Ren Faire Romance

It's the final weekend of the local Renaissance Faire. I drive down, check in to the hotel room I had reserved for the weekend and dress in my mostly homemade Ren Faire gear. I hope the day won't be too cold for the simple pale blue linen dress with full skirt and fitted bodice. Earlier in the month, I had bought tickets to attend both days by myself. It would have been possible for me to travel back and forth, but I craved a change of scenery. Work had been hectic the last few weeks, and I was ready to walk around in the October sunshine and have some fun.

I browse shops full of unique jewelry, pottery, herbs, clothing, and leather goods. I attend a joust and a comedy show. I sip mead and people watch. The air is full of conversation, music, and the smell of roasting turkey legs.

After a light snack, I decide to attend another show, check the schedule, and choose to see The Juggler. It's difficult to find a seat, but I manage to secure one near the back. It is clear as soon as the act begins why he is so popular. He is charming, good looking, and his tricks are impressive. Especially when he sets things on fire. I hold my breath til the flames go out.

I wander through the woods slowly, trying to decide what to do next. The afternoon is warm, and I pause by a tree, reach in to my pocket for my folded fan, when someone bumps my hip.

"Oh!" I cry out as the fan flies from my fingers and tumbles to the ground a few feet away.

"Sorry, let me get that for you," says a familiar voice.

I look up, and there he is, the juggler. He bends to retrieve my fan, walks back, holds it out to me.

"Thank you," I say, averting my eyes as I feel my face flush. My fingers brush his and my heart skips a beat.

"I'm Nick," he says.

"I know," I reply, "I just saw your show. I'm Elizabeth."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes."

"Is this your first time at the Faire?"

"No, I went once years ago with my family. How long have you been performing here?"

"Awhile, how long ago was that?"

"About ten years, I think."

"I was probably here then."

"I didn't see you, but I wish I had," I reply.

He flashes a brilliant smile my way. My heart flutters in response. To have his full attention is exhilarating.

"Which way are you headed, I'll walk with you," he offers.

"Oh, well, I hadn't quite decided. What would you recommend?"

"Follow me. I have some time before my next show."

We walk down the wooded path together. He takes me to a comedy act I haven't seen yet. He sits next to me. We talk for a few minutes more. He tells me a little about his career as a performer. I tell him I'm a writer. His thigh briefly touches mine and an electric current runs through my entire body. I shiver. He smiles. I blush and look away.

"It was nice talking with you, Elizabeth. Do you have any plans after the Faire?"

"It was nice talking to you too, Nick. And no, I haven't made plans yet."

"Would you have dinner with me?" He asks with another dazzling grin.

"I'd like that." I smile back at him. We make plans to meet at a nearby restaurant later that evening.

He trots away quickly, and I float on air for the rest of the fair. I watch the last joust and closing ceremonies, but can barely pay attention. All I can think about is seeing him again.

I head back to my room, take a quick shower, and change clothes. I barely make it to the restaurant on time. He has also cleaned up and changed. He looks even better in jeans and a t shirt than he does in costume. He certainly looks better without the stage makeup, though a guy in eyeliner has a certain appeal. I've always been a sucker for pretty eyes.

We share more details of our lives over an unremarkable meal. The food is probably fine, but I barely taste it. We both live locally, though he travels out of state frequently to perform. We both like many of the same books, movies, and video games. We talk about our cats. He's just as charismatic off stage as on. And his laugh is contagious. We linger over the remains of the meal, talking until the restaurant is about to close. We exchange phone numbers before leaving. He walks me to my car.

"I had a nice time tonight. When can I see you again?" He asks.

"Tomorrow actually. I got a hotel room and bought tickets for both days of the Faire. I leave Monday," I reply.

"Until tomorrow then," he says.

"Goodnight."

We go our separate ways for the night, and it feels like I'm floating on air as I get ready for sleep. The bed is large and just the right balance of firm and soft, the linens perfectly cool and crisp, but I toss and turn anyway as my body buzzes with anticipation.

___

The next day dawns bright and cool with just a hint of late autumn frost in the air. I dress in layers of brown and ivory linen skirts I made myself just for this weekend along with a white cotton peasant blouse topped with a simple garter stitch shawl I knit in chunky brown wool flecked with moss green fibers. I slip on soft leather ankle boots and braid my hair into a single thick plait that falls down my back.

I check my phone before setting out for the Faire grounds. He sent me a good morning text. I send one back and step out the door with a certain spring in my step.

I park and wait in my car until the opening ceremony. The crowd is large today.

I wander the fairgrounds, catching events I missed the day before. I revisit my favorite shops, and purchase a few mementos. I watch Nick perform. He works the crowd with impressive ease. The way he readily laughs at himself when something doesn't go exactly as planned is appealingly humble. At one point, his eyes meet mine, and my heart stops momentarily. His smile makes me feel like I'm the only woman in existence, even as the crowd roars around me in appreciation of his talent.

The Faire is busy, and it's difficult to find time to be together, though he sends a few texts throughout the day. It's flattering to know he's thinking of me when so many other women must also be vying for his attention.

Eventually, the closing ceremonies end and the Faire is over. Nick and I plan to meet at a different restaurant. Traffic is thick, and my journey back to the hotel is slow. I barely have enough time to change into leggings and a sweater dress and brush out my wind tangled hair.

Dinner is fantastic. I toy with my food more than I eat, but to have his full attention on me again is intoxicating. The more I learn about him, the more enchanted I become. I think he feels the same.

He walks me to my car again, but this time, he leans in close, whispers "I'd like to kiss you, if that's ok."

"Yes," I breathe.

His left hand rests delicately on my waist, while his right cradles my cheek. I tilt my face up to meet him as his lips brush gently against mine, once, twice, and then a third time with increasing pressure. His grip on my waist tightens as he pulls me closer. I reach around him, place my hands flat against his back. My lips part ever so slightly and it's all the invitation he needs to slip his tongue in my mouth. The kiss deepens as he presses me firmly against him. He pulls back and I sigh dreamily.

"When can I see you again?" He asks.

"When do you want to? Most of my work is freelance and my schedule is flexible right now." I reply.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I'll call you."

"Ok."

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"Goodnight, Nick."

___

I wake, check my phone, see another good morning text. I reply and set the phone aside, smiling. I stretch and roll across the bed. My cat glares at me over her shoulder from her spot next to my pillow. How dare I disturb her sleep. I give her a few rubs, and kiss the top of her fuzzy head before heading off to the shower.

Hours later, I am sitting at my desk, writing an outline for a piece that has been kicking around my head for a few days, when my phone buzzes. It's Nick. He wants to know if I can meet for a late lunch. We plan to meet at for a picnic at a park about ten minutes from my house. He asks me to bring to bring a blanket.

An hour later, I am pulling into the dirt lot of one of my favorite parks and conservation areas. I see him leaning against a gray car with a blue cooler in one hand. I park next to him and step out of the car with an old patchwork quilt under my arm. He smiles and offers his hand. I take it and together we walk down a path through the trees. The air is warm as we stroll under a canopy of rustling leaves. Golden light dapples the carpet of pine needles beneath our feet.

We walk down the path to the edge of a tranquil pond nestled in a meadow. The placid water gleams serenely as bird song surrounds us. Most of the autumn leaves have already fallen, but blushes of brilliant red, orange, and yellow still dot the forest beyond. We choose a flat place in the grass to spread the blanket. We chat over a spread of cheese, fruit, and crackers. A cool breeze blows a lock of hair across my face. He reaches out to brush it back behind my ear.

"I'd like to kiss you again."

"Ok."

He leans in and kisses me softly. A quiet sigh escapes my lips as his hand curls deeper into my hair and his tongue gently explores my mouth. He slides closer, pushing the cooler aside with his free hand before placing it on the swell of my hip.

We kiss for a long time. I long to have his hands roam over every inch of my body, but he treats me carefully, gently skimming my waist and back, as I cling to his broad shoulders. When we part, my lips feel pleasantly swollen and tender. With a thick voice and heavily lidded eyes, he asks if I'd like to walk around the pond. I say yes. We pack up the cooler and shake out the blanket. I carry it folded under my right arm as he takes my left hand. We amble unhurriedly around the pond and back down the path to the parking area. We kiss again at the cars, lingering. I don't want to leave him yet, but the sun will start to set soon and there's still work to be done.

"Thanks for spending the afternoon with me. I had a good time," he says.

"Me too," I say, blushing.

"Are you free Friday night?"

"Yes."

"I'll call you, ok?"

"I'd like that," I say.

Reluctantly, I leave. The drive home is a blur. All I can think about is seeing him again. Having to wait four days seems impossible.

The next night, he calls me. We talk for an hour and make plans for Friday, both of us sitting with cats curled up on our laps, only miles apart, but it feels like a galaxy. The end of the week can't come soon enough.

____

After nearly a week of giddy anticipation, Friday night arrives. I shower, shave, lotion, and put on my favorite little black dress. I'm just about to tuck my phone in my purse when there's a knock at my door.

I open it to find him leaning casually against the frame in that swoon worthy way certain men have, a bouquet of roses in his hand. "You look amazing," he says.

"Thank you," I whisper, casting my eyes shyly to the side.

"I didn't think to ask what your favorite flower is," he says holding the arrangement out to me.

"Lilies," I reply, "but they're toxic to cats so I can't have them anyway."

"That's a shame," he says, "What about your second favorite flower?" He smiles and steps over the threshold. He follows as I walk into the kitchen, pull a vase from a cupboard, and begin to fill it with water.

"Dahlias, but I'm pretty sure those are toxic too. So many plants are, sadly."

"Well, I guess you can never go wrong with roses."

"Very true," I reply, settling the flowers in the vase. "Let me just grab a coat, and I'll be ready to go."

He trails a few steps behind as I head back to the entryway, retrieve a jacket from the hall closet, and put it on. He holds the front door open for me, and we leave.

He takes me to a fancy restaurant the next town over that I've heard of but never been to. The food is exquisite, and the wine balanced and complex. Yet it doesn't really matter how nice the food is or how expensive, because it's his company that makes the evening magical. The sparkle in his eyes and the rich tone of his laugh is more intoxicating than the brandy we end the meal with. I've known him for less than a week, but it feels much much longer than that.

My pulse races and my stomach flutters when he walks me to my door. "I had a wonderful time," I say, turning to him.

"Me too," he says, "May I kiss you?"

"Yes."

I look up, ready to meet his lips as they find mine. The kiss is firm and almost demanding. An involuntary moan escapes me as he backs me up against the door. His left hand slides into the hair at the base of my neck, fingers digging in commandingly forcing me to tilt my face higher. He plants his right hand on the small of my back and firmly pulls me closer. The beating of my heart is fast and loud in my ears as I slip my hands under his coat, wrap my arms around his trim waist, and hold on tightly.

Suddenly, he lets go and steps back. "Goodnight, Elizabeth," he says.

Confused, I shakily reply, "Goodnight, Nick."

I watch him walk away and wonder if I did something wrong.

___

He's on the road performing in other states for the next few weeks, and I'm not sure when or if I'll see him again. An unfamiliar longing fills my days. Each text he sends is a spark of hope. I consider traveling to see him. After all, I can write from anywhere. Yet I can't bring myself to do it. I've only known him for a week, after all. Following him around like a sad puppy would be pathetic. So I dive into my work, fleshing out my next novel.

The daylight hours quickly dwindle as winter approaches and nights get longer. He calls me several times a week when he's not working. The tightly wound ball of unease in my chest slowly unwinds. Distance allows us to get closer at a more leisurely pace. It's actually kind of nice. Still, I keep thinking about the intensity of that last kiss and the possibilities that lie beyond it.

___

He's finally back in town, home for the winter. We make plans to see a movie. I wear my favorite irresistibly soft cashmere sweater and a pair of perfectly broken in jeans. He picks me up. We hold hands as he drives. We share popcorn, and I lean into him as he drapes his arm around me. The date feels like something from a romantic comedy.

He walks me to my door. "I've been dying to kiss you all night," he says as we walk up the steps.

"Me too," I say turning toward him. "Do you want..." I start to say and suddenly his mouth is pressed hard against mine. Both hands cradle my face, fingers thrust into my hair. He lays a trail of kisses across my jaw, down my throat. My back bumps into the door. "...to come in," I finish breathlessly.

"Yes," he nearly growls against my neck. I unlock the door with unsteady hands. I shakily take off my coat and hang it in the closet. He tosses his over the back of a nearby chair.

"Would you like something to drink?" I ask.

"No."

"Do you want to sit in the living room? You can meet my cat, Penelope."

"Sure."

I sit on the middle cushion next to the curled up ball of fuzz that is my precious little long haired calico. I scoop her up in my arms. She yawns in my face. "Thanks, sweetie, tuna breath is my favorite scent." I tease her before planting a kiss between her ears. I hold her out toward Nick. "Meet Nick, Penny."

"Hi, Miss Penny," he says holding out one of his big hands for her to sniff. She does so delicately before rubbing her face against his extended fingers. "What a sweet girl you are," he coos while stroking his other hand down her back. She wiggles, and I set her down gently to go about her merry way. She stretches and walks off with the sort of dignity only those of the feline persuasion possess.

Nick sits next to me. The air between us practically sizzles with expectation. "I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything you aren't ready for, but I'm dying to run my hands all over you," he says.

"I want that too," I reply.

"Stop me if I move too fast," he says huskily, as he takes my face in his hand and bends to kiss me again. I lean back against the cushions as his other hand slides up my waist and over the curve of my breast. I moan against his lips as his fingers brush over the stiff peak of my nipple through my clothes. The hand on my face trails down my neck, over my shoulder, down the outer curve of my right breast and lower still to skim over my waist and hip to my ass. In one swift move, he sweeps my legs onto the sofa.

"Oh," I gasp.

He smiles roguishly, now poised above me. He slides both hands under my sweater. "Too much?" He asks.

"No," I gasp, arching up to meet his hands as they skim over my lace covered breasts. My nipples ache as his palms brush against them.

"More?" He asks with a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Yes," I moan.

He pulls my sweater off. He takes a moment to drink me in, my face flushed, eyes half closed, lips parted slightly, the rise and fall of my chest with each labored breath, pale pink nipples peaking through the white lace of my bralette. "You are stunning," he breathes, lowering himself to kiss me again.

I wrap my legs around him as his mouth crushes against mine again. I moan and writhe beneath him, my hands eagerly running up and down his well muscled arms, chest and back. I burn to feel his skin against mine and tug gently at the hem of his shirt. He obliges, sits up, pulls the fabric over his head, and now it's my turn to drink him in. His easy grace and obvious strength send a chill through my body as the thought that this man could do anything he wants to me and I would be powerless to stop him flits through my mind. Before the excitement can turn to fear, he's kissing me again and my only thought is "More."

His mouth trails down my neck, over my collarbone, to the lacy edge of my bra. "Too much?" He asks.

"No," I gasp. He reaches behind my back and deftly frees the clasp. He carefully slides the thin straps down my shoulders and tosses the garment aside. With firm and gentle pressure, he holds and massages my breasts in his strong long fingered hands. Slowly, he rolls my nipples between thumb and forefinger. I gasp at the sharp pleasure of it.

"More?" He asks, a note of teasing in his voice. Assured of my reply before I give it, his mouth closes over a nipple in the same moment that I cry out my assent. He lavishes attention on each swollen aching breast in turn as I writhe beneath him. He kisses down my torso, pausing at the waistband of my jeans. He looks up. "Bedroom?"

I nod enthusiastically. He rolls off of me, stands, offers me a hand up. I take it and lead him to bed.

I stand at the edge of the bed, and he kisses me again with both hands cradling my face. I impatiently attempt to unbuckle his belt, and he lowers both hands to my wrists and whispers, "Not yet."

He kneels on the floor, places a soft kiss on my belly, and slowly removes my jeans. Each movement, from pushing the button through the buttonhole to pulling down the zipper, slipping his thumbs into the waistband, and shimmying the form fitting denim over my hips is unhurried and deliberate. He slides the pants all the way down, and I step out of them only when he tells me to. And then he sits backs and looks at me, really looks at me in a way no one has before, like he's memorizing every inch of skin. I swallow hard.

"Lie back on the bed."

I settle into the center of the bed, propped up against the pillows by the headboard. He takes a condom from his pocket, places it on the nightstand, and removes his jeans. I lick my lips hungrily as I watch him. He climbs onto the bed, gently kissing and caressing my body from the balls of my feet, over my calves, behind the knees, his touch light and feathery and slowing ever so slightly as he kisses up my inner thighs to the edge of my panties. He takes a deep shuddering breath in and says, "You are so hot," before placing a delicate kiss on my lace covered pubis. He pulls my panties down and off in one quick swoop. I gasp at the unexpected suddenness.