Page 32 of Love and History

Everything was going to be okay.

5

HOLDEN

When I burst out the front door the following morning, Ezra was waiting for me on the porch. I smiled sheepishly, juggling a backpack, a costume, and a travel mug filled to the brim with java.

“Nine thirty-one, slacker.” He tapped his watch in mock censure and tugged the dry cleaning bag. “Let me help.”

“I’ve got it. I’ll drop everything if I try to hand one thing over.”

“Want me to drive?”

“No, thanks. I have a few props in my trunk to transport.” I stalked to my no longer trusty and very rusty red Honda parked at the curb and attempted to set my mug on the hood of my car. My backpack fell from my shoulder and started a chain reaction. The travel mug slipped, and I was seconds from dropping the costumes when Ezra stepped in.

He righted the mug and pushed my backpack into place, then jiggled the handle. “Open the door.”

“I can’t. My keys are in my pocket.” I couldn’t reach them without throwing everything on the ground.

In a way, it was Ezra’s fault that I was out of sorts, running late, and carrying more than I could manage. I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t notice my wandering gaze or embarrassing blush, because this time I wasn’t wearing a darn hat. But he was distracting as usual in a form-fitted tee that warred with his thick biceps, his artfully mussed damp hair, and that sunny smile.

My racing pulse at the mere sight of him leaning casually against the porch banister was my first clue that I wasn’t as immune to him as I’d hoped. And now this.

“Which pocket? I’ll get ’em,” he offered.

“Front right pocket.” I held my breath when he slipped his fingers inside and fished out my car keys.

“Got it.” He opened the door and helped toss things into the trunk, then slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt.

I wiped my clammy palms on my shorts, realizing I’d never been in a car with Ezra. This felt strange. We shared spaces in the house, but not out in the real world. I glanced up at the old house and mumbled, “Wish me luck” before getting behind the wheel.

Two blocks into the drive, we started talking over each other.

“Did you—”

“I read the—”

I chuckled. “You first.”

“Okay. My original plan was to strut around in the special secret robe as agreed, and call it a day. But my pride wouldn’t allow me to show up to a smarty-pants party looking like an idiot, so…I pulled up the links you forwarded and did my homework.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, supposedly, Henry the Eighth was attractive, charismatic, athletic, and accomplished. He wrote music, spoke six languages, and was skilled at archery, fencing, and wrestling. He also had a thing for making romantic conquests…and then having them killed for treason. I’m assuming I’m Henry before the crazy set in.”

“You can play him however you’d like.”

“Artistic license, eh?”

“Yes. The entire fair is an homage to that period in history, but we cover a broad spectrum. Henry the Eighth had been dead for over forty years by the time Shakespeare became a major influencer. And his daughter, Queen Elizabeth, had been on the throne for decades. Yet we portray all three of them in their prime. It’s historically inaccurate to say the least, but we give the public what they want.”

“They want Henry the Eighth to slap high fives with Shakespeare even though they were never in the same room together in real life?”

“Exactly. It’s like putting Albert Einstein and Britney Spears in the same room. The timeline is off, but everything else is accurate. Our goal is to make Renaissance in the Park feel like walking into a bustling summer fair circa 1520 till 1600, which happens to be the year Shakespeare published some of his most popular plays,” I gushed as I slowed at a red light.

“I think this is where I’m supposed to ask which ones,” Ezra replied matter-of-factly.

I chuckled, unperturbed. “Well, since you inquired…my two favorites:Romeo and Julietwas published in 1597 andA Midsummer Night’s Dreamin 1600.”