AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re the important part of this,” Jazzy said. “We want you to be happy.”
“But,” Stanton cocked an eyebrow, “if people happen to fall in love with you in the process, we can’t help that.”
CHAPTER 11
“What is this place?”
Everly wished she’d known thatOn the Plus Sidewould repeatedly require her to rise before dawn. That might have impacted her decision to participate. As far as she was concerned, time was nothing but a construct until eight thirty in the morning. And yet here she was, the sun barely cresting the treetops hemming in the village façade in front of her.
“This is King Henry’s Feast, New England’s most celebrated Renaissance faire.” Stanton’s grin brimmed with excitement. Clearly, he was unperturbed by the indecent hour. Or, judging by the way he bounced on the balls of his feet like a toddler who didn’t know how to contain his energy, his veins were laced with caffeine.
What Everly wouldn’t give for the same. Her brain had been too muddled with exhaustion this morning to remember coffee, and at this point, she was fairly confident she could defeat Logan in a grump-off.
At the thought of him, she glanced around, suddenly hyperaware of his absence. “Where are Sady and Logan?”
Stanton waved her off. “They’ll be here when the feast opens.”
“But they’re missing all of this.” Everly fanned her hands in front of her face, which was most certainly as droopy and pallid as she felt. The last time this eight-hours-or-more gal had tried to function on less than five hours of sleep, she’d had circles under her eyes as big as tote bags.
Stanton chuckled. “I think they’ll survive.”
“I don’t know. Logan seems to get a lot of joy out of catching me in my worst moments,” Everly quipped. She’d been a complete disaster on camera so many times already, she couldn’t bring herself to be truly upset about it anymore. She would accept her fate as the Mia Thermopolis ofOn the Plus Side.
“Not worst. Just… authentic.”
“You should go into PR with that kind of spin.”
Stanton laughed again. It was a great sound, robust and low like a tuba, but genuine. You could feel his happiness in it.
He led her past shop windows and doors that had been transformed into ticket booths, toward a hidden entrance at the end of the row. Everly got the sense this place had been here awhile; up close, the white and brown paint had begun to peel, exposing gray, aged wood underneath. Above them, the roof’s latticework was crisscrossed with intricate spiderwebs.
“Stanton, why are we at a Ren faire?” While Everly loved seeing the incredible work people put into their costumes at places like this, it wasn’t really her thing. Neither was historical reenactment.
“Ren faires are full of artists!” He threw his arms out like he was in the middle of the opening number of a musical and he was establishing the setting for the audience. “Metal workers, jewelry makers, costumers, body artists. You’re going to meet so many people who share your interests. You never know where that might lead.”
Holding up a finger, he checked the time and made a quick call onhis phone. A moment later, a man dressed as a court jester opened the door for the two of them, bowing as he waved them through.
Stanton answered the bow with his own. “Good, sir,” he said, then turned back to Everly. “These events are also so wonderfully inclusive. It’s a perfect place for you to let loose and be yourself.”
Picking up their pace, they crossed through the main thoroughfare, a four-sided booth at the center hawking mead, wine, turkey legs, and funnel cakes. The paths branching from it were packed with vendor booths.
One stand displayed beautifully crafted swords and axes; another had bracelets and necklaces dripping in crystals draped from every surface. With each turn, the growing sunlight winked in the gems’ many faces. Across the way were tables boasting handmade dishware beside racks of intricately sewn corsets and shifts. There was even a cobbler and a haberdasher.
Vendors were getting set up for the day, but Stanton stopped at each booth to inspect the wares like a proper market shopper.
“When I was a kid,” he said, “I spent all my time at places like this.”
“Really?” Everly didn’t remember reading about that in any interviews or hearing him talk about it on the show.
Nodding, he rubbed at the beads of sweat beginning to stipple over his brow. Even with only a week until Halloween, it was still a bit muggy out. New England weather was so weird.
“Once I got my license,” he went on, “I would drive hours to a faire or a con if I had to. There weren’t a lot of kids at my tiny high school with any interest in art, so I’d come here to feel less alone. Plus, these kinds of events draw in people of all shapes and sizes. I never stood out the way I did in the real world, even though I was a hundred feet tall and fat. Here, I could dress like a knight or an executioner or a pirate, and no one mocked me or called me a mountain or whatever.”
“It’s so hard to find those places, when you look like us.” Everly paused to admire a pocket watch pendant at one of the jewelry booths. “Especially when you’re younger.”
“Where were yours?” Stanton asked.
Frowning, Everly fell back into step with him as they made their way deeper into the grounds. “Online spaces, mostly. People who followed my YouTube account or liked my art on social media. My friends in high school were all thin. In college, I found some who looked more like me, but after my grandmother died, those relationships fell away, too.” She sighed.
