Then, a gust of wind hits.
The tent wobbles.
Piper gasps. “Save it!”
I sprint forward and grab the poles before the entire structure takes flight.
Piper shrieks behind me. “My glitter!”
“Your glitter isn’t the priority.”
“I worked hard on this face.”
“I worked hard on this tent.”
We fight the wind together, shouting, laughing, swearing. When the gust dies, we’re both bent over, catching our breath.
Piper wipes sweat from her forehead, leaving a streak of glitter behind. She looks ridiculous and radiant at the same time.
I grab a bigger rock and make sure it’s properly secured this time.
She nudges me again. “Thanks for putting up the tent.”
“Thanks for… supervising.”
She giggles, and damn it, it does something to me.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get inside before it collapses again.”
She crawls in first, glitter raining in her wake.
Then, with a tilt of her lips that I’m sure will kill me, she winks and says, “Let’s see where else we can put this glitter.”
Thirty-Seven
Piper
The second we step through the festival gates, my entire body goes electric.
A folk band calledThe Willow Breakersis on stage, and the sound that comes off that fiddle hits me directly in the chest like, “Hey girl, let’s make some deeply questionable decisions tonight.”
Griffin stands beside me, arms crossed, freshly showered after losing an hour of his life arguing with tent poles.
I spin toward him, arms wide, inhaling the smoky air, the lights, and the warm buzz of strangers. “Griff, we’re here. Do you feel the magic? Do you feel the—”
“—humidity,” he finishes. “I feel humidity.”
Honestly, I’ll take it.
We’re barely five steps onto the field before a girl in a neon vest jumps in our path. “There’s a silent disco in the big tent! You two interested?”
My eyes go wide.
Griffin doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“Oh, comeon,” I whine. “We’re experiencing everything. That’s the rule. Everything.”
“I’ll experience it when I’m drunk.”
