from your extra credit. This is about school.”
True.
Calista tilted her head. “Unless he’s with a supermodel. You know. Like Vegas. That wouldn’t be better.”
Super not awesome thought. Piper bugged her eyes and frowned. But her stomach didn’t twist like it might have. Mikah had been with her at the bar in Vegas. Models abounded. He’d stayed at her side. Loyalty. Lovely trait. Too bad he couldn’t embrace the concept of long-term. Sigh. Not his fault. He’d been clear. She’d been clear. They’d still misunderstood each other’s clarity. It happened. Her sting of emotional rejection and embarrassed vulnerability at the hotel had been fair in the moment. Now she was letting that negativity go.
Dahlia’s eyes grew thoughtful, and she nodded. “He did bring those stunners to Vegas.”
Mikah hadn’t done that. Not exactly. He sort of had. Maybe she shared too much info with these two.
“If Piper can’t keep a guy, I’ve got no luck.” Calista sulked.
Calista deserved the world. So did Dahlia. Piper tore her gaze from the love potion peddler. “Let’s not think about guys.” Piper waved her hand, drawing their gaze around a family eating turkey legs, beyond the two teens smacking wooden swords at each other, to the sign that pointed to Tudor England. “I’ll meet up with the professor, get my extra credit scavenger hunt out of the way, then we can go look at whatever exhibits you two want.”
* * *
Mikah, Liam, and Kiernan stood before the gates of the Renaissance fair. The ticket taker had just explained that costumes were mandatory. He pointed them to a rental booth conveniently located near the entrance.
They strode over. There was an array of garments from burlap to silk. Signs overhead praised leaving reality behind. Look sharp and LARP. Two grown men were arguing over naming their historical personas. Evidently, they qualified as live-action role players if they did; otherwise, they were simply dressing up.
Mikah could be watching a game right now, working out. He was LARPing. Sir Skates-a lot. Mikah headed to the tunic and trouser rack with no more thought than that.
“The common garb of the peasants, my lords?” The shopkeeper swept his arm in front of him in a dramatic gesture. “Have you not seen my array of silken wonders from the East?”
Mikah looked from the pants on one wall to the hose on the other. “Trousers over tights. So, yeah. I’m where I need to be.”
Kiernan shook his head. “Are you kidding? My legs are my best feature. Tights. All day long.”
Liam moved to Kiernan’s side. “I need all the advantages I can get.”
The salesperson ushered them over to the royal garb selection.
* * *
The illusion of Tudor England under the Texas sun thrilled Piper. What a combination. The Tudor era half-timbered architecture, the aristocracy and peasants enjoying the day out, roaming minstrels playing era-appropriate music, today was magic, her thesis come to life.
A pack of women in conical hats rushed the psychic booth, and Piper couldn’t turn off her history degree. “Look at those corsets. Not authentic.” Piper widened her eyes at a Civil War-era hoop skirt. Come on, Austin. That wasn’t even the right century.
