Chapter 7: The Faire's First Glance
The morning light filtered through the lavender curtains in a way that should have felt peaceful, but Lauren couldn't sit still. She'd been standing in front of her open wardrobe for the better part of twenty minutes, her hands hovering between two very different options, while Amy lounged on her bed like a cat that had claimed its territory.
"Lauren," Amy said, not for the first time. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like that."
Lauren spun around, one hand clutching the simple skirt and blouse combo, the other holding the leather and fabric of her warrior outfit. "I can't decide."
"You said that." Amy propped herself up on her elbows, a lazy grin spreading across her face. "About fifteen minutes ago. And ten minutes before that. And—"
"Okay, okay." Lauren slumped onto the edge of her bed, the two outfits spilling across her lap. "I just—this is our first real date. I want it to be perfect."
Amy sat up, her expression softening. "Perfect doesn't mean trying to be someone you're not. What do you want to wear?"
Lauren looked down at the two options. The simple outfit was safe, comfortable, something she could wear anywhere. But the other—the dark, warrior-inspired ensemble from two years ago—that was different. It was bold. It was fun. She'd felt like a completely different person in it, like someone who could walk into a room and command attention.
"I want to feel brave," she said quietly, almost to herself.
"Then wear the one that makes you feel brave." Amy reached over and pressed the warrior outfit into Lauren's hands, the leather harness creaking softly. "Besides, you'll look hot as hell in this. The river at the faire is windier than you think, and that blouse is going to cling in the best way."
Lauren laughed, a nervous flutter in her chest. "You're not helping."
"I'm absolutely helping. Now get dressed before I start timing you." Amy flopped back onto the bed, grabbing the half-finished fantasy novel from the nightstand. "I'll be over here, not watching you change, because I'm a good friend."
"You're a menace," Lauren said, but she was already unbuttoning her pajama top, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. She slid the black blouse over her shoulders—not buttoning it yet, just letting it hang open—and stepped into the leather-like skirt. The fabric hugged her hips, the thigh-high black socks completing the look as she tugged them up, the elastic catching against her knees.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused. The harness lay on the bed, waiting. She'd almost forgotten how powerful it made her feel, how it transformed the entire outfit from something simple into something that meant business.
"Okay," she said, turning to face Amy. "What do you think?"
Amy looked up, her eyebrows rising. "Oh, that's—Lauren, you look incredible. But you forgot the best part." She reached for the leather harness, holding it out like a sacred object. "Can't be a warrior without your gear."
Lauren took it, the leather warm and supple in her hands. She slipped it over her shoulders, adjusting the straps until they sat comfortably across her chest and back. The metal buckles clinked softly, and the weight of it settled against her spine, a reminder of what it was designed to carry.
"Now you just need the sword," Amy said, nodding toward the wall where the longsword hung in its scabbard, catching the light like a promise.
Lauren's gaze drifted to it. Her father's gift, mounted between her bookshelves like a guardian. She'd never actually worn it out before. The faire was the perfect excuse.
She crossed the room and lifted it from its brackets, the familiar weight settling in her palms. The leather-wrapped grip felt like coming home. She slid the blade into the scabbard with a satisfying click, then turned back to Amy.
"Can you help me secure it?"
Amy hopped off the bed, her fingers working the straps at the back of the harness with practiced efficiency. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were born to wear this."
"It's a costume," Lauren said, but there was a thrill in her voice.
"It's a statement." Amy tightened the final strap and stepped back, admiring her work. "Now all you need is—"
A knock at the front door cut her off.
Lauren's heart leaped into her throat. She'd lost track of time. "That's him. He's early."
"Or you're late." Amy was already heading for the door, a wicked grin on her face. "Don't worry, I'll get it. You finish getting ready."
"Amy—" But she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the stairs.
Lauren stood frozen in the middle of her room, the blouse still hanging open, the harness in place, her sword strapped to her back. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a surge of something—confidence? Nerves? Both?
She heard the front door open, heard Liam's voice—warm, familiar, sending a thrill through her chest—and then Amy's laugh, bright and knowing.
"Come on up," Amy said, her voice carrying through the house. "She's almost ready."
Lauren's fingers flew to the buttons of her blouse. She had seconds, maybe less. She got the first three done, her fingers fumbling with the fourth, when—
The door swung open.
Liam stood in the doorway, his mouth falling open, his eyes going wide. The sunlight caught the edge of his jaw, highlighting his tousled hair and the slight flush on his cheeks from the ride over. He was wearing a simple dark shirt and jeans, clean and casual, but his expression—that was anything but casual.
Lauren's hands froze mid-button. She was standing there, her blouse open to just above her navel, her black bra visible beneath the fabric, her thigh-high socks and leather skirt leaving little to the imagination. The sword on her back made her look like she'd stepped out of a fantasy novel, and the startled look on his face made her want to both laugh and hide.
"Hi," she managed, her cheeks flushing crimson.
Liam blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. His throat worked, and then he let out a low whistle that curled through the air like smoke.
"Hi," he echoed, his voice rough. "I—wow."
A laugh bubbled up from behind him. Amy reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk that could only be described as triumphant. "I told you she'd be worth the wait."
Liam shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't expecting—" He gestured vaguely at Lauren, then dropped his hand, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "You look incredible."
Lauren's blush deepened, but she held his gaze. The old her might have shrunk into herself, might have scrambled to cover up and apologize. But now, with the weight of her sword on her back and the thrill of adventure in her chest, she felt something different. She felt brave.
She finished buttoning her blouse with deliberate slowness, her fingers moving as if she had all the time in the world. The last button slipped into place, and she smoothed the fabric down, letting her hands linger on the leather harness.
"Thank you," she said, her voice steady. "I figured I should commit to the theme."
Liam's grin widened. "You're going to be the best-dressed person at the faire."
Amy snorted. "She's going to be the best-dressed person anywhere. Now get out of here before I throw something at you both."
Liam stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway. "Shall we?"
Lauren crossed to him, the sword swaying gently with her movement. She paused beside Amy, who pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and whispered, "Have fun. And if he gets too handsy, you know how to use that sword."
Lauren laughed, then turned to Liam, reaching for his hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure.
"Let's go," she said.
They walked down the stairs together, hand in hand, the morning sun spilling through the windows and casting long golden shadows across the floor. The weight of the sword on her back was a constant reminder of the day ahead, a promise of adventure and possibility.
The Ducati sat at the curb, gleaming in the sunlight. Liam handed her a helmet, his fingers brushing against hers. She climbed on behind him, settling against his back, feeling the firm warmth of his body through his shirt. She wrapped her arms around his waist, gripping the leather of his jacket.
"Ready?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
She met his eyes, her heart racing with anticipation. "Ready."
He revved the engine, and the bike surged forward, carrying them down the street and into a new day.