Page 64 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Hi. We need a crown for SummerFest,” Mike says to the florist. “Can you build it on this?” He passes over my diadem of silk flowers and ribbon.
“Oh, um…” The florist frowns. “What flowers were you thinking?”
“Cactuses,” Mike says casually. “Really prickly ones.”
The florist’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, well… We could do succulents.”
“Close enough. How long? The SummerFest waits for no fairy queen.”
“Come back in forty-five minutes.”
We exit the elegant flower shop and head toward Girard Avenue. “What are we going to do for an hour?” I ask, arms folded across the front of my lacy off-the-shoulder sundress. “I have a schedule to keep here.”
“Right, those reruns ofStarship Cruiserwon’t watch themselves.”
“Mike!”
“Everything is always accusations and arguments. Did your parents ever let you out of a courtroom?”
“No, they brought the courtroom home, to the car, to the dinner table. The only escape was fiction, but even then I had to wade through years of legal thrillers before I realized there were other genres.” I have to jog a step to catch up with him. “Where are we going?”
“Other genres?” Mike says, a smirk poised on his lips. “Like military science fiction?”
“Starship Cruiseris a utopia of humanity’s future.”
“With battleships and hierarchy of command?” He stops in front of a dazzling gift and stationery store. The kind that sells the type of expensive fountain pens that Mom is always buying for Dad, and Dad is always losing. I let him borrow one of mine one time, and I haven’t seen it since.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Would you relax?”
“I can’t go in there. I don’t have any money or willpower when it comes to expensive fountain pens.”
“I’d tell you to close your eyes, offer to hold your hand, but I don’t want to be prosecuted within an inch of my life for whatever injustice you’d leap to, so I’ll just say this—there are books inside.”
“What?” I stand on tiptoe, trying to see past the fountain pens and cases of artisan costume jewelry.
“Lots of them. Warwick’s has the best shelves in all of San Diego. Their shelf talkers read like poetry. Come on.” Mike holds the door open for me, and I enter, darting not at all smoothly past the pens to the section of books.
It’s magical. So many shelves of so many beautiful books. More than enough to get lost in for an afternoon, but not too many to get overwhelmed. “How did I not know about this place?”
“Maybe you’re functionally illiterate. Would explain why you had to quit your day job.”
“Har-har.” I run my finger across shelves of glossy spines.
“Mike! Hi!” A kindly looking man gives Mike a quick hug. “I thought that was you.”
“Hey, Sam. Happy SummerFest.”
Sam’s laugh is tight. “Indeed. Do you have a minute?”
“Forty-five, in fact.” Mike winks at me, and I roll my eyes.
“Would you excuse us?” Sam says before leading Mike away.
I check out the view of Mike’s retreating backside before turning my attention to the science fiction/fantasy section. I’m dying to browse the romance section and sniff out where they keep the Shakespeare, but Mike has enough ammo against me.
“You need to stop staring at my butt whenever I walk away.”
