ã€ŠWait for Me - a slow burn atmospheric romanceã€‹


 Chapter 1: Shelbys premonition (revamped version!)

    I awake with a start, blinking in the still quiet darkness. I¡¯m expecting the tsunami to crush me. It doesn¡¯t. Instead of cold sand beneath me, there are warm sheets. I¡¯m not lying on the beach in Santa Monica, six blocks from my parents¡¯ house. I¡¯m lying in one of the twin beds in the children¡¯s room of my Uncle Theo¡¯s farmhouse.

    No, it¡¯s now my farmhouse.* Or rather, our farmhouse. Theo left it to my older sister Sydney and me. Settling the pillows so I can sit comfortably, I scrub my hands over my face. My cell phone reads 5:45 a.m. Right on time. Since moving to Washington State to care for my great uncle two years ago, I¡¯ve become an early-morning person.

    Theo, I miss you, I tell his spirit mentally as I glance around the room in the gray morning light. It¡¯s a kids¡¯ room, still frozen in time of the early 70s. The walls are white, the bookcases bright yellow, and the twin beds pink and yellow handmade patch quilts on the twin beds lovingly made by my great grandmother. It¡¯s exactly as it was for my mother, and then for my sister and I when we spent Augusts here as kids.

    I talk to Theo in my head frequently. Wherever he is, I hope he can hear me. I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s been gone six months. Right now, it feels like six days. This is not how I, Shelby Alpinieri, a thirty-four-year-old graphic designer who never finished my illustration degree, wanted to become a homeowner.

    The dream felt so real this time. My heart is still racing. I should be used to it by now. I¡¯ve had iterations of this nightmare for years.

    It¡¯s always the same. I run the six blocks from my childhood home down in Santa Monica to the beach, watching in horror as a vast wave builds on the horizon. When I arrive at the shore, it¡¯s full of people. I wave my arms about wildly, yelling and pointing to the towering wall of water silently rolling toward us, warning everyone that we have to flee to higher ground. No one pays any attention to me.

    What sucks is that it¡¯s a premonition. It¡¯s cautioning that some kind of bad news is coming. Sometimes, I wish I hadn¡¯t inherited this small slice of psychic talent from both my Italian and Norwegian great-grandmothers.

    Occasionally, this strange gift lets me know something positive will happen, primarily for other people. More often, it acts as a red flag like this, warning me something bad is coming just for me. What a way to start a Monday.

    I pick up my phone again and scroll through my emails. My eye snags on, ¡°Can we talk today?¡± It¡¯s from Dulari, my project manager at Trident*,* the active living publishing house, bringing out my Horse Girls coloring book this fall. My stomach twists as I read it. Their new VP of Marketing needs to see me become ¡°more of an influencer on Instagram ASAP.¡± She wants an online meeting tomorrow and Dulari wants to prep me for it. Crap.

    This could certainly be what the dream¡¯s warning me about. What started as a fun, stress-reducing project during Covid has become an uphill grind. Initially, it was a way to focus on improving my visual storytelling skills and engage Uncle Theo in more enjoyable subjects than daily pain management and cajoling him to eat. He was such a supporter of my becoming more of an artist and less of a marketing hack.

    Yes, working on Horse Girls has completely transformed my drawing skills. Yes, it is launching my longed-for career shift from graphic design to illustration. But boy, the path to getting published has been rough, especially lately.

    Initially, I pitched the coloring book idea to Dulari when she worked for a small educational publisher in Portland, Oregon. That shockingly quick yes turned into one delay after another when Trident bought out that publisher.

    I step into my slippers, pull my favorite fleece lined hoodie on against the chill, and head downstairs. I need tea before I call Dulari. I text that I¡¯ll give her a call in about twenty minutes.

    I let the young mini Goldendoodle Butterscotch out of her sleeping crate in the laundry room at the back of the house. She¡¯s teddy bear adorable, all caramel blond curls. She gives happy yips and wiggles as I slip on my rain jacket against the late June drizzle. As soon as the back door opens, she shoots out, her nails scrambling on the spacious, wet wooden deck and down the stairs to the grass.

    I¡¯m dog-sitting for my neighbor Gunnar, or rather his fianc¨¦e Jenna. Butterscotch is a surprise gift for Gunnar¡¯s tween daughter Lorelei from her soon-to-be step-mom. They¡¯re moving up here full-time from Los Angeles in two weeks. Jenna brought the dog when she drove Gunnar¡¯s truck up with a girlfriend in late May and so she could work on freshening up the old farmhouse. Of course, I said yes to the favor. Gunnar was always ready to lend a hand with Theo when he was around, and with my vegetable garden. This year, he promised to help me build a drip irrigation system for it.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    A chorus of layered birdsong greets my ears as I stand under the covered portion of the deck in the growing light. The drizzle isn¡¯t enough to deter them from greeting the morning. Rain is too frequent a fact of life for birds in the Pacific Northwest. Occasionally I even hear the cry of an eagle.

    While I wait for the dog to do her business, my eyes go first to the jagged silhouette of fir trees lining the back of the property. They¡¯re about a football field away, across the field that used to grow crops. The deep, mysterious shades of green never fail to draw my artist¡¯s eye.

    As I stand still, taking in the trees, I slow my breathing. Box breathing is one of the exercises I learned online to help me deal with my grief over Theo¡¯s slow downhill slide. Four counts in, hold for four counts, exhale for four, and then hold for four again. I feel my heart rate slow and calm.

    Dulari¡¯s email might not be as bad as it sounds. Instead of ruminating on possible disasters, I try another valuable exercise to help calm anxiety. I focus on the freshness in the air. I love that marvelous crisp, rich fragrance of the trees and grass and the general greenness that the rain stirs up.

    I let my eyes drift over the lush, verdant landscape. The several acres of field in front of me on our property include a small apple, plum, and pear orchard. The two plum trees are promising ripe fruit soon, which I¡¯m looking forward to. I love making plum cobbler.

    On Gunnar¡¯s side, the field is broken into fenced-off pastures. They all held horses when I was a child, a few of whom I had the privilege of riding. This was back when Gunnar¡¯s grandmother Nan owned the house, and his great-aunt Sally trained and boarded horses there.

    This was my idea of heaven as a child. Gunnar and his cousin Rune (my former summertime bestie) spent the whole summer here. Rune and I were inseparable all August, and Gunnar and Syd were the same.

    Bleh. Thinking about Rune now is almost as bad as my nightmare and Dulari¡¯s email. It¡¯s embarrassing to still be mad at someone ten years later, but there it is. We had a falling out when we met again at the Sundance Film Festival a decade ago and haven¡¯t talked since.

    Butterscotch runs up the back steps and follows me back inside, eager for breakfast. After I feed her, I eat the small bowl of perfectly ripe strawberries I picked yesterday while I brew a mug of organic Earl Grey tea. The deep red fruit is so sweet and delicious. Nothing at a grocery store compares. I wish I could just focus on this fantastic flavor instead of ruminating on Rune. Why think of him now? He¡¯s never visited during the summers since I¡¯ve lived here, though he and Gunnar, and especially Lorelei, are close.

    What stings and still mystifies is how Rune seemed the same the first night we met up at the film festival. Oh sure, he was more handsome than ever. By then, our friendship had devolved into one of text messages and postcards; we never could quite get it together to meet, but we were definitely still good friends. The next night, however, he ended up being an arrogant jerk. Maybe my mom¡¯s right. Maybe actors are just bad news.

    **

    ¡°Shelby! I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re up this early; how¡¯s summer on the gorgeous Kitsap Peninsula?¡± Dulari greets my call.

    ¡°Cool and misting this morning, but my vegetable garden loves it,¡± I tell her as I sit in one of the two big old-fashioned wooden swivel chairs in the office and turn on my wide desktop monitor. ¡°Break it to me, Dulari. Tell me about this new hoop I need to jump through.¡±

    ¡°Oof. Yes. Shelby, things have been especially crazy around here,¡± Dular admits. Thank God she¡¯s always candid with me. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m still wondering exactly what this new VP wants, but here¡¯s what I know. She¡¯s unhappy that our lead illustrator on Horse Girls isn¡¯t nearly as popular on Instagram as the other two.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, they¡¯re extroverted socially active twenty-somethings who excel at posing for attractive selfies with their gorgeous horses. I¡¯m introverted and like to focus on promoting my art,¡± I try not to sound too whiny, but even to my ears, I sound rather pathetic.

    ¡°I understand, Shelby, I do,¡± Dulari says kindly, ¡°but Cheryl is rather a dragon lady about it. Anything you can do for tomorrow¡¯s meeting would be a good idea. When are you bringing out your next fanart coloring page? Those are always popular. My daughter and I love them.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t had time to think about it with all of the other changes we¡¯ve had to make to Horse Girls recently,¡± I admit, ¡°It¡¯s been a huge lift reimagining the whole coloring book into something Trident felt is more marketable. Figuring out how to blend my style with these other two other illustrators of yours to make it all work on the timeline has been quite a feat.¡±

    ¡°Yes. And you¡¯ve been a champion, and it looks fantastic,¡± Dulari assures me, ¡°But just between us, I still love your original concept based on real women and horses. Unfortunately, it was just too expensive to get permission from anyone who was still alive or their legacy too famous.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± I sigh because I do.

    ¡°So put something together for tomorrow that shows how you¡¯ll pivot into promotion mode now that you¡¯ve turned in all of the final artwork,¡± Dulari encourages.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree, ¡°But first, I¡¯ve got to go get ready for an early breakfast meeting. Thanks for the heads up. I¡¯ll see you online tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure. Come up with a new coloring page idea!¡± Dulari reminds me as she signs off, ¡°Post about that to get people excited.¡±

    She¡¯s referring to the fact that another one of my Covid projects was to reimagine the covers of my favorite fantasy books as free coloring pages for my social media followers.

    I¡¯ve been so swamped with last-minute details on Horse Girls I haven¡¯t created a coloring page in a few months. She¡¯s right. It is a good idea to come up with one. I¡¯ll look through my bookshelves later and see if inspiration strikes.

    As I¡¯m walking up the stairs to get dressed my phone buzzes. My heart lifts. It¡¯s my almost-boyfriend Jack calling.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I say, happy to be distracted, ¡°how was your hike this weekend?¡±

 Chapter 2: An unfun memory lane (new edits!)

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

 Chapter 3: Shelby decides shes cursed (new edits!)

    ¡°Oh? Syd, Dad, and I have been trying to convince her that for years,¡± I laugh to try and hide my grumpiness.

    This is the one strange sticking point in Mom¡¯s love for being the center of attention. She has a website and a large Facebook following of High School and college friends but has yet to do more than that online.

    ¡°That was before the pandemic,¡± Mom defends herself, ¡°when my career as an event planner was sizzling. Now I need a gimmick to get back in the game.¡± This is true. She¡¯s hardly been working at all and it¡¯s driving her crazy.

    ¡°Not a gimmick, Eva,¡± Pamela corrects her firmly, ¡°remember, you have to use social media strategically.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right. However, I¡¯ve got an idea we both agree is hot,¡± Mom says, ¡°I¡¯m going back to my roots as a window designer like I was in fashion school for Theo¡¯s shops.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fantastic at it,¡± I say because a) it¡¯s true and b) you have to handle Mom with kid gloves, ¡°But is that still a thing?¡± I ask, thinking it¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve seen a stunning window display. I¡¯ve seen charming ones, but stunning? Not since the last time I was in Italy a few years ago.

    ¡°That¡¯s where Eva¡¯s being brilliant,¡± Pamela says, ¡°it¡¯s time to bring gorgeous over-the-top window displays back into fashion, not only in LA and New York. There are too many empty windows in cities across the US these days. It¡¯s a real downer.¡±

    I hate to admit that Pamela¡¯s right. The last time I took the ferry to downtown Seattle, it was a bit depressing store window-wise. However, part of that is because downtowns have yet to rebound from the hit they took during the pandemic.

    ¡°I¡¯ve already convinced Bill and his mom to let me do the bike shop¡¯s windows for the Fourth of July to get my hands in the clay again,¡± Mom tells me.

    ¡°Good for you,¡± I say, and I mean it, as I pull up to the house.

    ¡°Here¡¯s where you come in, Shelby,¡± Pamela says eagerly, ¡°I¡¯ll make your mom¡¯s social media go through the stratosphere for free, for old time¡¯s sake, if you can convince your old friend, the former millennial TV heartthrob Asher Dillion to be my new social media client.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, trying to buy time to think, ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to Asher in years,¡± I say, remembering to use Rune¡¯s stage name, ¡°I don¡¯t have his number anymore.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t his cousin Gunnar arriving next week to live next door full-time?¡± Mom asks helpfully, ¡°He¡¯ll be happy to give it to you.¡± Crap. Most of the time Mom ignores any of the Borstad¡¯s existence.

    ¡°Asher is just the type of still-very-hot-to-look at but career-in-the-toilet actor I¡¯m perfect for,¡± Pamela goes on in her best sales pitch voice, ¡°but of course, you¡¯ll present the idea to him in a much more charming way Shelby. Franklin is distraught that his favorite protege is throwing his career away by stepping away from acting and traveling the globe to find himself. From what I hear, he¡¯s spending far more time breaking hearts.¡±

    **

    Somehow, I managed to exit the phone conversation quickly. Listening to my mom gobble up Pamela¡¯s perfunctory social media advice was like listening to nails on a chalkboard. The idea of calling Rune and convincing him to have Pamela handle his social media is even worse. That doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯d recommend he hire Pamela, though. Not a chance. I¡¯m mad at him; I don¡¯t despise him that much, even if he travels around breaking hearts.

    At my feet, Butterscotch woofs insistently. She wants one of the ice cubes from the tea I''m making. I stop and toss one to her. She catches it adroitly mid-air and hurries back to her crate to eat it. She adores anything crunchy; her favorites are carrots, cucumber, and red cabbage.

    Hearing Pamela¡¯s distinctively gravelly voice again has brought all of my old work anxiety roaring back. I¡¯m surprised my eye tick didn¡¯t return, too. How did I survive working for her for so many years? I never felt like I could live up to her standards. I never had enough time to learn what I needed to learn, and I never quite got everything done in the time I had to do it.

    I put the knife down and took a deep breath. I remind myself that for all her self-assuredness, Pamela¡¯s a drama-addicted disaster. It wasn¡¯t until I began working at the second storytelling agency that I realized this.

    It was so empowering to work for well-organized, sane people. Pamela was constantly moving the goalposts. And she was never satisfied, no matter how much the client thought we knocked it out of the park for them.

    I told my parents very clearly why I left Pamela Lyon¡¯s agency four years ago. Why is Mom cozying up to her this way again? Our family has enough talent to help her with any social media outreach. She doesn¡¯t need Pamela just because it¡¯s yet another anniversary for *One More Midnight with You*.

    Franklin Haus always includes Mom in special events and interviews to commemorate them, even if he pays little attention to her the rest of the time these days. It¡¯s obvious they now move in different worlds.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Now that I think of it, this was probably the same story with Rune and me when we met up at the Sundance Film Festival a decade ago. He just didn¡¯t know how to tell me. I¡¯m not mad about that. I get that. What I can¡¯t get over is that *he¡¯s* the one who insisted we meet in person. And now I learn he¡¯s an itinerant globe-trotting heartbreaker to boot. Thank goodness I dodged that bullet.

    **

    ¡°Hello, Butterscotch! Hello Shelby!¡± My friend, former colleague, and client Vivienne¡¯s lovely face fills my desktop monitor screen, ¡°How are my two favorite blondes?¡±

    We¡¯re having our regular Monday afternoon catch-up call. It combines my work on her graphic design needs with her wise counsel on my life in general. I¡¯m eager for her feedback on my encounter with Pamela, whom we both used to work for.

    Butterscotch yaps happily and tries to lick my large desktop monitor while I hold her firmly on my lap. Viv¡¯s impeccably dressed, as always, rocking her signature cornrows. Today, she¡¯s wearing a bright yellow sweater with a deep plunge that looks striking against her dark skin and shows off her ample curves.

    Seeing my face reflected on the screen is sobering. I look drawn and tired. My lightly freckled face is extra pale in my dark purple hoodie. I usually make an effort for these calls because Viv is always beautifully turned out. Today, however, I¡¯ve been too preoccupied with bad news. I¡¯ve barely even brushed my hair. My dishwater blonde hair is in a messy bun on top of my head because I just couldn¡¯t be bothered.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s silly,¡± I tell Vivienne, doing my best to sound cheerful, ¡°But Butterscotch¡¯s excitement makes my day every time.¡± I only let Butterscotch greet people on calls with people I know who love dogs, like my fourteen-year-old nephew Nils.

    ¡°Oh, mine too!¡± Vivienne laughs, ¡°If only all of my clients were this happy to see me!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t they all love you?¡± I ask, ¡°Who doesn¡¯t want a better love life? I sure do.¡± During the pandemic, Vivienne left the storytelling agency we worked at together and launched herself as a sensuality coach full-time. I was one of the only people who knew it was her side hustle.

    ¡°Wanting versus being ready to do the work are two different things, Shelby,¡± Vivienne keeps laughing, and my cheeks grow hot.

    ¡°True,¡± I agree, ¡°some of your homework is hard.¡±

    ¡°It is, but it¡¯s worth it,¡± she says with a knowing smile, ¡°Where are you getting triggered right now?¡± Viv has recently started helping me clarify what I want from my relationship with Jack. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on what we need to do on your website today,¡± I say, delaying with one of my favorite tactics: work.

    ¡°Shelby, I love that you¡¯re an artist who always keeps your eye on the ball and never misses a deadline,¡± Vivienne winks at me, ¡°but don¡¯t think I¡¯ll forget my question.¡±

    ¡°Of course, you won¡¯t,¡± I smile wryly.

    Earlier, I sent her sample icons, new original artwork for her new website, and social media feed. It¡¯s a brand refresh to celebrate her success and help her achieve her next goals. Just two years after leaving her day job, Viv has a waiting list for clients. Now, she wants to focus on gaining media attention.

    The two of us met when we both worked for Pamela. She was the marketing director, and I was a graphic designer straight out of community college. Viv was smart and quickly moved to a better agency after Pamela divorced, and things got even more chaotic. Two years later, she helped me land a job at her new agency.

    ¡°We¡¯re a go with this set of illustrations,¡± Viv confirms, holding up one of the pages I sent her, tapping with an elegant hot pink nail complete with sparkly rhinestones, ¡°They¡¯re going to give my website exactly the sophisticated, sexy fun I was looking for.¡±

    Of the three choices I offered her, she chose the whimsical, flirty, hand-drawn icons. I¡¯m thrilled because they¡¯re my favorites, too. ¡°You¡¯ve noticed, of course, that I dressed in honor of my new color palette today, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did, and you¡¯re stunning; wear this outfit when you create some of your video clips,¡± I tell her.

    Vivienne¡¯s new color palette is the bright jewel tones of raspberry pink, blue turquoise, and bright lemon yellow. They¡¯re fresh and vibrant, just like she is.

    Honestly, I envy how much she has it all figured out with her business and her love life. For as long as I¡¯ve known her, she¡¯s been in a happy romantic relationship with her partner Matthias, a university professor.

    ¡°Big leagues, here I come,¡± Vivienne says excitedly, ¡°and your art will play a crucial part in that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so excited for you,¡± I tell her, ¡°I feel like amazing things are about to unfold.¡±

    ¡°Is this officially one of your expert psychic feelings?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say confidently, realizing that it is.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s going on with you, girl?¡± Vivienne asks after we got through our to-do list on her website¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°Are you and Jack set for your fancy fundraiser this weekend? Did you pick out your costumes yet?¡±

    ¡°The video¡¯s coming along well. Jack¡¯s coming over tomorrow night, so we can review the final edits and hopefully pick out our costumes.¡±

    ¡°Fantastic!¡± Viv flashes me her gorgeous grin again, ¡°I¡¯d love to see them when you decide. So, what¡¯s the rub? Why the depressed energy today?¡± she asks, using her index fingers to make a big circle. Viv sees auras.

    ¡°Vivienne,¡± I sigh, ¡°I think I might be cursed."

    ¡°Let¡¯s be careful with our language, Shelby; words have power,¡± she tells me.

    ¡°First,¡± I say, holding up the index finger on my right hand, ¡°Trident¡¯s making me do a social media audition tomorrow morning for my coloring book. Second,¡± I hold up my second finger, which means I¡¯m making the peace sign, and I feel anything but that, ¡°My mom¡¯s chumming up with Pamela Lyons, who wants me to convince an ex-friend who¡¯s an actor to be her client.¡±

    ¡°Oh boy, neither is fun,¡± she commiserates, ¡°Weren¡¯t you all set to publish in August?¡±

    ¡°I thought so. Now I¡¯m worried I might be fired from my own project.¡± I don¡¯t tell her about my tsunami dream. Admitting I feel cursed is bad enough, and she¡¯s right. Words do have power.

    ¡°Is that what they actually said?¡± Viv pyramids her fingers and gazes at me over them with the serene composure I admire.

    ¡°No, not exactly. Dulari told me in our conversation today that the new VP of Marketing wants to, and I quote, *see evidence I¡¯m on track to become a much stronger social media influencer* . ¡°I know this is hard for you, Shelby,¡± Viv says kindly, ¡°but maybe the universe is offering you an opportunity to notice why that¡¯s so uncomfortable for you.¡±

    ¡°Maybe so,¡± I say grudgingly.

    ¡°So, tell me more about Pamela¡¯s crazy request that you finagle an old friend to be her client in return for handling your mom¡¯s social media for free.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right, she wants me to convince my friend Rune, who¡¯s an actor, to be her client.¡±

    ¡°Who names their child Rune?¡± She laughs, ¡°Is he one of your Vikings from up there in little Norway?¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± I tell her, ¡°It¡¯s easier if you just Google him.¡±

 Chapter 4: Speak of the devil (new edits!)

    ¡°What¡¯s his last name?¡±

    ¡°His stage name is Asher Dillion,¡± I tell her. You may have heard of him.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t ring a bell,¡± she says. I hear her nails tapping on her keyboard. ¡°Oh wow, he¡¯s that guy who played Gregg Allman in The Troubadour Tales limited TV series.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I sigh, ¡°that¡¯s him.¡±

    ¡°Why is he your ex-friend?¡± Vivienne asks, her eyes darting back and forth.

    I imagine dozens and dozens of images of Rune have come up, just like the last time I got tipsy by myself and Googled him a few years ago. The Internet was full of him and his equally beautiful but even more famous actress, Julia Endo.

    ¡°We had a falling out when we met again at Sundance ten years ago,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°I find it fascinating that he¡¯s so different from Jack. He¡¯s so blonde and laid-back looking. And those lips!¡± Vivienne hums her approval. ¡°What happened? Did he break your heart?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I say, lying, ¡°he just crushed my ego.¡±

    ¡°Spill it, girlfriend,¡± she makes a beckoning gesture with the fingertips of both hands.

    "Rune and I spent every August together from when I was nine until I was fourteen," I tell Vivienne, feeling sad remembering as I stare at the window.

    "Mmmhmm. I would not have minded those plush lips being my first kiss," Vivienne says approvingly.

    "They weren''t!" I exclaim, feeling my face heat, "We were just friends."

    "Tell me you at least thought about it!" Vivienne asks; she seems to be zooming in on a photo, "I mean he''s just too dreamy."

    "Of course I did! But I didn''t want to wreck our friendship by doing something stupid in case he wasn''t interested."

    "Yet somehow it got wrecked at Sundance anyway,¡± Viv nudged.

    "Yep. It sure did. We¡¯d stayed in touch by phone and stuff, and then we met up at Sundance when we were promoting that hot indie film we did the marketing materials for at Pamela''s."

    "That was a fun trip,¡± Viv chuckles, ¡°when we could get away from Pamela and her drama. Was he the cute guy you disappeared with at that bar? He had a beanie on covering his bright hair."

    "You remember?" I say, surprised, "Yeah, he was. We had a wonderful time catching up that first night. Then the next night, he insisted we meet up at one of those private house parties, and he refused to dance with me, saying, and I quote, it wouldn''t look good, and he disappeared."

    "The cad!¡± Vivienne exclaims, ¡°And you''re such a fantastic dancer!"

    Vivienne''s the one who''s encouraged me to use dance to get back into my body while I''ve been up here caring for Theo and after dealing with my grief. It''s been so helpful.

    "Exactly!" I exclaim back, "I wasn''t asking to be seen on his arm tooling around Park City, just to dance the way we used to back in my great grandma''s empty barn.

    **

    After I hang up, I sit staring out the window feeling bummed by thinking about the past. The drizzle has cleared up. I should go out and spend time in my vegetable garden. It''s growing like weeds. The arugula looks like it''s already bolting.

    Vivienne''s right about Rune and Jack being so different. It was on purpose. After Rune, I was never interested in the most head-turningly handsome boys. In Jr. High I was learning quickly that guys like him starred in the school plays, artsy but ordinary girls like me painted the backdrops.

    But sadly he was also, I hate to admit, the friend I clicked with the most ever. That''s what hurt most about him ditching me at the film festival. I lost that fantastic, creative friendship.

    Oh sure, it had become long-distance by then. Even living in the same region, we could never quite work out connecting in person. Still, I loved knowing I had at least one equally horse-mad friend. A friend who also had crazy vivid dreams and liked the same kinds of fantasy and sci-fi books. We used to have such fun imagining how we''d make them into movies together someday.

    I turn slowly in the old-fashioned wooden swivel chair I''m sitting in, taking in the office around me. It''s filled with antique office pieces from my great-great grandfather''s furniture business. As with the kid''s bedroom upstairs, Uncle Theo didn''t change anything here. It''s like a museum. It has a dark academia vibe. I like it, even if it is a bit somber. It feels like I''m on a movie set or inside a book.

    Right behind me sits a big, wide, shoulder-height bookshelf that acts as my backdrop when I¡¯m on calls. Since the bookshelf in my room upstairs is still full of my mother and grandmother¡¯s old books, I keep the handful of favorites I brought with me down here.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    My eyes catch on the spine of Howl''s Moving Castle. I need a comfort read tonight, a book to help move me out of this stressful news funk. I slide the well-worn paper back out and gaze at its cover.

    Along with drawing coloring pages about famous women and horses during lockdown, I also started reimaging the covers of some of my favorite YA fantasy. It¡¯s still one of my favorite genres. To get myself off the computer I went old school, drawing by hand in a way I hadn¡¯t since High School. I''ve been dragging my feet on trying to create something for Howl''s. It¡¯s been too loaded.

    My eyes spark with tears, remembering. It was Rune''s mother, Astrid, who introduced us to the book the last summer we were here together. I don''t approve of my former friend becoming a globe-trotting heartbreaker, but I understand his taking time off to travel to deal with grief.

    Astrid died of breast cancer during the worst part of the pandemic. She must have only been in her early 50s, if that. Far too young. I wipe my wet cheek with the edge of my hood. Maybe it''s time to honor her and finally take on Howl¡¯s as a coloring page for my email newsletter.

    These days, more people know the beautiful, animated movie by Hayao Miyazaki than the book that inspired it. I love the film, but it''s British author Diana Wynne Jones¡¯s book that has such a special place in my heart. I set the novel on top of the bookcase to read tonight and call to Butterscotch to go outside.

    **

    It''s here in the garden that I feel Uncle Reuben, Theo''s husband. He was by far the quieter of the two men, but he had a fun, ironic wit. He liked to refer to Theo as the show pony and himself as Bill the Pack Pony, knowing I''d appreciate his reference to the incredibly loyal character in Lord of the Rings.

    I meander slowly, inspecting the series of raised wooden beds where most of the vegetables are growing, noticing where I need to catch up on the weeding and more. The air is filled with birdsong, the murmur of bees, and the occasional whirling of a hummingbird darting in to warn that I¡¯m intruding into their territory.

    Like so many, my neighbor Marguerite and I (who lives in the third house in our little rural neighborhood here) decided to grow our own vegetables during the pandemic. We revived and expanded what Uncle Reuben had started, and now we proudly raise about 80% of all the vegetables we eat between late-June and October.

    This year, our friend Luna has promised to teach us to preserve so we don''t waste any of the bounty. None of us are preppers, but the climate crisis is making us nervous enough that we like the idea of at least partial food independence.

    As I open the latched gate to the clear roofed enclosure adjacent to the potting shed where I''m growing strawberries, I startle a wild young bunny. Her small, faun brown body freezes with one of my snap pea pods hanging out of her mouth. She¡¯s hoping I haven''t seen her. When I move closer, she dashes under a hole in the fence. I don''t mind. I''m growing a lot of sugar snap peas this year, and the strawberries are in pots high enough off the ground so that the rabbits can''t reach them.

    The intoxicatingly scent of honeysuckle surrounds me from a vine that''s taken over one side of the outside of the enclosure. It''s now making good progress moving inside too, slipping through the gap between the wooden wall and the clear plastic roof overhead. Breathing in the heavenly fragrance I contemplate how to approach drawing a fanart cover for Howl''s Moving Castle. The book is named after the second main character, the flamboyantly handsome Wizard Howl (who is fond of wearing floral scent). But the story''s main character is a young woman named Sophie Hatter.

    Howl and Sophie have the most hysterically funny, snarky relationship throughout the book. I laugh out loud every time I read it. It''s an extremely slow-burn blink, and you miss it romance, emphasis on extremely. For much of the story, eighteen-year-old Sophie is under a curse from a witch, making her an old woman. The most marvelous thing about this? She discovers her own power (and her own magic) as an elder because she no longer cares what anyone thinks, including Howl, whom she assumes is evil for a good part of the story.

    After I water the strawberries, I take out a kneeling pad, a pair of clippers, and a wicker basket from the potting shed and start cropping back and collecting arugula for dinner tomorrow night. We''re so far north here that the long summer days cause quick-growing plants like arugula, lettuce, and spinach to bolt quickly.

    Whose face should I use as my model for Wizard Howl? Usually, the characters I draw are composites, a mix of features from people I pull together on the Internet. But what if, instead, I only draw one person for a particular character, like Howl, and make it someone famous? Could that give my social media the lift Trident is looking for? Who could I draw as the vain, generous, lazy but smart, flaxen blond Howl (though he dyes his hair other colors to suit his whims)?

    While contemplating this, I''m listening to happy Harry Styles music on my phone. Harry might be good for Howl; he certainly has the charm. My head''s full of weighing the pros and cons of each youngish handsome British actor I can think of when a pair of men''s brown ankle boots step into my downcast field of vision.

    The boots are vintage lace-ups. They¡¯re in excellent condition as if they''ve recently been polished. They resemble something that Uncle Theo would have carried in one of his shops.

    Looking up and pulling out my earbuds, I take in the tall, slender, denim-on-denim-clad form of Rune (Asher Dillion) Borstad glaring down at me. Oh no.

    Yikes. Why is Rune glaring at me like that, looking like an avenging angel? I didn''t ditch him at a party and never apologize.

    No, he doesn''t look like an angel. Even in head-to-toe denim, he looks like Wizard Howl when he finally gets angry and goes after the Witch of the Waste for threatening his sister''s family.

    Rune looks tired, slightly ill, and gut-punch handsome. His light jade-green eyes are bloodshot with what I hope is merely fatigue and not some kind of substance use. They''re not the marble green of Howl''s eyes, but they are green.

    All he needs is an elaborate robe with long fluttering sleeves, and to grow his hair, and he''d be perfect. My fingers itch to draw him. Rune''s not pale blond like Howl, but he can wear it well. Starting as a young teen, his bright apricot hair was dyed sun-kissed wheat for his years on T.V. And then, it was dyed bright flax just like Howl''s to play Gregg Allman in The Troubadour Tales. Now, it''s deepened a little into red gold cut shorter on the sides and longer on top, artfully tousled in a way that takes product, skill, and, I''m sure, a fortune.

    "Hey," I say, standing quickly after what feels like an hour of staring up at him (but is probably more like seconds). Even if I wasn''t still mad at him, I don''t want to be kneeling at his feet. I''m sure he gets enough of that from women, albeit metaphorically.

    Dio Mio (My God! As my Italian dad might say). That face. Before I think of how strange it might sound, I blurt out, "You''d make a great Howl."

 Chapter 5: Rune magic (new edits)

    "Yes, I''d like to make a great howl right now, thank you very much," Rune snaps in a voice that''s deeper and more there than I remember. It rings like a bell through me.

    "No, I mean from Howl''s Moving Castle," I clarify, feeling a little woozy.

    "As intriguing as it sounds, I''m not acting anymore," he says as if he''s told me this a hundred times, "Do you have an extra set of keys to Nan''s house?"

    "Yes, I do. And no, they''re not making a movie of it," I snap back, dusting off my gardening gloves and removing them, "I''m drawing a new fan art coloring page. But wouldn''t playing Howl be yet another in your line of handsome, misunderstood boyfriend roles?"

    "You wound me, Shelby," Rune retorts, using one of Howl''s lines, "Isn''t he more of an anti-hero? And the king of snarky one-liners?"

    "True," I admit, walking over to put my gloves, clippers, and kneeling pad back in the shed. We used to love quoting lines from our favorite books to each other. What geeks we were.

    "It''s a good idea for a coloring page," he says, watching me and then sounding impatient, "Can I get that key?" I wish the fact that he remembers I draw didn''t make me feel like preening.

    "Why are you here instead of Gunnar and a week early?" I ask abruptly, still discombobulated by his sudden appearance. I pick up my basket of arugula and head towards the house.

    "Change of plans. I''ll be hanging out with Lorelei until late July or early August," he tells me, matching my pace.

    "Okay," I say, and then notice his right forearm is bleeding below his neatly rolled-up cuff. It looks like the scratch from a thorn, "Were you attacked by a rose bush?"

    "Yes," he glances down at his long, lovely, lightly tanned forearm and dismissively wipes at the blood. Then he motions to the back of the other house, ¡°Apparently, it objected to my climbing the trellis to get onto the upstairs balcony."

    He begins running his hands through his hair, which I remember is a sure sign he''s upset, frustrated, or nervous,

    "Why the hell does Jenna have the house locked up so tight?" he asks tersely. Frustrated it is.

    "She''s used to L.A.," I say as we walk around to the front of the porch, "I''ve got the key inside with Lorelei''s dog."

    "Lorelei doesn''t own a dog," He narrows his eyes at me again.

    "Surprise," I say jovially with jazz hands, "Jenna didn''t tell you?"

    "Oh, fuck me!" Rune groans dramatically. I stare at him, shocked. He didn''t use to swear at all. None of the Borstads did, do, whatever.

    Suddenly, as if in response to this idea, the lower half of my torso vibrates giddily. I quickly walk up the steps. It''s Rune, I think furiously to my body; he was a total jerk the last time we saw each other. And he wasn''t always so gorgeous. Okay, yes, he was, but that''s beside the point.

    "Now, now," I say, wagging my finger at him and trying to sound nonchalant as we approach the front door, "neither of us wants that."

    I don''t want him to think I''m interested, regardless of what my pelvis thinks¡ªJack, I say mentally, Jack, Jack, Jack. Rune compresses his way too kissable mouth as if he''s not sure he believes me. I''m sure he''s used to everyone desiring him, the brat.

    "I told Jenna no ponies and no dogs when I agreed to drive up here with Lorelei first," he pontificates, "Gunnar''s fianc¨¦e has got to stop thinking she can buy Lorelei''s affection."

    "Well, Jenna listened about the pony, but only because your barn isn''t in good enough condition to hold one," I tell him as I shoulder open the door.

    "Shelby, we can''t give Lorelei a dog when everything''s so up in the air," Rune tells me as we enter the house. Butterscotch is right here waiting, of course. The young dog''s yipping her happiness and wiggling around our feet in her fluffy Goldendoodle loveliness. We do our best to avoid tripping over her or her toys. She drags them in a pile to the door in protest whenever I leave her inside by herself for too long.

    "Okay, you tell her," I say, barely missing the dog¡¯s loudest squeaky toy, "Tell her to her face she''s not wanted."

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    "Hello, sweetheart," Rune croons as he crouches down to hold his hand out for Butterscotch to sniff. She does this for only a moment before standing on her hind legs to lick him right on the mouth; cheeky girl.

    Rune laughs as she flops onto her back, offering her belly with complete abandon in her preferred centerfold position ¡ª but only with people she trusts. It took her three visits before she did this with Jack.

    "Who''s the sweetest?" Rune tells her, rubbing her fluffy rib cage, "Who''s the most beautiful girl in the world?"

    "Butterscotch," I tell him, annoyed at how good he is with her, "Her name is Butterscotch."

    "We can''t keep her yet, Seashell," he says, looking up at me with his strange cat-like eyes, using one of his old nicknames for me.

    What''s with the "we?" He says this as if Lorelei''s a group parenting experiment. I know his mother was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt for Gunnar''s daughter. And Lorelei speaks lovingly of Rune, he¡¯s more an uncle than a cousin, but still. And using my old nickname? Like it''s only been a summer since we''ve seen each other instead of a decade? This is all a bit much.

    I don''t like being reminded how close our families once were (even though Gunnar and I are good pals, and of course, I''m friendly with Gunnar''s dad, Hank). Worse, I don''t like remembering that Rune and I had nicknames for each other and were so close we practically lived in each other''s pockets. I want to stay mad at him.

    Oblivious to my inner chatter, Rune keeps rubbing the dog''s chest, "We can''t give Lorelei a dog until we have a better sense of what''s going to happen here. It wouldn''t be fair."

    Crap. He''s got a point. He''s giving me his wide-eyed, interested but guileless look now. I hate to admit I''ve noticed he uses it effectively on reporters. My lower torso quivers in happiness again. Gah. If he tilts his head at me, I''ll hit him.

    "You don''t think Gunnar and Jenna will really make the move?" I ask, though I''ve wondered about the exact same thing.

    "Oh, they''ll make the move, but I don''t know if it''ll stick," he says, standing up with Butterscotch in the crook of his arm and starting to walk around the well-appointed living room.

    He looks around the room with interest as if drinking it in. ¡°I doubt Jenna will find this area a good fit for all her energy and ambition. It''s quite a bit different than La La Land."

    He Stops to look at the dramatic painting of a pair of ravens flying through a grove of white-barked Alder trees at sunset. The mixed media piece is the one change I''ve made to the room since Theo passed, which is more or less a masterpiece of understated mid-century Danish modern light wood furniture. As is, it''s a little too masculine for me, but I don''t want to offend Theo''s memory by changing anything yet.

    "Everything else looks the same," Rune says fondly after a moment, his green gaze on me again, "But I don''t remember this; is it one of yours?"

    "No, it''s a local artist I''ve done some work with," I tell him, "It''s Odin''s ravens."

    "Nice, remembering our Viking heritage," he says, giving me a sweet smile I remember from childhood.

    He keeps strolling about the room as if he''s forgotten he''s in a hurry. Theo had such taste," he says, now standing in the adjacent dining room, admiring Theo''s well-appointed cocktail bar. I''m curious if he''s thinking what I am, that I could use a drink right now.

    "Look," I say instead, "I¡¯m sure you know Jenna showed up with Butterscotch a few weeks ago to oversee getting new beds and do some painting and stuff. She asked me to keep her until she, and Gunnar, and Lorelei came up together. It wasn''t my place to be the voice of reason and ask if she¡¯d cleared it with Gunnar, or you.¡±

    "She wouldn''t have listened anyway," Rune admits, "she already had the dog. How about this? Can we pretend she''s your dog until we know what''s what?" he asks, walking back toward me. The dog is wearing a very contented aren''t I special expression I swear I''ve never seen on her face before. "I''ll pay for everything; I don''t want something else that might break Lorelei''s heart right now."

    "Okay," I say slowly, wondering what he¡¯s talking about. It''s not a hardship, and I don''t want to do anything to cause Lorelei pain. Rune''s being wise. But it also means I may be stuck with owning this young tornado. "Here''s the keys," I tell him, removing them from a hook next to the door. I hold them up but don''t hand them to him. "Please make copies." He nods. "So, how long are you staying?" I ask, hoping he''s staying shorter than he previously said. I really don¡¯t need him complicating my life right now.

    "End of July or early August," he repeats, reaching for the keys. His long, elegant fingers brush mine briefly, and a fizzy jolt of excited electricity runs through me and again vibrates my core. Good grief.

    Rune sets Butterscotch down and moves to open the door. The dog barks excitedly as he lets her out. He holds the door for me as if he expects me to follow. I wrap my arms around myself, willing my internal vibration to calm the heck down. I hope it just looks like I''m hugging myself against the chill.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on with Lorelei?¡± I ask, happy my own long legs can match Rune¡¯s quick long strides as we head across the grass between the two houses.

    Butterscotch is zipping around us in happy loops, ecstatic to be outside. She stays around as long as I keep an eye on her. It¡¯s when I get absorbed in gardening she decides to take off on adventures and forgets to come back.

    ¡°Jenna and Gunnar are on a training vacation on Maui,¡± Rune says.

    ¡°I thought he¡¯d fully retired from competing,¡± I say. I¡¯m sure this is what he told me when we talked about it last summer.

    Gunnar had been quite a successful endurance athlete, but he¡¯s focused on the building and refurbishing business with his dad Hank for the past few years. He and Jenna met through a trail running group they both belong to.

    ¡°He had until he and Jenna got engaged at New Year¡¯s. She¡¯s talked him into racing professionally again,¡± Rune says in a flat tone that lets me know he¡¯s not that fond of Gunnar¡¯s fianc¨¦e. I understand. Jenna¡¯s nice, but she¡¯s just a bit much. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever met anyone with so much restless energy. ¡°When Gunnar told me Lorelei didn¡¯t want to go to Maui, I was already staying up here in Victoria. I volunteered to fly down and get her. I needed to drive my SUV up anyway.¡±

    ¡°That was nice of you,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°It was the least I could do,¡± he says, ¡°there¡¯s been a lot of upheavals in Lorelei¡¯s life recently.¡±

 Chapter 6: Shelby lends a hand

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry about your mom Rune,¡± I tell him, ¡°I know she was the emotional center of your extended family.¡± Both she and her brother Hank, Gunnar¡¯s dad, were single parents of only children, and none of the grandparents are still living.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Rune glances at me sideways, with a small sad quick smile before looking down at his feet again, ¡°We all appreciated the lovely flowers and card when she passed.¡±

    I nod, my throat tight. Yes, I¡¯m mad at him. But now that he¡¯s here in front of me I realize I¡¯d really like to see if it¡¯s possible to get my friend back. It¡¯s horrible the last two interactions we¡¯ve had before this have been exchanging flowers and cards for the death of his mother and Theo. I¡¯d forgotten it was Rune¡¯s writing on the card that came with the flowers the Borstads sent when Theo passed.

    ¡°Where is Lorelei?¡± I ask, looking at the late model dark green electric SUV in the driveway. I don¡¯t see Rune¡¯s tween cousin¡¯s adorable, freckled face peering out at us.

    ¡°I dropped her off on the way to spend the night with her best friend,¡± he jogs up the steps and crosses the wide porch with me on his heels, ¡°Charlotte¡¯s family moved to Bainbridge Island two years ago, right before my mom died. It was a big one-two punch for Lorelei to lose her Granty and her best friend at the same time. And now her dad¡¯s getting married to someone Lorelei doesn¡¯t like. She¡¯s not having a very good summer, which I can certainly relate to.¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do for a bed for her, give her yours, and sleep on the couch?¡± I ask as he puts the key in the lock. He gives me a confused look as the door swings open, but immediately clamps his hand over his nose.

    ¡°Shit!¡± Rune exclaims, as the overwhelming unpleasant smell of paint hits me, ¡°Let¡¯s get the windows open.¡±

    I take one side of the house as he takes the other. We move quickly through the living room, dining room, kitchen, downstairs bedrooms, and laundry room. A few minutes later, with all of the windows and the front and back doors open too, the vacuum starts to pull fresh air through.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I never travel without candles,¡± Rune says as we come back together into the living room.

    ¡°In case a place smells weird?¡± I guess, that¡¯s certainly why I¡¯d do it.

    ¡°Exactly, it only masks things but it helps. Did Jenna use some oil-based paint? Doesn¡¯t she know how toxic that is?¡± he asks, scowling with judgmental annoyance radiating off of him, as he looks around, hands on his hips again.

    ¡°It smells like she may have,¡± I concur, the place does stink. I¡¯m glad Lorelei won¡¯t have to sleep here tonight.

    ¡°Nan¡¯s sweet, comfortableness has been erased,¡± Rune laments, sounding both angry and sad, ¡°Now it looks like it¡¯s becoming a bland Airbnb. Peach and blue-gray,¡± he glowers at the walls, ¡°yuck.¡±

    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s not done yet?¡± I ask, noting that none of the art has been hung, it¡¯s all sitting against the walls.

    Rune does have a point though; the once charmingly cozy farmhouse interior is now all eggshell white, a variety of light blue grays, and a peach that¡¯s reminiscent of baby aspirin. It feels more like a dentist¡¯s office than a house now.

    I know Jenna¡¯s an accountant who wants to become an interior designer once she¡¯s settled here. This makes sense with Gunnar being such an in-demand rebuilder of antique homes. I knew she was doing work on the house, but I didn¡¯t realize how much.

    ¡°Does Gunner know how much she¡¯s done?¡± I ask, ¡°He must, right?

    ¡°I doubt it. I can¡¯t imagine Gunnar agreeing on this color palette,¡± Rune retorts, ¡°And technically I¡¯m half-owner of the house, she should have asked me.¡±

    I had no idea about this last bit of information, ¡°So about the beds,¡± I remember to tell him, ¡°There¡¯s only one in the master bedroom right now. The others were supposed to be delivered last week but they¡¯ve been delayed.¡±

    ¡°Well, at least now I know why most of Nan¡¯s furniture is in the barn,¡± Rune says eyeing the new couch. It¡¯s a dark gray riff on mid-century modern. It¡¯s very square and not too comfy looking.

    ¡°Jenna didn¡¯t let you know?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he sighs, scrubbing his hand across his tired face, ¡°but to be fair, Jenna didn¡¯t know I was going to spring into action to pick up Lorelei from her mom¡¯s house quite so quickly to drive up here. I told Gunnar, but I avoid texting with Jenna whenever possible.¡±

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    ¡°Listen, you can borrow one of our twin beds,¡± I tell him, ¡°It¡¯s small enough that you and I can move it.¡±

    **

    We decided to go ahead and move the bed immediately since Rune has phone meetings for the rest of the day, and I need to work on my response to Trident.

    If he thinks it¡¯s strange I¡¯m sleeping in what¡¯s always been known as the kids¡¯ room Rune doesn¡¯t say anything. We break down the small bed quickly and efficiently.

    The truth is I can¡¯t deal with the sadness of cleaning out Theo and Reuben¡¯s master suite just yet. There¡¯s also a queen-sized pull-out couch in the spare room downstairs, but unless Jack¡¯s staying the night, I prefer this room. It has happy memories.

    ¡°I know Lorelei lives with her dad most of the time, but doesn¡¯t she usually spend part of the summer with her mom, too?¡± I ask as we haul the box spring up and lean it against the wall.

    ¡°Yes, but things got challenging,¡± Rune says, picking up one end of the wooden frame he thinks we should move first, ¡°Her mom now has three kids under the age of four, and doesn¡¯t have much time for Lorelei right now.¡±

    ¡°I thought Lorelei only had a baby half-brother,¡± I say as we easily maneuver the bulky piece of furniture out of the bedroom toward the stairs.

    ¡°Her mom had twins this spring, and Lorelei¡¯s so used to being the kid with adults she¡¯s not keen on babies,¡± Rune says, twisting around so he can carry the frame facing forward down the stairs.

    Oh boy, I think. It would be really hard at twelve to be suddenly surrounded by babies if you weren¡¯t used to them.

    **

    Okay. Maybe I¡¯m a coward. But it just didn¡¯t seem to be the right time to address the elephant in the room of my anger with Rune. Somehow, while we were breaking down the bed and moving it over to Lorelei¡¯s new room, I couldn¡¯t quite get myself to say, hey why were you such a jerk at Sundance?

    Anyway, I need to switch gears and focus on what really matters right now. I don¡¯t want to lose my coloring book deal. How can I demonstrate to Trident that I¡¯m a good bet? My social media following might not be huge, but my numbers are growing.

    With multiple glasses of iced tea and a dog at my feet, I spend the next few hours creating an alluring highlight deck of my social media growth since I started working on Horse Girls. I¡¯m proud of myself. I create a list of doable but fairly big audience growth goals to meet as the coloring book gets published. I even created a new style guide for the ideas of the look and feel of the Instagram posts I¡¯ll share.

    When my alarm goes off at 6:30, I blink in surprise. It¡¯s so easy for me to lose track of time when I¡¯m working on anything visual. I quickly make a PDF of what I¡¯ve put together and send it off to the Trident team for our meeting in the morning.

    I also text my sister Sydney to tell her about Rune¡¯s surprise arrival. It¡¯s not likely Syd¡¯s sitting and staring at her phone, so it¡¯ll be a while before I can share the gossip with her.

    Howl¡¯s Moving Castle is sitting patiently on the bookshelf waiting to go upstairs with me tonight. Why not use it to create an Instagram post about it being the subject of my next coloring page? After all, it won¡¯t look good to the Trident team if they check my Instagram feed and see I¡¯ve been ignoring it for the past couple of days.

    Along the top of the wide, shoulder-height bookshelf on the wall across from my desk sits my Uncle Rueben¡¯s collection of antique glass flower vases. An idea sparks. The earlier drizzle has cleared up and it¡¯s now a lovely evening. The yard¡¯s bursting with flowers. I¡¯ll put together an arrangement to do double duty.

    Flowers play an important role in Howl¡¯s Moving Castle. First, Sophie notices that Howl wears different floral fragrances throughout (including hyacinth, rose, and apple blossom), and they end up running a flower shop towards the end of the story. So, I¡¯ll use an arrangement as part of my post announcing Howl¡¯s will be my next coloring page. And then the flowers can be in my background for tomorrow morning¡¯s call with Trident. That feels like a stylish influencer thing to do.

    Rune¡¯s handsome face pops into my head again as I walk across the porch to the West side of the house where most of Uncle Reuben¡¯s rose bushes are. He didn¡¯t look good. Handsome yes, healthy no. What¡¯s going on? Was it just dealing with Lorelei? Was the drive stressful? Or is it the blowback from all of the hearts he¡¯s broken? Maybe someone¡¯s finally broken his.

    I walk along surveying the mix of rose bushes and hydrangeas along this side of the house. We had a wet cool spring even for here, so the hydrangea blooms are still green, but I''ve realized their big oval leaves make good greens. I snip branches of them for my basket as I think about the arrangement. I''ll do a mix of two colors. I start snipping a few of my favorite ones which are the gorgeous deep red-orange of some sunsets. The petals lightening to a delicate peach as they open fully. They have a light tea scent. I mix these with a few of the deep yellow roses with that are the most fragrant. Their scent is a divine mix of apricot, and honey woven in with the magic that''s all a rose''s own. Frankly, they smell like passion. I like to make rose water out of them to mix with cocktails and my bath.

    Last summer, almost exactly a year ago, I had a Tarot card reading from my friend Luna¡¯s Tia Cecilia at the Hummingbird Floral Farm¡¯s annual Fourth of July party. Cecilia told me to surround myself with roses if I wanted to bring romance into my life. I¡¯ve made a point of doing just that. It¡¯s certainly not hard to do at this time of the year. Uncle Reuben carefully cultivated a variety of roses over the years.

    Until the last couple of weeks, it did seem like my romance with Jack was absolutely blooming in the right direction. And maybe, starting with tomorrow night it¡¯ll be back on track again. Maybe we¡¯ll be able to focus on a few things I¡¯m interested in bringing forward in the relationship.

    But instead of focusing on Jack, my mind chews back over Rune. If he¡¯s not acting, what could he be doing besides traveling and breaking hearts? Do I care? I don¡¯t, I decide; I just hope he¡¯s okay enough to take good care of Lorelei.

    My phone beeps from Syd as I¡¯m calling Butterscotch and heading back into the house.

    Sydney: Gunnar and Lorelei are already there?

    Me: Rune brought her.

    Sydney: No! Have you talked to him?

    Me: Yep.

    Syd: I¡¯m calling. I need to hear about this, and we need to talk about other stuff.

 Chapter 7: Its as bad as Shelby feared

    I pick my phone up on the first ring.

    ¡°How¡¯s Rune? How¡¯d he look?¡± Syd asks eagerly. I¡¯m impressed she wants to talk; her weekdays are usually too busy for anything but texts. I have more conversations with my nephew Nils these days on our weekly Zoom calls, something we¡¯ve continued since the pandemic.

    ¡°Stressed and too handsome for his own good,¡± I tell her, checking over the roses (and Hydrangea leaves I clipped for the greens) for any spiders or other insects I inadvertently carted inside.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry he¡¯s stressed but his timing is perfect,¡± my older sister exclaims happily.

    ¡°What? I don¡¯t need this right now,¡± I tell her grumpily as I use the clippers to snip off the edges of the rose thorns so I don¡¯t prick myself while arranging them. Has she forgotten that Rune ditched me? She¡¯s the only one I¡¯ve told about our falling out besides Vivienne. It¡¯s too humiliating.

    ¡°You texted last week that you were bummed Jack went off to hike Ranier instead of waiting for you to be ready,¡± Syd reminds me, ¡°Nothing makes a guy snap back to attention like a little jealousy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Rune has a girlfriend,¡± I hedge.

    ¡°Even if he does, Jack doesn¡¯t need to know that right now,¡± Syd says, all practicality, ¡°I doubt he¡¯s the type to check up on celebrities on the Internet. Ask Rune to play like he¡¯s interested in you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s so much more your kind of thing than mine,¡± I say. My older sister is way more confident in these kinds of strategies than I am.

    ¡°Be bold and take a page from my book!¡± she encourages, ¡°You¡¯re following your bliss working on a new career, why not this?¡±

    ¡°Ha ha,¡± I fake laugh, ¡°What else is up? Is Nils okay?¡± I change the subject.

    ¡°Nils is fine. I need to talk to you about Mom.¡±

    ¡°She seemed fine yesterday. Is she going into one of her funks after meeting with Pamela?¡± I ask, my worry engine starting up.

    ¡°No, she¡¯s fine, annoying, but fine,¡± Syd sighs, ¡°I just want to keep her focused on getting the display windows done for the Fourth of July. I had to stick my neck out to get Bill and his mom to agree to give Mom a budget.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll do an amazing job,¡± I tell her, ¡°But how can I support you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a bit paranoid right now. Don¡¯t encourage her about this new One More Midnight with You anniversary until after she finishes the windows,¡± Syd says, sounding very serious about her request.

    ¡°I¡¯m delighted not to. Did she tell you Pamela Lyons wants me to convince Rune to be her social media client, and in exchange, she¡¯ll take Mom on as a client for free?¡±

    ¡°Oh, God, yeah. Mom said something about that last night. You¡¯re not going to do it, are you?¡± Syd sounds alarmed, ¡°Have you seen the crazy direction Pamela has gone into?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I tell her, ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to forget Pamela¡¯s existence.¡±

    ¡°Me too, but I thought we should know what we¡¯re dealing with. I Googled her. She¡¯s devolved into a ¡®fairy godmother for influencers.¡¯ She¡¯s now a PR hack for reality TV personalities.¡±

    ¡°No way,¡± I say, gobsmacked. This is quite a step down from leading a premier storytelling agency.

    After we sign off, I look up Pamela¡¯s Instagram account. Syd¡¯s right about her tagline. My old boss¡¯s feed is one photo after another of Pamela at parties, events, and promotional product photo shoots. None of this is new for her. She¡¯s always been a social butterfly. But now, instead of promoting her clients, she¡¯s mainly promoting herself as a guru.

    There¡¯s not much ¡®there there¡¯ to the advice she¡¯s sharing, but people appear to be drinking it up. She has a bigger following than before. However, the majority of followers now seem to be people who want to be influencers and reality TV stars rather than her network of Hollywood powerbrokers.

    After about ten minutes of scrolling, I decide I¡¯ve had enough of Pamela¡¯s seemingly glamorous jet-set life. I¡¯m even more convinced she has nothing to offer Mom except maybe party invitations. If Mom won¡¯t listen, maybe Dad will. I send him a text to see if we can chat soon when Mom¡¯s not around.

    Turning back to my rose arrangement, I pivot to thinking about Jack. It¡¯s tempting to consider Syd¡¯s advice to finagle Rune into helping me make Jack jealous, but I don¡¯t think I could pull it off. She¡¯s much more of a daredevil than I am. Although she might have a point. Maybe I¡¯ve been too interested and available for Jack. Perhaps that¡¯s why things have stalled.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Back in the office, I set the vase, my much-loved Howl¡¯s paperback, and one large almost overblown bloom on my desk and then take my time arranging them just so. I use my phone to snap pics from a variety of angles, some with the lights on, some with only natural light.

    Flipping through the shots, I choose the best one by myself instead of sending my two or three favorites to Jack for his feedback. This feels rebellious but good. Jack has given me a lot of great pointers about taking better photos, but I probably rely on him too much now. I was already a decent photographer for social media when I met him.

    In the post¡¯s text, I write about how I¡¯m both nervous and excited to finally take on this particular coloring page project. Viv has taught me it¡¯s powerful to set your intentions. I hope Trident appreciates that I¡¯ve done the same in what I sent them for moving forward on Horse Girls.

    Worn out from the day¡¯s stress, and worried about how things will play out tomorrow, I head up to bed earlier than normal. After a nice long rose-scented soak, I crawl into bed and enjoy visiting with my old friends Sophie, Howl, Calcifer, and Michael.

    **

    The first email on my phone Tuesday morning is from Trident, pushing our Zoom meeting back a day. Fine by me. I agree to a time tomorrow morning late enough Jack will have left by if he stays.

    Most of my day melts by in a mix of errands, chores, playing with Butterscotch, and working on graphic designs for social media clients. I¡¯m at a place now where unless they¡¯re letting me do something particularly interesting and fun (like Vivienne), more and more I¡¯m just walking through the motions. I like my clients and feel lucky I get to work for myself, but I¡¯m bored with the routine of putting together clip art and fonts made by others.

    What my pandemic-inspired coloring page experiment has reminded me is that I love to draw, especially by hand. Not just that, I¡¯ve been teaching myself to successfully tell a story with these pages. That¡¯s what excites me. The ability to create emotion and spark imagination with imagery. That¡¯s what I¡¯d hoped to learn all those years ago with an illustration degree. I wanted to create book covers and movie posters, and maybe someday, even do real animation. I still do.

    I started going to school for an illustration degree at twenty after I got an AA degree in graphic design. I never finished. Working for the Pamela Lyons Agency was too time-consuming. I kept cutting back on my class load until I just stopped going back. I kept telling myself I¡¯d return to finish when I learned better how to juggle my time.

    Now I¡¯m greedy with my drawing time, doing everything I can to have plenty of time to do my best with these illustrations. Re-reading Howl¡¯s is giving me some fun ideas I¡¯m excited to get started on.

    I just wish I didn¡¯t keep imagining Rune wearing elaborate wizard robes. Each time I check for his car, it¡¯s gone. I tell myself I¡¯m looking because I want to see Lorelei again, not my former summertime bestie. But it¡¯s a lie. I want both. Seeing Rune has reminded me how much I miss having someone to bounce my big creative ideas off of the way we were able to when we were young.

    **

    I¡¯m in the kitchen late in the afternoon making the pesto for dinner tonight. I¡¯ve learned to prep things in advance when Jack¡¯s coming over. He doesn¡¯t have a long attention span for time in the kitchen.

    My Northern Italian father gave me my love of cooking, but it was only when I came here that I learned that arugula is a cruciferous superfood. I just thought it was a spicy lettuce you could cook with.

    Uncle Theo had always been raw-boned. He was gaunt when I arrived three days after he was officially put in hospice with congestive heart failure. I covered my dismay and heartbreak by jumping into preparing things to tempt his dwindling and now fussy appetite.

    I know this recipe so well that I can make it by heart. This is when cooking really becomes my happy place. It¡¯s soothing to crank up my music and put things together from memory. As I work, I listen to a mix of Jungle, Taylor Swift, and other catchy dance music, swaying along to the beat.

    Opening the food processor, I dip in a cracker for a taste. It needs more salt and a bit more lemon, and we¡¯re good. I¡¯m weaning off plastic, so I fill two recycled glass jars I¡¯ve started collecting in the pantry in the laundry room.

    Jack isn¡¯t into sweets, so next I make the delicious oily, salty pan bread Schiacciata. It¡¯s a Tuscan version of Focaccia, but it takes less time. Just as I¡¯ve got the bread prepped and rising, and I¡¯m ready to go upstairs for a shower, my phone beeps.

    Jack: Mind if I come now? I caught an earlier ferry.

    I look at the clock. It¡¯s only 5:00.

    Me: Sure. I¡¯ve got the pesto made already.

    Jack: Sounds delicious, but I have to take a rain check. The people I¡¯m meeting with later tonight have asked me to dinner at 6:30.

    I stare at my phone, shocked. The tsunami roars in my mind. He¡¯s having dinner with someone else? In this area? And I¡¯m not invited? I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m not being paranoid now. For the past several months he¡¯s always invited me along on anything he¡¯s doing locally. What I want to do is pick up the phone and ask questions. Instead, I text back that if I¡¯m not home, I¡¯ll be right back. I have definitely made myself too available. I¡¯m not up for asking Rune to help me make Jack jealous, but I don¡¯t have to be sitting here when he arrives.

    Crap. Crap. Crap . He¡¯ll be here in about half an hour, maybe less, on the ferry from Edmonds to Kingston. I don¡¯t feel like racing upstairs and primping now. I feel like going for a good long walk in the forest, but there¡¯s no time.

    I text Rune. I know they¡¯re home now because he sent me a thank you from them both about the bed while I was making the bread. He also let me know that Lorelei wants me to come over soon to check out her model horse collection.

    Me: Any interest in some homemade pesto? I¡¯ve got lots extra.

    My phone beeps a few minutes later when I¡¯m upstairs washing my face and checking my clothes for kitchen drips.

    Rune: Please! Lorelei says it¡¯s the best. Want me to send her over?

    Me: No. I have time before my friend comes over, so I want to come and see the horses.

    Rune: smiley face

 Chapter 8: Shelby feels her heart crack

    ¡°Is this Butterscotch?¡± Lorelei asks, dropping to her knees and holding out her hand for the dog to sniff. The dog wiggles up to her licks her hand, and then quickly sprawls on her back, presenting her tummy for rubbing. Lorelei scrubs her ribs as expertly as Rune.

    Lorelei¡¯s braids are the same bright golden apricot Rune¡¯s was at her age. She and I bonded last summer over our love of horses and being freckled-faced, brown-eyed girls in a sea of freckle-free, light-eyed people (for her, her dad, her grandpa, her cousin, for me my mom, sister, and nephew).

    She¡¯s adorable, but she looks as tired as Rune. Whereas his eyes were bloodshot, Lorelei¡¯s have lavender shadows underneath. What¡¯s making them both so exhausted?

    ¡°You have perfect timing,¡± Lorelei jumps back up, ¡°I¡¯m almost done with my display.¡±

    ¡°Sweet!¡± I open my arms for a hug, and she slips in and wraps her arms around me. She¡¯s grown at least three inches and now comes under my chin. I¡¯m five-nine; she¡¯s going to be tall like all of the Borstads. ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you,¡± she says, stepping back and beaming at me, ¡°Is this your secret pesto?¡± she asks, taking the jar of green sauce from me.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you remember it,¡± I beam back.

    ¡°We were going to barbecue salmon, but I¡¯d rather have this. I wanted to invite you for dinner, but Rune says you¡¯re having company.¡±

    This helps my ego quite a bit. I¡¯m delighted she wants to include me.

    ¡°I am,¡± I say, stroking her bright hair, ¡°another time?¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± She smiles hopefully and then impishly says, ¡°Do you have any new coloring pages I can test out for you?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, I do,¡± I tell her as I follow her into the house and we make our way through the living room into the kitchen, ¡°I¡¯ll look through what I have and email a few to Rune tonight.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t wait!¡± Lorelei says, putting the pesto in the fridge.

    The smell of paint has died. It¡¯s been replaced by the delicious scent of beeswax and blackberries. This more appealing fragrance comes from the two elegant white candles in glass canisters, one I spied on the living room coffee table and one here on the kitchen counter.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Rune?¡± I ask, setting the package of spaghetti down I brought just in case they don¡¯t have.

    ¡°Still setting up his sound studio,¡± Lorelei tells me. She takes my hand and leads me to the stairs, putting her finger to her lips and pointing with comic emphasis to the door that leads to the same room as the office in my house.

    ¡°He¡¯s recording music now?¡± I ask in a return whisper. I know he plays piano and guitar well; his mother was a music teacher. Maybe playing Gregg Allman has inspired him to make his own music.

    ¡°No,¡± she laughs quietly and shakes her head vehemently, ¡°he¡¯d never do that. It¡¯s hard to even get him to play Karaoke with me at home! He does a lot of voice-over stuff now.¡± She says so matter-of-factly I have to hide a smile.

    I suppose it is all a matter of fact to her. Both her dad and Rune have been famous her whole life.

    ¡°He voices characters for animated movies?¡± I guess. Does he play villains or heroes? I¡¯m imagining the latter.

    ¡°A few TV shows,¡± she says, ¡°but mostly he records audiobooks. Tons and tons of audiobooks.¡±

    Interesting.

    **

    Lorelei¡¯s room is the same one I sleep in at home. Unlike the questionable colors Jenna picked downstairs, this room is painted a lovely light sage green. The single bed I loaned her now wears a pink and green striped quilt to match.

    Several boxes on the floor are open showing clothes and other items, but clearly, the model horses have taken top priority. Between the windows on the far wall are a series of floor-to-ceiling white wooden shelves Jenna had installed to hold all of Lorelei¡¯s model horses and books.

    The books are obviously still being organized, but about fifteen of the famous miniature plastic Breyer model horses are lovingly arranged on the easiest-to-reach shelves.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± Lorelei asks, holding her arms out like a magician presenting a rabbit being pulled out of a hat. Butterscotch takes this opportunity to jump up on the borrowed bed.

    ¡°Hey, down,¡± I say to the dog, who stays put but crouches in her I¡¯m-pretending-to-be-submissive mode, which means she¡¯s set on getting her way.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Lorelei says, sitting on the bed to pet Butterscotch. I narrow my eyes at the dog (pointedly ignoring me) before returning to the model horse display. After all, if things work out as planned, Butterscotch will be living here soon and likely sleeping with Lorelei. This won¡¯t be my battle to fight.

    ¡°I like it,¡± I tell her, carefully inspecting the horses. I have over fifty of my own Breyer model horses boxed up in my parent¡¯s garage, but mine aren¡¯t nearly in such excellent shape. ¡°I particularly like how you¡¯ve got them set up by type,¡± I tell her. It¡¯s obvious which horses are for riding Western and which are for riding English.¡±

    ¡°I like riding English the best,¡± she admits, ¡°but the Borstad guys only ride Western, so I do that too. Have you ever been to our cousins¡¯ place on the Olympic peninsula? Where they take people on horse-packing adventures?¡± She asks.

    ¡°Yes, but not for about twenty years,¡± I tell her. ¡°It was really fun, but I like riding English best too.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s a long time ago,¡± she raises her eyebrows.

    ¡°What¡¯s a long time?¡± Rune asks, leaning on the doorframe in exactly the insouciant way I imagine Wizard Howl did when he wanted to keep Sophie from snooping in his bedroom.

    ¡°The last time I went with you to ride horses at your cousins¡¯ place near Sequim,¡± I say.

    ¡°Wow, what was that, like twenty years ago?¡± He asks with a laugh and then, ¡°Is this a girls-only zone right now? Am I intruding?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Lorelei laughs at him, ¡°you¡¯re allowed¡­for now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re lamenting that you, Gunnar, Granpa Hank, and your cousins only ride Western,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°English does have some amazing boots and great outfits,¡± he admits, slipping onto Lorelei¡¯s bed as smoothly as a cat and leaning against the headboard, ¡°But it¡¯s way too disciplined. I¡¯m happy with a sweet trail horse that¡¯s willing to gallop on the flats¡ªunless, of course, I¡¯m being paid well to gallop across the moors to my lost love for some period piece.¡± He gives us both a lazy, self-satisfied grin.

    He seems a little better than yesterday; his eyes aren¡¯t so bloodshot. I also noticed, which somehow I didn¡¯t before, that he has a lovely light tan. I¡¯m the color of milk because it¡¯s been raining like crazy most of the month.

    ¡°You and fashion!¡± Lorelei picks up a pink heart-shaped throw pillow and hits him lightly with it, ¡°You¡¯d have to act again to be paid to do that,¡± she says, slumping against him like he¡¯s a piece of comfortable furniture.

    Don¡¯t even think about it, I tell my body as it eyes his slender form appreciatively, wishing it, too, could be slumped against him. Jack, I remind myself, Jack is coming over any minute.

    ¡°True. So I guess it¡¯s not going to happen, Puppy,¡± Rune says, using the nickname Gunnar has for her, running his hand over her the top of her hair.

    ¡°You¡¯re just lazy!¡± She tells him, ¡°You¡¯ll spend weeks learning to be a character for a story and do special accents and everything. You could learn to ride English if you wanted to, and then you could do exciting stuff like jump.¡±

    ¡°But then, who would sit admiringly in the bleachers and cheer you on and take better photos than your dad gets?¡± Rune asks. Lorelei makes a face like he has a point.

    My phone buzzes, and my stomach clenches. Time to find out if I have a date for Saturday night or not.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go, you two. My guest is here,¡± I tell them, ¡°Lorelei, I¡¯ll make a note to myself to email Rune a couple of new coloring pages tonight.¡±

    ¡°The printer¡¯s all set. Here¡¯s my email,¡± Rune says, texting me.

    ¡°I have a new set of colored pencils,¡± Lorelei says, ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    **

    Jack¡¯s sitting in one of the two Adirondack chairs on the front porch, leaning forward and looking into the viewfinder on his camera set up on a tripod. He appears to be focused on something in one of the striking, red-leafed Japanese maples that line the front of the front yard. I imagine it¡¯s an interesting bird. We certainly have a lot of those around here.

    Uncle Reuben planted the dramatic trees when he retired early from his job as a social worker, and he and Theo started to spend half the year up here. By then, Theo had turned the day-to-day running of his two stores over to my grandmother and just focused on buying and consulting so he and Reuben had plenty of time to travel between their house here and the one down in Long Beach.

    I stop for a moment, taking in Jack¡¯s profile. It¡¯s an interesting one I¡¯ve sketched many times. He has a sharp, aquiline nose, light brown hair, and beard shot through with gold from the sun, both worn short for ease for his active life. No, he¡¯s not pretty the way Rune is. He¡¯s not even classically handsome, but he is fascinating.

    Even from here, I can feel the intense energy crackling off him. Watching now I¡¯m reminded of all the photos and videos I¡¯ve observed him take over the past couple of years and all of the fun outdoor adventures we¡¯ve been on together around the region.

    My heart twists uncomfortably. It may all be coming to an end if my tsunami premonition is accurate.

    ¡°New camera?¡± I call, trying to sound light as I walk forward again, Butterscotch zooming ahead to greet him.

    ¡°It is,¡± he turns to me with that charming smile that makes his dark brown eyes sparkle. ¡°That¡¯s a sweet electric SUV your neighbor¡¯s got. Is it new?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, he just got here,¡± I say, realizing that I don¡¯t want to talk about Rune with Jack, even though it might be an intelligent strategy. ¡°Tell me about the camera.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he laughs a little self-consciously, ¡°this is the one I¡¯ve been going on about to you. I decided to splurge when Amy hired me for this new gig; you¡¯ve got to spend money to make money, right?¡±

    ¡°Amy?¡± I ask, thinking, what new gig? The dread twists harder.

    ¡°Pennington, the new board member for ReWild Washington,¡± he reminds me, ¡°We met her a few months ago when we showed the board our video concept.¡± He stands as I walk up the stairs, kissing me on the cheek, not the mouth.

    Don¡¯t project, I tell myself, trying to be like Vivienne; you don¡¯t know anything for sure yet.

 Chapter 9: Shelby feels her heart break

    ¡°Our new fundraising-savvy tech billionaire Amy Pennington?¡± I ask, my stomach now so filled with dread it¡¯s not just knotted; it¡¯s braided.

    Amy¡¯s leading the charge to launch a capital campaign for ReWild Washington at the fundraising event this weekend. It¡¯s something they¡¯ve never done before.

    ¡°Well, technically, it¡¯s her dad who¡¯s the tech billionaire, but yes,¡± Jack takes the camera off the tripod and puts it back in its case.

    I¡¯m completely green with jealousy now, but I have to admit Amy¡¯s doing great things for ReWild. The private estate and the guest list she¡¯s lined up for this weekend¡¯s event is truly impressive. She¡¯s attracting a whole new crowd of deep pockets for the non-profit. Right now, ReWild is small and focused on the greater Seattle and Northern Kitsap Peninsula regions. Its goal, however, is to be in High Schools across the state, and Amy could certainly help with that.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s this exciting new gig?¡± I ask as I back towards the front door and open it, trying to sound normal, though my throat is so tight it aches.

    ¡°There¡¯s a production company doing a documentary on her dad. Amy¡¯s hired me to do external photography and some drone footage for it,¡± Jack says, as he and Butterscotch follow me.

    ¡°Nice,¡± I tell him with a small smile over my shoulder, though my legs are shaky and my mouth¡¯s dry. Jack wants to do more photography and teach less. Becoming an adjunct professor sounded good during the pandemic, but in reality, he¡¯s finding it too restrictive and scheduled for his active, energetic nature.

    ¡°Thanks for fitting me in earlier,¡± he says, ¡°We¡¯re meeting up tonight at their place on Bainbridge and then taking off for the Pennington estate in the San Juan Islands early in the morning.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to miss the fundraiser on Saturday?¡± I ask as we move through the dining room to the kitchen, too shocked to keep the alarm out of my voice.

    ¡°No, of course not,¡± he assures me, ¡°we¡¯ll take a break for that even if we¡¯re not done shooting.¡±

    We. My heart sinks lower. In my head, I hear Vivienne¡¯s voice say, ask for what you want. One of the tenets in her coaching is to never assume anyone else is a mind reader, even if you think your actions have made things crystal clear.

    ¡°So, are we still planning together?¡± I try to sound casual as I get out some glasses for iced tea; it¡¯s hard when I feel anything but.

    ¡°As ReWild¡¯s dynamic video duo?¡± Jack sits on one of the bar stools, sets his camera on the counter, and rests the tripod next to him.

    ¡°Yes, exactly; you talked about it being a date to celebrate,¡± I say. I¡¯m continuing my casual tone as best I can, busying myself with filling the glasses with ice.

    ¡°Mind if I make myself an espresso instead?¡± Jack asks, ¡°I forgot to get one on the ferry.¡±

    ¡°Not at all,¡± I say, dumping the ice from one of the glasses and putting it in the sink, hoping he can¡¯t see my hand shake as I do, ¡°You know where everything is.¡±

    ¡°I wish we could go together like that, Alpine,¡± he says, sounding sincere as he takes a pod out of the tin of fancy coffee I keep on the counter primarily for him, ¡°but I think it¡¯s better if Amy doesn¡¯t catch on to how close our relationship is.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± I ask, wondering if I have any Pepto Bismol anywhere in the house. I don¡¯t like the bitter taste of coffee, no matter how delicious it smells. Right now, I feel like I¡¯ve down a huge very bitter cup complete with the dregs.

    ¡°I wish it were only my talent I¡¯m being hired for,¡± he sighs, focusing carefully on making his coffee rather than looking at me, ¡°but I think her personal interest in me is a big reason I¡¯m getting this job.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re okay with that?¡± I scowl as I carefully pour myself some tea.

    ¡°Yes, actually,¡± he says, glancing at me, his dark eyes defensive, ¡°it¡¯s been a few years since I¡¯ve had such a well-paying photography job. Alpine, it¡¯s not like you and I were that serious, right?¡±

    Were. Crap. I take a deep breath and let it out before I say, ¡°Yes. It seemed like that¡¯s exactly where things were going.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°Look,¡± he sighs again, ¡°I think we have a future, just not right now.¡±

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± I ask, dumbfounded and hating that my ego is the tiniest bit happy he thinks we have a future.

    ¡°It means I want to travel right now and have adventures in amazing places to build my portfolio, and you want to stay here and garden and draw and save the world.¡±

    ¡°I want to travel and have adventures, too,¡± I start, hating the pleading tone in my voice.

    ¡°Locally and regionally sure,¡± he cuts me off, ¡°and you¡¯re an excellent hiking partner, but you¡¯re such a planner, you¡¯re so careful. I don¡¯t want to wait to go to Iceland until next year when you¡¯ve got it all saved up. I want to go now. I want to be available to the possibilities that can happen with Amy. She¡¯s a crazy good opportunity. I didn¡¯t grow up with interesting, well-connected parents who could open doors for me creatively as you did.¡±

    ¡°You mean like my job with my mom¡¯s friend Pamela?¡± I scoff, ¡°The boss who promised I¡¯d have time to finish my illustration degree if I worked for her but kept me so busy doing mostly admin work, I never did?¡±

    Even now, my unfinished degree, which I¡¯m still paying for, feels like a colossal failure.

    ¡°But you got your foot in the door with a thought-leading storytelling agency,¡± he counters. He must realize this tactic isn¡¯t working from the expression on my face, ¡°Okay, how about this? Think of Amy like a free pass with a celebrity crush. Don¡¯t you have one of those?¡±

    ¡°Amy Pennington is the celebrity ?you want a free pass for? Sure, she¡¯s rich and gorgeous, but seriously?¡±

    ¡°Originally, no, it was Britney Spears,¡± he admits sheepishly, ¡°but now at thirty-eight, I think yeah, Amy Pennington¡¯s a much better choice. I may never have a chance like this again.¡±

    ¡°So, you want us to what, go back to being platonic friends while you make the most of what this rich, influential woman can make happen for you?¡±

    ¡°I get that I sound like a complete jerk, but yeah, I do,¡± he huffs a breath out and starts tapping his left hand nervously on the counter. Jack doesn¡¯t like to sit still for long, ¡°It¡¯s my 20th high school reunion this August, and I want to be in a better place with my goals¡­¡± he tappers off, looking around the room as if the correct answer will be written on one of the kitchen cabinets.

    ¡°And I¡¯m somehow holding you back?¡± I say, my voice rough.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s not that. You¡¯re an amazing friend, Alpine. I¡¯m grateful for all the help you¡¯ve given me. You got my social media looking so sharp and included me on this fun project for ReWild¡­but you¡¯re so careful right now. You¡¯re so focused on saving pennies, and saving the planet, and transitioning to illustration.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying those things as if they¡¯re bad somehow,¡± I say, very close to tears, which is humiliating.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t mean to,¡± he shakes his head, ¡°They¡¯re not at all. But I want to live a more interesting and exciting life right now,¡± he stands up and walks across the kitchen to look out through the laundry room to the back porch, ¡°Don¡¯t you ever want to cut free and be a bit extravagant? Don¡¯t you know at least one hot, famous person you¡¯d drop anything if you had the chance for a wild fling someplace you could never afford otherwise?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d drop anyone for it¡­.¡± I counter, thinking this sounds very much like a mid-life crisis rather than a smart career move.

    ¡°There¡¯s got to be someone you pined for big-time back in the day,¡± he ignores my previous quip.

    ¡°All right, Asher Dillion,¡± I say rebelliously.

    ¡°Sounds vaguely familiar,¡± Jack pulls out his phone and types with his thumbs, Googling Rune. I¡¯m tempted to grab the phone out of his hands, but then I think, no, two can play this game. It¡¯s not as if Google¡¯s going to announce he¡¯s right next door recording an audiobook.

    ¡°Interesting, a pretty boy,¡± Jack laughs a little condescendingly, ¡°that wouldn¡¯t have been my guess. But I can understand the appeal. He¡¯s certainly photogenic. If you had a chance to run away with him for an adventure, I wouldn¡¯t stand in your way.¡±

    Great, I think, I¡¯ll ask him what he¡¯s doing after Lorelei goes to bed.

    ¡°Alpine, neither of us is interested in having kids, right?¡± Jack puts his phone in his pocket and catches my eye, albeit briefly. It would be nice if he¡¯d use my first name occasionally. Somehow, I doubt he¡¯ll call Amy by her last name.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to adopt,¡± I say sadly, focusing on the white tile of the kitchen bar countertop willing myself not to cry.

    The bummer about premonitions is that they don¡¯t shelter you from the emotional pain even when you knew ahead of what might happen.

    ¡°I want to settle down someday and maybe even adopt,¡± Jack says, walking back and sitting back down at the counter, ¡°And you¡¯re the person I can totally see that happening with, but not for another couple of years.¡±

    God help me; my ego preens a little at this.

    ¡°What if Amy wants to marry you?¡± I huff, risking a brief glance at him.

    ¡°She¡¯ll never marry again,¡± he laughs, ¡°Her dad forbids it; they like their money too much,¡± Jack takes a sip of his espresso, holding my eye. ¡°Alpine, it¡¯s not like you¡¯re really ready to take things to the next level either.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask defensively.

    ¡°When I spend the night here,¡± he motions with his head towards the downstairs spare room, ¡°we have sex on the fold-out couch because you haven¡¯t dealt yet with cleaning out Theo¡¯s room.¡±

    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t mind,¡± I say, both surprised and embarrassed, ¡°we have the extra padding and everything¡­.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind. I¡¯m happy sleeping in the dirt. It¡¯s the fact that you¡¯re still sleeping in the room your grandma set up for you as a kid with a set of twin beds that¡¯s the issue. That¡¯s not the behavior of a woman ready for a serious relationship.¡±

    I flinch at this. He has a point. Jack stands and finishes his espresso in one swig, and then comes to the sink to rinse out the cup.

    ¡°How are you set for your meeting with Trident tomorrow morning?¡± He asks in that way he has that signals he¡¯s done with the previous topic of conversation.

 Chapter 10: When life gives you lemons

    ¡°I¡¯ve got what I put together for Trident in the office,¡± I tell Jack, relieved to change the subject away from his breaking my heart, ¡°and then we can work on the final edits for ReWild.¡± I may not be exciting, but am a professional.

    ¡°Great, let¡¯s go look at it,¡± he says a little too enthusiastically, clapping his hands together for emphasis.

    I nod. He follows me. I sit down at the desk and pull up the PDF on my laptop that I sent off to Trident and hand him my computer.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± He asks, leaning against the desk instead of sitting in the other office chair next to me as he scrolls through the document.

    I tell myself this is better than if he was trying to be too chummy. It doesn¡¯t help. I feel so rejected. My thoughts flash with embarrassment to the bathroom upstairs where I have my prettiest bra and panty set already laid out with what else I was planning on wearing tonight. Right now I feel like burning them.

    ¡°An overview of my growth on Instagram and Facebook over the last two years,¡± I say, my voice a bit hoarse, ¡°my stretch goals for the launch of the coloring book, and the style guide I¡¯m thinking of using.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± he chews on his mustache with his bottom lip, ¡°I¡¯m almost positive they want action rather than a report.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, deflated. I thought I did an excellent job.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to upsell yourself for this, Alpine. You¡¯ve got to put yourself front and center as a storyteller of Horse Girls, think video not graphics,¡± he takes out his phone and starts scrolling through it, pulling up my Instagram account. ¡°You¡¯re the one that helped me learn this lesson, you need more video content, but of you, not just your hand drawing something.¡±

    ¡°Even you don¡¯t think I¡¯m photogenic, and you¡¯re an excellent photographer,¡± I retort, my face hot and I¡¯m sure the color of a tomato.

    ¡°I never said you weren¡¯t photogenic,¡± he counters, ¡°I said you were stiff in front of the camera. You just need to relax and let your charming personality come through. Practice more before getting in front of another professional photographer,¡± he winks at me.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to do that,¡± I say, by which I mean I don¡¯t want to do that. Being front and center isn¡¯t my thing.

    ¡°It¡¯s like anything else, like drawing; you weren¡¯t automatically good at that when you started as a kid, were you?¡±

    ¡°For my age, I was,¡± I say, and he makes an exasperated face at me.

    ¡°Alpine, it¡¯s like climbing a mountain; you do it one step at a time. Talk about your work, why it¡¯s interesting to you, and why you¡¯re doing it. Show Trident you can help sell this coloring book because people like you.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree, thinking maybe I could force myself to talk about my love of the Howl¡¯s Moving Castle book as a trial run. But not tonight.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he gives my shoulder a squeeze, ¡°Hey, listen, I¡¯m going to take off and go test out my new camera in this light before going over to the Pennington¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were going to go over ?the final edits on the video,¡± I say tiredly. I know his tone. He¡¯s done with me.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s ready to go; I prefer the longer version of the two most recent versions you sent me,¡± he says, already moving out office the door, ¡°I love the new music you found. I think it all works. They¡¯re going to be thrilled.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I say because sadness has stolen my vocabulary. I get up and follow him. There¡¯s nothing else to say. He can¡¯t wait to get away from boring careful planner me and over to exciting rich sexy Amy fast enough.

    ¡°Make a selfie video,¡± he instructs as I stay in the living room and he goes into the kitchen for his camera, ¡°post it tonight before you meet with them tomorrow. Don¡¯t tell them your potential, demonstrate it,¡± he says, sounding exactly like one of the nameless inspirational gurus my mom has followed over the years.

    ¡°Will do,¡± I nod, lying. It doesn¡¯t matter. He¡¯s already gone mentally. All that¡¯s left is for his body to finish walking out the door.

    **

    After seeing Jack out, I go back to the office and sit. I stare at my laptop and the PDF I¡¯ve created. I¡¯d rather be outside right now, but I don¡¯t want the possibility of running into Lorelei or, worse, Rune. Butterscotch stares up at me in hope for a moment. My mood is so black she gives up on me and slinks out the door.

    Vivienne asks her clients two questions when they''re having trouble in their romantic relationships. What does this feel like, and what does this remind you of?

    She tells me she asks these questions because she points out that we humans tend to repeat patterns of behavior even when we want something different. Usually, we don¡¯t even realize we¡¯re doing it. By stopping and taking the time to notice how we feel, and what it reminds us from the past, we can start to recognize our patterns and consciously choose to respond differently.

    What does this feel like? I ask myself. The easiest thing to focus on, the crumb I can manage right now, is Jack ducking out early and not staying to finish ?the final video edits even though he agreed to it. I close my eyes for a moment and ponder, and there it is. It feels a lot like working for Pamela Lyons.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Pamela frequently started ambitious client proposals with me, promising we''d work together step-by-step only to have her be too busy to participate once the actual work started.

    In the early days when I didn¡¯t yet have the skills to do the work she¡¯d envisioned, I¡¯d have to scramble for help from others in the office. More often than not, I taught myself what I needed to know on YouTube, or even at my art school library.

    What does this remind me of? I ask myself Vivienne¡¯s second question. It reminds me of being a tween and then a teen. It reminds me of working on ?dozens of ambitious artsy display ideas with my mom for one of her home parties, or event proposals, testing out specifics for her work as an event designer.

    What always started out as a fun time with my brilliant creative mother, would often evolve into just me, working on her project alone. About a third of the way through my mom would suddenly decide there were three other things she needed to be doing. Syd was too smart to get caught up in these, she was always off at some sports activity. My dad was off at work in PR promoting some piece of sound equipment.

    I remember lonely hours cutting out ornate crate paper hearts, writing calligraphy by hand for invitations, and painting dozens of terra cotta pots for a unique twist on centerpieces, or artfully branded swag bags.

    A sob catches in my throat. I put my head in my hands and cry so hard the tears are running down my wrist. At my feet, Butterscotch has come back. She whines. I sniff and wipe my eyes before patting my lap for her to jump up. How will I manage my meeting with Trident in the morning, let alone pull together the courage to show up at the fundraiser on Saturday by myself when I feel like this?

    How many men in a row haven¡¯t chosen me as their romantic partner after all when it seemed exactly like that¡¯s where things were going? I¡¯ve got quite a track record now. It¡¯s at least four now.

    What I feel right now is mostly anger, anger at myself for not being able to read the signs from Jack better. Plus, of course, a large dollop of shame. It was probably obvious to others that Jack didn¡¯t feel quite the same way I did, and I just didn¡¯t want to see them.

    I¡¯m like Cinderella, but there won¡¯t be any prince to meet at my ball this weekend. This only serves to remind me of my disastrous time with Rune in Sundance. Interesting and attractive enough to chat with over an extended dinner and a bottle of wine in a dark corner of a fancy bar, but not enough to dance with at a crowded party packed with celebrities. I¡¯m never it. I¡¯m never chosen.

    What I feel like doing right now is grabbing Howl¡¯s Moving Castle and climbing into bed, but it¡¯s too early, and I¡¯m too wound up. I hate that Jack has given me some relevant advice about making selfie videos while he was also crushing my heart.

    Since I can¡¯t go outside. Is there something else I could do to baby-step toward a selfie video? Something active that would help distract me from wanting to cry more angry, embarrassed tears over Jack? Twisting around in my big antique office chair, I take in the bookcase behind me. This is what people see when they¡¯re on calls with me. The roses in their vase are gorgeous, but the empty vases lined up next to the arrangement appear to be exactly like what they are, in storage.

    ¡°That¡¯s not really a good look,¡± I say to Butterscotch, stroking her soft ears with one hand while wiping my eyes on my hoodie with the other. Why didn¡¯t I notice this before?

    Next, my eyes drift critically down the first four shelves. This is also what people see when I¡¯m on calls. The top shelf is filled with Theo¡¯s fashion and design hardbacks mixed with Reuben¡¯s gardening books; below that are several shelves of the paperback spy thrillers they both loved.

    ¡°None of this says Horse Girls, does it?¡± I ask her, ¡°None of this says Shelby Alpinieri is a talented illustrator.¡±

    If I were Vivienne, I¡¯d be lighting incense and saying a prayer right now, calling on some goddess for inspiration. But I¡¯m not quite as woo-woo as she is yet.

    Or am I? What did Sophie do at the beginning Howl¡¯s Moving Castle when she realized the Witch of the Waste had cursed her to be an old woman? She picked herself up, packed her bags, and went in search of Wizard Howl to lift the curse.

    Sophie doesn¡¯t know yet that she herself is a witch with her own powerful magic. She doesn¡¯t realize she has the ability to speak things into being when she really means it. Wouldn¡¯t that be a marvelous skill to have?

    There¡¯s nothing I can do right now about my heart hurting over Jack. I can, however, do something about improving the aesthetics of this bookshelf as a backdrop for my video call tomorrow morning and beyond. But I¡¯m going to need mood music to do it. Wiping my tears, I turn on a mix of girl power music featuring Lizzo and open Pinterest.

    Under ¡°pretty bookshelves,¡± ¡°illustrator bookshelves,¡± and ¡°author¡¯s bookshelves,¡± there are all kinds of visually alluring things I can do I¡¯ve never considered. I hum along and chair dance as I stroke Butterscotch¡¯s ears. I absorb the enchanting ideas of how others are creatively mixing books, art, flowers, plants, and knickknacks in ways and then, like magic, my own ideas start to flow.

    For the next hour or so, Butterscotch and I run back and forth between the pantry in the laundry room, my room upstairs, the garden shed, and the barn. First, I pack up all of the old books I¡¯m not going to read for donating (keeping back a handful of the thrillers my dad and sister would like).

    Next, I put the rest of the glass vases in the laundry room pantry, and then go out and search for a small fern to transplant. There¡¯s a lovely celery green clay pot in the potting shed I¡¯ve been wanting to do something with. The fern and the pot will add a nice splash of color against all of the dark wood.

    Out in the barn, in Theo¡¯s special room, I find three cool wooden picture frames I can put my illustrations in. And then, finally, I go upstairs and lug down my grandmother¡¯s hardback series of Mary Stewart classic suspense romances and her Marguerite Henry horse books.

    ¡°Let¡¯s make some magic,¡± I tell the bookshelf as twilight fills the room with a lovely pink glow. The books, three of my favorite illustrations from the Horse Girls coloring book, and the one lone Breyer model of a lovely chestnut Arabian mare I brought with me all find their perfect places.

    Keeping my photo app open on my large desktop monitor, I jump up and down between my desk and the bookshelf behind me as I arrange things. I make sure the most alluring and whimsical items on the bookshelf are viewable over my shoulder. The roses are scooted to my left on the top shelf so viewers can see them clearly, the potted fern is moved up a shelf. I really like what¡¯s coming together.

    Yes, it¡¯ll be embarrassing to go to the ReWild fundraiser solo, but I have a table of friends to sit with. Thinking of Syd¡¯s advice, I smile wryly. It would be fabulous if Jack thought somehow Rune was here to sweep me off my feet. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t have my sister¡¯s looks or spunk to finagle Rune into being my date Saturday night, even if he does owe me a favor over the loaning of the bed, or for being a jerk at Sundance.

    When my stomach starts to growl, I realize I¡¯ve been immersed in arranging and rearranging the bookshelf for hours. I make myself a large bowl of pesto spaghetti and climb into bed to finish reading Howl¡¯s Moving Castle.

 Chapter 11: Even more bad news

    When I log into the video call with Trident, three people are waiting for me: two I know, one I don¡¯t.

    ¡°Shelby! Hello!¡± Dulari greets me enthusiastically with a wave from what I recognize as her office. She¡¯s the young twenty-something editor to whom I originally pitched my Horse Girls coloring book concept. Back then, she worked for a much smaller scholastic publishing house in Portland, Oregon. This was before Trident bought them out.

    ¡°Nice to see you, Dulari,¡± I say, appreciating the kind energy radiating from her. Even if the place we¡¯re at now has strayed far from my original concept, she¡¯s always been a fun and supportive person to collaborate with. I wave at her boss, Ted Bracken sitting in a conference room with a woman who looks like a corporate lawyer.

    ¡°Shelby, I¡¯d like to introduce Cheryl Gelson,¡± Ted says, and the third woman on the nods at me, a little like visiting royalty. All three of them are dressed in New York chic. Ted and Cheryl are both in dark suits, Dulari¡¯s wearing an elegant silky blush blouse she looks fantastic in.

    I¡¯m glad I¡¯m wearing the pretty vintage cream-colored sweater I found in Theo¡¯s private collection while looking for picture frames last night. I¡¯m happy I reimagined the bookshelf behind me too. Both give me a sense of accomplishment. at least I now look the part of a cool art girl illustrator, although I don¡¯t feel like one yet.

    ¡°Shelby, it¡¯s lovely to finally meet you,¡± Cheryl tells me in a tone that sounds like she¡¯s been requesting this gathering for weeks, ¡°I¡¯m excited to share with you how we see Passion, Fashion, Fun: Horses unfold now moving forward.¡±

    ¡°Passion, Fashion, Fun: Horses?¡± I ask, confused but hoping it doesn¡¯t show too much on my face. Did I miss something? Are there emails I haven¡¯t read?

    ¡°It¡¯s the brand-new name for the coloring book,¡± Ted says to me brightly, ¡°to go with the series of other inspirational and active living coloring books we¡¯re creating for women. We¡¯re also developing Passion, Fashion, Fun: Dancing and Passion, Fashion, Fun: Surfing.¡±

    ¡°It just became official today,¡± Dulari pipes in, ¡°that¡¯s why we haven¡¯t shared it with you yet.¡±

    ¡°The new series builds a bigger platform for other product placement and promotion on social media,¡± Cheryl says, in a tone that tells me this is what really interests her. Should I be worried?

    ¡°By product, do you mean other items that can go along with the coloring book like individual prints for paint by number or¡­¡± I ask.

    ¡°I like how you think,¡± Cheryl says with a knowing smile that relaxes her frosty demeanor a little, ¡°but in this case, no we mean bigger ticket items like all of the fabulous apparel and other accoutrement that goes along with horses,¡± she says this last part with an emphasized French flair.

    ¡°Like tack?¡± I clarify, still not sure I¡¯m following.

    ¡°Exactly!¡± Cheryl affirms, ¡°Trident¡¯s new parent company owns the top-tier equestrian brand Ride Out.¡±

    At this point, Dulari is starting to appear uncomfortable. Ted jumps into the conversation enthusiastically, ¡°We have the report you sent about your growing social media strength, which has promise¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your illustrations are fantastic,¡± Dulari pipes in, ¡°I love that you¡¯re going to draw a coloring page for Howl¡¯s Magic Castle!¡±

    Both Cheryl and Ted smile politely but vaguely. They obviously have no idea what Dulari is referring to.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you sharing pictures of yourself riding like the other two illustrators for this project,¡± Cheryl retakes the reins of the conversation. That¡¯s a missing that needs to be rectified as soon as possible.¡± Her tone is now stern, which I have a feeling is its default setting.

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, my mind feeling like a dog¡¯s nails scrambling for purchase on wood flooring. This is the first time this topic has ever been brought up.

    ¡°I¡¯m not taking riding lessons right now. I don¡¯t own a horse,¡± I admit. I can¡¯t fake horse ownership.

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡± Cheryl blinks at me in surprise, ¡°But you do ride, right? I¡¯m sure I saw someplace that you ride,¡± she starts flipping through paperwork.

    ¡°Yes, I do ride,¡± I tell her, ¡°But I haven¡¯t taken lessons since I moved up to Washington State a few years ago.¡±

    She and Ted¡¯s expressions seem to expect me to pull a horse out of mid-air. Crap. A wave of angry embarrassment hits me. I¡¯m back to being a teen taking riding lessons at a beautiful high-end stable in a Malibu canyon. I was the only middle-class kid among the children of famous Hollywood producers, directors, and actors.

    Dulari looks absolutely mortified now. She knows the story. I gave up riding at fifteen because we couldn¡¯t afford to lease a horse. The whole point of Horse Girls (the one I started with, anyway) was that so many women and girls who love horses can¡¯t afford to own them or even take lessons.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    You don¡¯t need to own a horse or take riding lessons to love or be inspired by them. Horses are expensive. That¡¯s why coloring books featuring them are so popular ¡ª they¡¯re affordable access. How did this message not get across to Ted and Cheryl? Their growth market isn¡¯t the women and girls who own horses; it¡¯s the ones who dream of it.

    ¡°But Dulari says you live in horse country now; couldn¡¯t you start up again? Like next week?¡± Ted asks, as if this is a no brainer.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± I say, stalling, not wanting to admit that it would be a tough financial stretch right now.

    ¡°Perfect!¡± Cheryl says as if relieved, ¡°Our target market is female equestrian twenty-somethings, like the other two illustrators, but having you as a young middle-aged rider expands our appeal,¡± she says this as if she has no awareness that she herself, obviously in her late 40¡¯s or older, is squarely in the middle of middle age.

    Yes, technically, thirty-four is considered young middle-aged, at least in Cheryl¡¯s marketing world way of thinking. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be insulted, but I am. Heck, my mother still considers herself middle-aged at sixty.

    So, has their challenge with my Instagram feed been about my not showing off a horse? Did Jack and I both missed the boat?

    ¡°Do you ride English or Western?¡± Ted asks politely.

    ¡°Both,¡± I say, and then because I¡¯m so annoyed, I want to brag a little, ¡°But I¡¯ll take dressage lessons again when I return.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you ride dressage,¡± Cheryl coos, looking much happier, ¡°that¡¯s impressive, all those top hats and tails on horseback; it¡¯s so elegant.¡±

    I¡¯m glad I¡¯ve impressed her, but I¡¯m knocked off my already shaky center. I thought this call was about proving how popular I could become on social media as an illustrator, not an equestrian. I don¡¯t point out to her that people at my intermediate level of riding this Olympic sport don¡¯t wear fancy attire in competition; that¡¯s only for the best of the best.

    The money we¡¯ve been offered to publish this book, split three ways, is nowhere near the budget I¡¯d need to take weekly lessons and lease a dressage-trained (and obviously photogenic) horse.

    ¡°As soon as you¡¯re all set up, Ride Out will be happy to send you some swag,¡± Ted tells me, breaking into my thoughts, ¡°As the lead illustrator and ideator of this project, you deserve a beautiful new horse blanket. Or at least a saddle pad that matches your riding togs, don¡¯t you think, Cheryl?¡±

    ¡°Ride Out?¡± I ask, stunned, still stuck on what Ted said about a saddle pad and riding togs. They¡¯re serious about this. The tsunami wave is towering in my mind, getting ready to crash down on me. Ride Out is what the Hollywood elite girls wore at my stable. Yes, their saddle pads often matched their riding togs.

    ¡°Yes. The best of the best,¡± Cheryl confirms, ¡°How soon do you think you can start uploading images from your riding lessons and some general stable shots for atmosphere? The sooner and more scenic, the better. I¡¯m sure someone with your aesthetics in design understands this.¡±

    I take a slow deep breath before I tell them, ¡°I think this new direction you¡¯re going in, mixing action sports and fashion with an inspiring coloring book, is compelling.¡± This is the sort of thing Uncle Theo would say. He was such a master diplomat.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Ted beams a newscaster¡¯s smile at me.

    ¡°My challenge is that riding lessons just aren¡¯t in my wheelhouse right now with my current schedule; I wish they were.¡± I hope I look sincere as I say this, when what I am is pissed off at their new angle of for the rich only cross-promotional branding.

    Dulari¡¯s face now has a bit of a green cast to it. She appears as blind-sided by this whole unfolding as I am.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s too bad,¡± Cheryl says, as if I''ve flunked an important math test. "We¡¯ll need to pivot then, remove your name from the title, and purchase your artwork. Ted can work that out with you.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Am I getting fired for not being able to afford a horse to photograph for their social media, ¡°You¡¯re removing me from the project I brought to you?¡±

    ¡°You brought an idea to a publishing house that was folded into ours. It¡¯s evolved since then, become much more marketable,¡± Cheryl has returned to her original haughtiness at the opening of the phone call.

    ¡°You signed a new contract when Trident bought out Smart Owls Publishing, which gave us the right to take you off the cover if you didn¡¯t prove to be a good fit,¡± Ted tells me, in a voice that says I should have read the fine print better.

    My mind is reeling. How did I miss that in the contract? How could I be such an idiot? When I told Vivienne I was worried I¡¯d be fired, I was being dramatic.

    Sell them your art, sweetheart, and be done with them, a familiar, beloved male voice says quietly in my head, and ask them if you can have the Horse Girls name back.

    On screen, Dulari seems to want the floor to open and swallow her whole. I can relate. Cheryl and Ted look like this is just another meeting. It probably is.

    Theo? I ask silently. Is it possible? Or am I going crazy from stress and heartbreak?

    I¡¯m here, darling, he answers.

    ¡°I want the use of my original Horse Girls title,¡± I blurt out quickly. Ted and Cheryl, share a glance.

    ¡°Done,¡± Ted says, smiling again, ¡°we don¡¯t need it.¡±

    We all sign off extremely quickly after that.

    What just happened, I ask silently, jumping up out of the chair, but there¡¯s no response. My body is buzzing with anger and shame, but I¡¯m also hoping against hope that didn¡¯t imagine Theo¡¯s voice in desperation.

    Theo, are you still there? I ask in my head as I march upstairs, ¡°How is this happening?¡±

    I¡¯m still here darling, he says, You got rid of enough of your mental blocks to let me in.

    What do I do now? I ask, Butterscotch at my heels, excited to see me. I shut her out of the office since it wasn¡¯t dog friendly meeting.

    Go for a walk, Theo advises.

    That¡¯s sound advice. I need to get outside, decompress, and work off some of this anger. My spine¡¯s about ready to snap. I also need to figure out if I¡¯m going insane. If Theo¡¯s voice isn¡¯t imagined, what is it? Am I channeling him? Do I believe such a thing is possible? I hope it¡¯s possible. I miss him so much.

    Through my bedroom windows, I can see it¡¯s misting again. I don¡¯t care. I slip quickly out of my sweater and jeans and change into fleece-lined leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a hoodie against the chill.

    In the laundry room, I grab my lightest rain jacket off the hook by the door, head out for my regular trail walk, and run loop. I leave Butterscotch behind because it¡¯s farther than she likes to go yet.

 Chapter 12: Shelby and Runes worlds collide

    I leave Butterscotch behind for my walk since it¡¯s further than she still likes. Moving briskly, I cross the field towards the back of the property. At the same time, I take long, slow, deep breaths, filling my lungs with damp fresh air. I exhale even more slowly, using yet another technique I¡¯ve learned for dealing with stress and anxiety.

    I might be channeling Theo, I think. Or I might be going crazy. Stress can do that to you. Whatever the case, I¡¯m glad I¡¯m heading towards the forest. What can I say? Some people love the beach. I¡¯m drawn to trees. The Japanese are on to something with their forest bathing concept.

    It¡¯s very Lord of the Rings in this region¡ªthe ubiquitous dark towering fir trees, the undulating topography, the rain, and the occasional mist and fog. All of it is carved up by the blue-green Puget Sound, which makes this island-like peninsula look like a praying mantis on a map. No wonder so many Scandinavians came here. It must have felt just like home.

    Whether it¡¯s my Norwegian myth-loving blood calling or my epic fantasy-loving side, this land bewitches me. Sometimes, I sit in one of the oversized Adirondack chairs on the back deck and daydream. I imagine seeing one of my three favorite LOTR heroes at the forest''s edge. They appear on horseback (of course) to invite me off on an exciting and romantic adventure. I¡¯m not too picky; it could be Aragorn, Legolas, or Faramir (who, as I get older, I appreciate more and more). I could really use a hero right now.

    My heart twists painfully. Book or daydreamed romances are the only kinds I¡¯m likely to have in the near future, or maybe any future. This area isn¡¯t a hotbed of single life, and I¡¯m certainly not ready to try the active living singles site I met Jack through again yet. No. I need time to heal, regroup, and learn more from Vivienne first.

    I hope the money Trident offers me isn¡¯t significantly less than what I would be paid originally. Crap. It¡¯s less expensive to live here than if I was paying rent, but Theo had left a bit of a financial mess to clean up. Syd and I are still paying off his debt against the property. Gunnar also warned me that we¡¯ll need a new roof soon.

    Chewing on my lower lip in concentration, I scroll through my phone for the right angry-girl-get-your-self-together music. Dua Lipa¡¯s New Rules comes up. Perfect.

    This song helped me finally get over my infatuated, mostly unrequited crush with another handsome photographer several years ago. Maybe it¡¯ll help with this Trident fiasco and, of course, the Jack debacle. I really am cursed.

    Ian McCallister. Whew. It¡¯s good to remind myself I¡¯m still standing after him. Like Vivienne, he took me under his wing when I first worked for Pamela. He¡¯s brilliant, a tantalizing mix of outdoorsman who also loves fashion. He now spends his time working for top fashion brands and National Geographic.

    To be fair, Ian was a great teacher. I owe most of my video editing skills to him. In the past, this was precisely the kind of topsy-turvy my life sucks moment that would compel me to reach out to Ian again. If he were between gigs and the models and actresses he usually dated, we¡¯d be hiking in the Santa Monica mountains near his place in Malibu within a couple of hours. More often than not, I¡¯d be staying the night at his place because he hates to sleep alone.

    Fortunately, Ian¡¯s still in L.A., and I¡¯m up here. As Dua advises, if you¡¯re still finding yourself sleeping with a man, you¡¯re certainly not moving on. I sing along with her as I enter the path that will take me straight into the Port Gamble Forest.

    The sad irony of this morning¡¯s conversation with the publishing team is that I do want to take riding lessons again; it¡¯s absolutely on my bucket list. I¡¯d started taking dressage a few years ago at the very same stable I rode at as a kid (when I was all about jumping). But stopped when I came up here. I miss it. I need to get to a better place financially first.

    Dressage is so much fun. It¡¯s the ballet of riding, but the horse is the dancer. It¡¯s an amazing feeling. At the heart of it, you¡¯re learning to communicate, so the animal does an array of impressively athletic but natural moves (such as they do when running free and playing), all on your signal.

    Maybe I can start lessons later this summer. And maybe next year¡­first things first. Maybe Lorelei and I really can get Gunner to fix his horse stalls. It would be so convenient (and much more affordable) if he¡¯d let me stable a horse right next door. But then I¡¯d need to figure out all the other long list of expenses accompanying a horse.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    You could crowdsource your original Horse Girls idea, Theo says in my head.

    Crowdsource? I ask mentally, turning down the music.

    No one answers. I probably am delusional. And I have no idea how to crowdsource anything. I have online illustrator contacts who¡¯ve done it successfully, and I know others who use one of the subscription-based social media platforms to help support themselves. But I¡¯m a total newbie to any of that.

    Not long after I met him, Jack and another photographer friend tried to crowdsource a coffee table photo book on Kickstarter and failed. Remembering this makes my stomach lurch. But then I remember you don¡¯t have to do a total gamble when raising money this way. This thought helps my shoulders come down from under my ears.

    I do love my original Horse Girls concept. That¡¯s the one bright spot in this horrible morning that Trident doesn¡¯t care if I use the name. My original idea is about real women and horses from history who did remarkable things.

    The challenge was the time each drawing took me to create. I wanted them to be well-researched so that I could capture the energy and essence of their remarkable stories. When I first pitched the idea to Dulari, I only had ten of them done. I¡¯d need at least triple the number of illustrations to create a full coloring book.

    What if I use the illustrations in another way? I wonder as I enter the official trail. I ponder this possibility as I walk quickly along, enjoying the mix of bird songs in the tree canopy above me and the spicy, rich scent of the trees around me.

    From here, I can walk to Port Gamble, the charming historic logging town. Rune and I used to ride his aunt Sally¡¯s lesson ponies to get ice cream on this trail in the summer. That¡¯s farther than I want to go today. I¡¯ll walk a three-mile loop I¡¯ve been doing several times a week to keep in shape for hiking with Jack. Mostly, I walk, but I¡¯ll do a good sprint at the end.

    There¡¯s no one else out right now. The birds and I have the forest to ourselves. I take out my phone again and pull up a mix my dad sent me last week. It¡¯s some of his favorite old-school 70s and 80s funk and disco, perfect for walking, dancing, and ideating.

    As the distinctive opening groove of Chaka Kahn¡¯s Aint Nobody comes on, I pick up my pace and dance walk along. Could I really crowdsource the money to do my own project for Horse Girls? And if I did it, could I have something together by October for the holiday season?

    If I decided to move forward with this crazy idea, I¡¯d have four months to prepare. I can¡¯t totally stop working freelance to focus just on this project right now, but not getting together with Jack to hike over most weekends will undoubtedly free up space. It sucks, but there it is.

    Crap. This reminds me that I still need to figure out what to do about the fundraising party on Saturday night. It¡¯s a stellar networking opportunity, but I hate the idea of going solo. I wouldn¡¯t mind going alone normally since my friends and I have a table. However, knowing Jack will show up with Amy Pennington when my friends expect us to be there as a couple will be completely mortifying.

    Crap. Crap. Crap. I pick up my pace as Earth Wind & Fire¡¯s Boogie Wonderland comes on, which you must dance to.

    What about Rune? Theo asks in my head just loud enough over the music I catch it.

    Very funny, I think back, I¡¯m sure Rune has a girlfriend.

    Of course, he does; how could he not? Or maybe he¡¯s just broken someone else¡¯s heart, and he¡¯s in between? No. Not going there.

    Just ask him as a friend, Theo nudges.

    No, I can¡¯t do it, I think back tartly.

    I don¡¯t need any more rejection right now; thank you very much. If he couldn¡¯t be seen with me at a Sundance party, why would he say yes to this kind of event?

    What I need is to dance these finicky, fickle men that I¡¯m not good enough for out of my system. Since I already bought both tickets, I¡¯ll host another woman who can¡¯t afford one. In my growing friend network, there has to be someone who would love to come.

    I¡¯m almost full-out dancing now, feeling the groove of this fantastic old-school music. Moving my arms and swaying my hips saucily, I start to do steps from all of those street dancing classes I took for years and years and what I¡¯ve picked up from YouTube more recently.

    Then the magic really happens. Stevie Wonder¡¯s Don¡¯t You Worry ¡®Bout a Thing comes on. I stop in the middle of the trail and laugh out loud. It feels like a sign. I¡¯ll not only survive these terrible two days, but somehow, I¡¯ll come out better on the other side. It just might take a while.

    This is the song my dad would play whenever anyone in my family was sad or in a challenging situation. We weren¡¯t religious, but my parents fervently believed in the spiritual experience of great music. I start dancing even more earnestly in place, putting my whole body into it, feeling loose, free, and happier than I have in weeks.

    I¡¯ll cut my walk dance short. I¡¯ll put the word out to my friends right now; that way, they¡¯ll know Jack¡¯s not coming as my date. I¡¯ll run home to make up for cutting my walk short.

    Turning on my heel, I launch myself into a run. One stride in, I crash right into the runner coming in the other direction.

    Rune¡¯s shocked surprise mirrors my own as I smack into his chest and tip him backward. We go down hard with a muffled thud on the damp, needle-cushioned trail.

 Chapter 13: Rune says yes to a fake date

    I¡¯m too stunned to move. Rune¡¯s elevated heart pounds rhythmically against my ear. He has my head cradled against his chest tucked under his chin. I breathe in and catch a tantalizing hint of tangerine and something else appealing. Is it his cologne, or detergent, or the slightly sweaty him who smells so delicious?

    In the forest canopy above us, birds sing and chatter away as if nothing has happened. I realize my arms are hooked around Rune¡¯s lovely square shoulders and ¡­oh God. I¡¯m sprawled across him like a lover.

    We realize this embarrassing situation at the exact moment. His hands drop to the ground as I let go of him. Afraid I might have given him a concussion from the impact, I put my hands down on the trail on either side of him and push myself up slightly so I can peer down at his face.

    ¡°How¡¯s your head?¡± I ask, staring straight into his eyes to see if his pupils appear strange.

    Rune¡¯s eyes are darker green right now, reflecting the trees around us. Otherwise, they seem normal, except he¡¯s not looking at me. For some reason, he¡¯s staring at my mouth. For a nanosecond, it seems like he might kiss me. That can¡¯t be true, can it?

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Rune tells me, lifting his gaze as if it¡¯s no big deal, ¡°It¡¯s pretty hard.¡±

    As he says this, my face heats. My right thigh is between his two, against his package. It¡¯s responding. Rune¡¯s Freudian slip dawns on him in horror. We spring apart as if we¡¯ve received an electric shock.

    ¡°You might have a concussion,¡± I tell him, trying to sound nonchalant as I retrieve my phone from where it fell out of my pocket, ¡°I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s wise to keep running.¡±

    I¡¯m doing my best not to be flustered by the impact, how fabulous he smells, what¡¯s going on in his pants, or what¡¯s going on in my pants in response.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯m fine,¡± he says brusquely, pulling his long shirt away from his body as if he¡¯s too warm. I shoot him a fierce glance. He raises his hands in defeat, ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll play it safe; escort me home, Florence Nightingale. That is if you¡¯re done shaking your groove thang.¡±

    I roll my eyes at him to cover my discomfort as we turn around and head toward home. How much of my crazy dancing did he witness? We walk in awkward silence for a bit. We¡¯re both doing our best to brush mud and wet leaves off ourselves. Rune¡¯s sleek, light sage, expensive-looking athletic outfit has the worst of it.

    ¡°What¡¯s my name?¡± I ask abruptly, trying to remember what I was told in a first aid class at riding camp about concussions.

    ¡°Shelby Elizabeth Pain in the Ass Alpinieri,¡± he recites, ¡°Satisfied?¡±

    ¡°Mmmm,¡± I murmur. Wow. He remembered.

    All things considered, it''s better I not offer to brush the leaves and twigs off his back and rear end. We¡¯ve had quite enough physical contact, thank you. I¡¯m surprised I can walk straight with my lower regions spinning in euphoria from those brief seconds of touch. What is going on with my body?

    Now¡¯s your chance, girlfriend, Theo¡¯s voice says brightly, Ask Rune to the fundraiser.

    Now isn¡¯t a good time, I think back, glancing sideways at Rune. He appears to be lost in thought, gazing up at the trees and running his fingers through his hair, which makes my fingers want to do the same. Down girl. If Jack¡¯s bad news in that direction, Rune is terrible. Remember Sundance. Remember his new predilection for breaking hearts.

    Now¡¯s the perfect time, Theo insists, with what I could swear is a chuckle. Perfect. My dead great-uncle is laughing at me from beyond the grave.

    If you don¡¯t ask him, Theo says smugly, I will, with your voice.

    You can¡¯t, I think back, You¡¯re not real; you¡¯re only in my head.

    Are you absolutely positive about that? Theo asks.

    No, I¡¯m not, I admit.

    Theo chuckles gleefully. Crap.

    ¡°Rune,¡± I say quickly, terrified Theo might make good on his threat, ¡°I have a favor to ask.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Oh?¡± He turns to me with his hands on top of his head in a way that flexes his biceps a bit too nicely through the thin fabric of his shirt. What a peacock he is.

    ¡°It might be a smart thing for you too,¡± I hedge, distracted by the realization those arms were wrapped around me, ¡°that is if you¡¯re interested in meeting new people around here.¡±

    ¡°Spit it out, Shells,¡± he narrows his eyes at me, sounding exasperated, as if he knows I was ogling him, ¡°Just don¡¯t ask for my first child; I¡¯ve had a vasectomy.¡±

    He continues walking as if he hasn¡¯t shared something extremely personal with me, picking up the pace to prove he¡¯s okay.

    ¡°Really?¡± I ask, almost jogging to catch up, shocked he¡¯d admit this. Considering how he spends his free time, though, this is a wise move, ¡°Good for you,¡± I say.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± He looks both surprised and disarmed by my reaction.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, ¡°I mean, not everyone you date is someone you want to have kids with, and climate change is making the world a scary place right now,¡± I add this last bit about one of my favorite soap boxes. ¡°I¡¯d like to adopt someday, but I don¡¯t feel comfortable having my own kids.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± he agrees with alacrity, ¡°so what¡¯s the favor?¡± He sounds less annoyed now.

    I¡¯m glad he¡¯s refocusing the conversation away from the way too personal. Still, I¡¯d love to know what his ¡®exactly¡¯ is referring to. Is it everything I said or something specific? Is he blatantly admitting to being a notorious rake? Does he worry about climate change as much as I do? Does he want to adopt?

    ¡°I have an extra ticket to a fundraising event Saturday night on Bainbridge for this cool non-profit I work with,¡± I say instead, ¡°It creates outdoor learning experiences for High School kids,¡± I tell him, speaking so fast I hope my words make sense. ¡°If you¡¯re free, would you consider coming with me?¡±

    ¡°What happened to your date? Is he out of town?¡± Rune asks, looking a little suspicious.

    I school my face to keep it from wincing. How did he figure out it was a date last night? Or did Gunnar tell him about Jack and me?

    ¡°Ye...s,¡± I verbally stumble and then decide to be brutally honest in case he¡¯ll agree to go out of pity, ¡°but no, he¡¯ll be there. He¡¯s decided he needs to be a free agent right now. He thinks he¡¯ll appeal more to the beautiful rich board member who hired him to do photography and videography work if we don''t go together.¡±

    ¡°Ouch,¡± Rune grimaces at me.

    ¡°Yep,¡± I agree, ¡°some friends and I have a table. I could go alone, but they¡¯ll ask questions I don¡¯t want to answer right now.¡±

    ¡°Is it fancy?¡± He asks, which is not the question I was expecting, ¡°I have a suit with me but not a tuxedo.¡±

    Is he actually thinking about saying yes?

    Of course, he is, doll, Theo says, sounding very self-satisfied, This is Rune.

    What the heck does that mean? Theo is suddenly radio silence. Rune¡¯s looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

    ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s not a Hollywood kind of thing,¡± I clarify quickly; fundraisers to him must mean galas with red carpets, ¡°It¡¯s being held at a gorgeous private estate, but it¡¯s just a regular costume party.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the theme?¡± Rune asks, looking more interested.

    ¡°It¡¯s a midsummer event, and this time it¡¯s the summer of love,¡± I say, willing myself not to blush as Theo cackles with glee at me mentally.

    ¡°Like 1960s summer of love or some crazy pagan Viking orgy?¡± Rune asks, which is a valid question, but ack.

    ¡°The 1960s version; this is a fundraiser for a youth program,¡± I scowl at him to handle my embarrassment.

    ¡°We¡¯re in little Norway,¡± he reminds me, opening his arms to gesture at the forest around us. ¡°And the 1960s summer of love wasn¡¯t tame either, Seashell.¡±

    ¡°So my dad tells me,¡± I shoot back dryly.

    ¡°Your dad went to Haight Ashbury as a toddler?¡± he asks, equally crisp. Of course Rune would know this kind of detail.

    ¡°No, but he¡¯s studied it,¡± I say, sounding like the complete nerd that I am.

    ¡°What are you going to wear?¡± Rune cocks that right eyebrow at me.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet, but I have several racks of Theo¡¯s favorite clothes in the barn. I¡¯m sure we can both find something that works in there.¡±

    Rune stops in the middle of the trail, ¡°You still have some of Theo¡¯s vintage clothes?¡± His tone and expression are like I¡¯ve announced a surprise Christmas.

    ¡°Yeah. I have all kinds of things of his in the barn he couldn¡¯t let go of, including his favorite clothes,¡± I tell him. ¡°Why? Will that sweeten the deal if you get to go shopping through the rolling racks in the barn?¡±

    Clever girl, Theo says with delight.

    Of course! Rune¡¯s a total clotheshorse. He is so Wizard Howl.

    ¡°I¡¯m totally in if I get to go shopping through Theo¡¯s clothes,¡± Rune tells me enthusiastically; his energy changed as he starts walking again. ¡°First, I have to see if Lorelei can stay with her friends for a few hours if Marguerite¡¯s not available.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not; she has another event that night. I already checked,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Ah, okay, I¡¯ll check with Lorelei¡¯s Bainbridge friends then,¡± he tells me, taking out his phone and texting rapidly. Wow. What a difference the suitable bribe makes.

    See, Theo says with self-satisfaction.

    I ignore him and say instead to Rune, ¡°I¡¯m trying to decide what to do with these clothes. Theo couldn¡¯t make up his mind. My mom wants Syd and I to give most of them to her friend Franklin Haus....¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give them to Franklin Haus,¡± Rune says sharply, cutting me off. Then he sighs, realizing he spoke abruptly and starts scrubbing his hand over his hair again, ¡°Look, I¡¯m sure I can help you find the right buyer with some of my television and film contacts.¡±

    ¡°That would be fantastic. It¡¯s been a nightmare squaring away everything for Theo. He was pretty disorganized.¡±

    ¡°My mom was super organized, and it still sucked. I can only imagine,¡± he says kindly.

    It¡¯s lovely to have someone my age understands what it''s like dealing with the death of a loved one. I¡¯ve been dealing with stuff I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have to contemplate for decades.

    ¡°I have one more condition about being your date for this event,¡± Rune tells me decisively. I think about correcting him. It¡¯s not really a date, but for some reason, I don¡¯t.

    ¡°Okay. Name it,¡± I say, thinking fair¡¯s fair.

    ¡°I choose your outfit.¡±

 Chapter 14: Shelby lets the sunshine in

    My ego wants to do a crazy victory dance around the laundry room as I enter the house. But it¡¯s wise not to get ahead of myself. Rune isn¡¯t confirmed yet. Anything could happen between now and Saturday night.

    I¡¯d also like to send angry emojis in response to the images Jack keeps texting me. But it¡¯s not smart to make an enemy of him; we still might have to work together. It is, however, beyond annoying that he¡¯s asking me my opinion on the best shots from his trip to Amy¡¯s dad¡¯s island mansion and the stunning scenery around it. No, I don¡¯t want to give him my thoughts on which would be best for his social media and website. Good grief.

    Frankly my heart, or maybe it¡¯s my ego, has cooled a bit on the idea of Jack and I ever having a future together. Do I want to be the sort of person who longs for someone who¡¯d do what he¡¯s doing? On some level I get it. It¡¯s a fantastic opportunity for him, but I hate the way he handled it.

    And though I¡¯m happy there¡¯s a good chance that Rune¡¯s coming with me on Saturday, but I¡¯m still mad at him. I think that¡¯s wise. If he hadn¡¯t already been such a jerk at Sundance, I wouldn¡¯t be forewarned now. My newly broken heart and bruised ego would be seriously tempted to follow my body¡¯s lead into revisiting an old crush.

    So, I¡¯ll take another page from Howl¡¯s Moving Castle. I¡¯ll think of Rune as a necessary evil to help me accomplish my own goals. This is exactly what Sophie did when she became a housekeeper for Wizard Howl. She felt confident in the fact that being an old woman would keep him from eating her heart. At that point of the story, she has no idea that the Wizard¡¯s reputation is all based on metaphor, that like Rune, and probably Jack, he¡¯s a serial heartbreaker. I¡¯m not an old woman, but I think my scarred heart can act as a good shield.

    I set my phone alarm for an hour from now to check in Rune¡¯s hard head. I know he doesn¡¯t think he¡¯s got a concussion, but it¡¯s better to be safe than sorry.

    I decide there¡¯s no time like the present to start the process of creating my Howl¡¯s fanart coloring page. I open a new Pinterest folder to organize my visual inspiration and search YouTube for some Howl music. The animated movie version of Howl¡¯s has a beautiful theme song. The catchy waltz is called The Merry Go Round of Life. There are dozens of renditions to choose from. I pick one with the image I like the best and push play. The music of the lyrically romantic tune with a touch of haunting middle European flair fills the office.

    Tapping my toes along with the music, I start daydreaming again about twenty-something to mid-thirty-something fair-haired British actors who could play Howl well - and - who would be fun to draw.

    Aren¡¯t you forgetting Rune? Theo pipes up in my head.

    Rune says he¡¯s no longer acting, so I don¡¯t think he¡¯d approve of me drawing him, I think back primly.

    Don¡¯t be silly, Theo chides, he¡¯d adore your drawing him as this Howl character.

    Hmmm. This is only ideating, right, so why not? It¡¯s not 100% necessary for Howl to be played by a man from the British Isles. In the English dubbed version of the movie, British actor Christian Bale voiced Howl with an American accent, but the actresses who voiced young and old Sophie both had British ones.

    Rune does accents well. Howl is actually from Wales in the book (his real name is Howell Jenkins). Could he pull it off? He used to keep me in stitches, mimicking our favorite TV and movie characters. When he played Julia Endo¡¯s on-again, off-again love interest in her TV series, he played a wealthy young techie transplant from Austin, complete with a southern drawl.

    I look up ''Asher Dillion with long hair.'' I¡¯m given dozens of choices. Many of the photos are with Julia. Wow. They were photographed everywhere together. I choose the close ups of Rune''s face with expressions that I think would work well for Howl and add them to the pinned images of the other actors I¡¯ve selected.

    Next, I organize my four favorite actors into a post for Instagram with a big question mark. Let¡¯s see who my followers think I should draw as Wizard Howl.

    I hate to admit it, but on one thing Jack does have a point. I¡¯ve dragged my feet long enough about doing selfie videos. It doesn¡¯t have to be an elaborate production; it can just be fun. If I hate it, I don¡¯t have to post it. I can talk for a minute or two about why I love Howl¡¯s Moving Castle, what it meant to me, and how I¡¯m looking forward to drawing this new coloring page.

    My phone chimes. It¡¯s already been an hour since I smacked into Rune. I send him a quick text and then head upstairs to fix my makeup and change back into that nice vintage sweater. My phone beeps again as I¡¯m putting my overly long hair back into a messy topknot.

    Rune: No, there¡¯s no concussion. Yes, I¡¯m your date for Saturday night. I have one more prerequisite.

    Me: Thank you!??

    Rune: I need you to return the favor next month for another event.

    Me: Okay. But I don¡¯t have fancy clothes up here with me except Theo¡¯s collection.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Rune: I¡¯ll have you covered.

    Me: Thumbs-up emoji

    I set my phone for another hour and go back to grimacing at my reflection. Is he going to buy me something appropriate if and when the time comes? Or does he know someone I could borrow something from? I hoped that by telling him I had nothing to wear, he¡¯d give up and find someone else. And anyway, what are the chances I¡¯ll need to go? He¡¯s sure to find someone as a real date by then.

    My bangs are in that awkward am-I-growing-them-out-or-cutting-them-again stage, so I use my curling iron to give them some shape. I don¡¯t usually wear this much makeup, but I was attempting to be more of an ¡°it¡± girl this morning for the publishing house meeting. I use a Q-tip to clean up where the eyeshadow and mascara under my eyes have smudged, and I apply a little powder to my nose to get rid of the shine.

    **

    The video turned out better than I thought it would. At the last minute, it occurred to me to tell the story of how Astrid introduced my summertime bestie and me to the YA classic one rainy summer day when we complained of being bored. I also share that Astrid passed far too young and what a magical person she was.

    It makes me break out in a nervous sweat, but I go ahead and post the video to Instagram. Of course, I didn¡¯t use Rune¡¯s name. Most people have no idea that Asher Dillion is actually named Rune Borstad, but you never know. I finish my post with all kinds of hashtags and then go annoy Rune with yet another check-in text.

    **

    ¡°So, Trident came through with almost as much money as I¡¯d make as before,¡± I tell my neighbor Marguerite. Mid-morning on Thursday we¡¯re working in the vegetable garden on the cucumber and tomato plants. We¡¯re carefully attaching all of the new growth to metal stakes with twine to keep the plants stable as the flowers turn into fruit.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± she says briskly, ¡°I know it sucks, but I think you¡¯re better off without them. They sound toxic.¡±

    ¡°Yesterday¡¯s call certainly was,¡± I agree, glad it¡¯s done and over with, ¡°tell me about your class this weekend in Port Townsend. How did it go?¡± I ask, wanting to change to a happier subject. Marguerite taught her first two-day writing retreat at Fort Worden, the base that¡¯s been turned into an event center.

    Out here in the delightful sunny warmth, I feel like a new person. I¡¯m in a tank top and a pair of denim cutoffs for the first time this year. It¡¯s so warm I¡¯m even wearing my straw fedora from my hat collection to keep sunburn at bay.

    I love listening to the buzz of bees and hummingbirds and being surrounded by the rich, loamy fragrance of the soil and plants. I particularly love the spicy scent of tomatoes and the strange, cool, wet feeling they give off when you brush your hands against the plant stems lightly.

    ¡°It went well. People really seemed to enjoy it,¡± Marguerite says, standing to mop her forehead with a bandana from the pocket of her denim coveralls, ¡°The more I teach, the more I become aware that almost anyone can successfully tap into their creativity if they can unweave enough of their own trauma to connect with it.¡±

    ¡°You sound a little like my friend Vivienne,¡± I tell her, admiringly. I bet it was a great class. I wish I was a skilled writer.

    ¡°Your former colleague?¡± She asks, ¡°The one who came up from Los Angeles for Theo¡¯s Celebration of Life and has that powerful Oprah vibe?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I laugh at the apt description as I carefully wrap a piece of twine around the final top section of the tomato plant I¡¯m working on.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± Marguerite tilts her head, ¡°Makes sense. Whether you want to be creative with art or your sensuality, I guess it all stems from the same divine life force. Chronic or acute trauma can certainly block that.¡±

    She twists, and I hear her back pop. Not quite as tall as I am, she has square shoulders and the erect posture of a dancer and equestrian. Like me, she did both as a child, which is how she became friends with Rune¡¯s Aunt Sally many years ago. Marguerite¡¯s long, straight, almost black hair and high cheekbones tell of her S¡¯Klammam blood (the Tribe from Port Gamble up the road), but her blue eyes are nearly as light as Gunnar¡¯s. I find her fascinating. I think she¡¯s close in age to my friend Luna, mid-forties, but it¡¯s hard to tell. She seems ageless.

    I¡¯m about to ask her to expand on her thoughts about divine life force (and perhaps get her thoughts on whether one can really channel a dead family member) when Butterscotch barks sharply. The dog speeds across the lawn to greet Lorelei, carrying her favorite toy, a thick braided figure eight of rope almost as large as she is. The girl and the dog run in circles around each other as Lorelei tries to snatch it from her.

    ¡°Got it!¡± Lorelei calls triumphantly. Holding up the toy, she sprints towards Rune, who¡¯s coming down the Borstad porch steps. Lorelei passes the rope to him. He lopes off a few yards before turning and throwing the rope back to his cousin.

    All of this attention throws Butterscotch into a state of frantic zooms. She runs in ecstatic circles around the two of them before flopping down on the grass beside me, panting so hard her whole body shakes.

    ¡°Thank you both! That takes care of our afternoon walk,¡± I tell them, slipping off my gloves and tossing them into my wicker garden basket.

    ¡°Are you growing more of those orange cherry tomatoes?¡± Lorelei asks, dropping to her knees next to me to examine our progress.

    ¡°Orange cherry tomatoes?¡± Rune asks, ¡°Isn¡¯t that contradiction, Pup?¡± He¡¯s quirking that mobile eyebrow of his at her, hands on his hips, a bemused expression on his lush mouth.

    With his artistically messy hair and the bespoke way his jeans and dark olive V-neck t-shirt fit, he looks like an ad for Ralph Lauren. In contrast, Marguerite, Lorelei, and I all look like an ad for a passionate but slightly crunchy family-run seed catalog company.

    ¡°No.¡± Lorelei chides him, ¡°They taste much better than the red ones. They¡¯re much sweeter, you¡¯ll see.¡±

    ¡°Yep, we¡¯re only growing those and one faster-ripening larger tomato,¡± Marguerite tells them. ¡°By late July, early August, we¡¯ll have them coming out of our ears, and we¡¯ll be eating them three times a day.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t wait,¡± Lorelei says happily, ¡°Can I help make sauce this year?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re always delighted with free labor. We¡¯re done here,¡± Marguerite stands up, tucking her gloves into her overalls, ¡°Lorelei, what do you say start laying out that quilt of yours while these two figure out what they¡¯re going to wear to the party?¡±

    Marguerite has volunteered her master quilt-making skills to help Lorelei make a horse-themed blanket for her bedroom this summer. They¡¯ve already been out hunting for the perfect fabric.

    ¡°Really?¡± Lorelei jumps up excitedly and then stops, looking conflicted, ¡°I do want to see what outfits you pick out for the party,¡± she tells Rune and me, her golden-brown eyes glancing back and forth between the two of us, ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to stand around watching me decide?¡± Rune fills in.

    ¡°Exactly! You take forever to make up your mind,¡± Lorelei laughs.

 Chapter 15: In which Vivienne needs a favor

    In which Vivienne needs a favor.

    Lorelei decided she wants Butterscotch to join her and Marguerite in the quilt-making adventure this afternoon, so we¡¯re in the laundry room getting treats to make sure the young dog follows her.

    ¡°Wow, you have a lot of dog treats!¡± Lorelei says as we¡¯re looking in Butterscotch¡¯s box on top of the dryer. I shoot Rune a look over her head. Most of these goodies are brand-new additions that mysteriously arrived on my doorstep yesterday. I now have enough for three dogs.

    ¡°I think she¡¯d like the bacon waffle bits,¡± Rune says, ignoring me.

    My phone rings with Vivienne¡¯s ringtone as Lorelei and Butterscotch scamper out the back door. I motion to Rune that I¡¯ll be a second and go into the kitchen. He follows and wanders off in the direction of the office.

    ¡°Hey! What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Do you think your dad could give me some PR help? I have a situation,¡± Vivienne says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

    ¡°A situation?¡± I ask. It¡¯s a phrase she hasn¡¯t used in a long time. She¡¯d say this when dealing with one of Pamela¡¯s tricky snafus.

    ¡°I posted a new blog on Medium a couple of days ago and it¡¯s gone a bit viral,¡± she tells me, ¡°A couple members of the press have reached out wanting interview."

    ¡°Oh wow,¡± I say, ¡°that¡¯s excellent!¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, but it¡¯s because the blog is a bit controversial,¡± Vivienne admits with a nervous laugh, ¡°I could use some public relations guidance. Do you mind if I call your dad?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be happy to help, Viv, but all his advice and contacts are about music and maybe too old school for what you need right now.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she sighs, ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯d rather not contact someone from our old agency if I can avoid it. Do you know anyone else?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t want them in your sensuality business?¡± I ask, teasing.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± she admits, ¡°People can be weird about anything to do with sex, even LA hipsters.¡±

    ¡°I have an idea, let me call you back in a few minutes,¡± I tell her.

    I never felt comfortable sharing with Jack what precisely Vivienne does now. He once made a disparaging remark about how pathetic it was that so many people felt they needed a life coach these days. So I didn¡¯t want to tell him about teaching sensuality until I knew exactly where our relationship was headed. I just told him she was in marketing.

    But Rune¡¯s a different matter. As an actor who got famous for being sexy, I doubt he¡¯ll bat an eye at a sensuality coach. I find him in the office, looking intently through my small collection of fantasy novels. He¡¯s already Howl¡¯s Moving Castle and another favorite, Robin McKinley¡¯s Sunshine, pulled out. My heart lifts seeing him holding these two beloved books. Maybe I really have my book nerd friend back.

    ¡°Nice backdrop for online calls,¡± he says, motioning with his head from my desktop monitor back to the bookcase, ¡°Can I bribe you with one of my expensive scented candles to come and work your display magic on my set up next door?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, as a bubble of happy pride rises in my chest, ¡°but trade me for this favor instead. My friend Vivienne is looking for a publicist. I can connect her with my dad, but maybe you know someone who might be a better fit?¡±

    ¡°What is she?¡± he asks, continuing to browse, ¡°An artist like you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s better if I show you,¡± I say, suddenly shy about precisely what Vivienne does. Slipping into my office chair, I pull up Vivienne¡¯s Medium page while I explain what she told me on the phone.

    Rune scoots the other office chair over. He sits right next to me, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the large screen. This is how we used to sit as kids. We were almost always glued at the hip while working on various summertime projects.

    Happily, we¡¯re not on a couch, so his thigh isn¡¯t next to mine. Having his broad shoulder right there is enough to send the lower half of my stomach into fluttery rhapsodies enough as it is.

    When will my body get over ignoring that I¡¯m mad at him? Sooner or later, I need to address what happened at Sundance. I¡¯ve decided, however, it¡¯s better if I wait until after the fundraiser. I don¡¯t want to jeopardize things. I really like the idea of his being my fake date to face Jack, Amy, and everyone else.

    Vivienne¡¯s latest post shows Why Hollywood Needs Sensuality Coaching Next as the headline. I glance at her gorgeous new headshot. She has 12k followers now. Wow. That¡¯s a definite improvement from the last time I looked. I click on the post. It reads:

    I¡¯m delighted that Hollywood is getting used to the idea of Intimacy Coaches! Let¡¯s give a big cheer to the pioneering women who make safe environments on set for the actors doing the brave work of playing out for the camera the love scenes that thrill us.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Now, may I suggest a bold next step? Hollywood needs sensuality coaches like yours truly to help craft more positive relationship arcs and love scenes. I¡¯m talking about scenes that not only titillate and add to the story, but inspire and help educate the public about positive, responsible sexuality. Are some movies and television shows already doing this? Yes. But much more is needed.

    ¡°I bet she¡¯s causing a buzz with this,¡± Rune chuckles, ¡°Will you email me the link?¡± Rune asks, starting to scan through other posts.

    ¡°Sure. Can I tell her you¡¯ll think about it and get back to her?¡±

    ¡°I know who¡¯d be perfect,¡± he glances at me from under his thick, long, red-blonde lashes and then back at the screen, ¡°Call her back.¡±

    I focus on getting Viv on speaker so I can ignore my nether regions dancing in delight, ¡°Hey Viv, this is my friend Rune, whom you know better as Gregg Allman.¡±

    ¡°Pleasure to meet you, talented man,¡± Vivienne says graciously as always.

    ¡°Lovely to meet you, Vivienne. Shelby tells me you need a good publicist,¡± Rune answers just as graciously back, continuing to scroll through her posts.

    ¡°Do I! Can you help a lady who poked a hornet¡¯s nest of ego?¡±

    Rune gives a surprised bark of laughter at this, which launches us all into giggles.

    ¡°Many of the male power mongers in Hollywood, especially the older ones, still aren¡¯t too keen about Intimacy Coaches,¡± he tells her.

    ¡°Hopefully, I haven¡¯t ruined my new career just as it starting to pay off nicely.¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± he tells her, ¡°Controversy is an excellent way to start a conversation.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan. But I didn¡¯t think it would happen so fast,¡± Vivienne admits. ¡°Have you ever worked with an Intimacy Coach?¡± She asks, and as she says it, I realize I¡¯m dying to know too.

    ¡°Yes, but not enough,¡± he admits, now scrolling through his phone, ¡°Especially early on when I was a teen and young adult and really needed one. The mother and daughter team I¡¯m considering might be out of your price range, but they¡¯re amazing even if you can only afford a couple hours of their time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been wise at saving my pennies for important things,¡± she tells him.

    ¡°Here¡¯s their number,¡± Rune says, texting it to her. He and Vivienne exchange email addresses, too. I¡¯m surprised he does this so easily, as if it¡¯s no big thing. Does he trust me enough to trust my friends with his privacy?

    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll call them right now,¡± Vivienne says and signs off, obviously eager to reach out.

    ¡°Thank you, Rune, I appreciate your help,¡± I tell him as I get up.

    This was kind of him, but I don¡¯t want to sit here adjacent to Vivienne¡¯s sensuality advice while my body¡¯s humming with excitement over his proximity. Plus, I¡¯m anxious to see if there are viable costumes in Theo¡¯s collection for tomorrow night.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to help. Can I borrow these?¡± Rune asks, standing as well and tapping the cover of Sunshine. I see he''s also picked up Terri Windling''s The Wood Wife, which is another excellent choice.

    ¡°Sure, but if you¡¯re looking for books for Lorelei, that top one¡¯s too old for her,¡± I say, looking back at him as I move toward the office door.

    ¡°Yes, I gathered that from the bondage chain around her ankle on the cover and her slinky red dress,¡± Rune says, not quite rolling his eyes at me but close, ¡°Give me a little credit, Shells.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a bondage chain,¡± I retort, taking the book from him, ¡°She¡¯s been kidnapped and chained up in the same room as a starving vampire.¡±

    ¡°How silly of me for the mistake,¡± Rune eyes ?the cover as I hand it back to him, ¡°but Neil Gaiman calls it ¡®pretty near perfect,¡¯ so I thought it was worth looking into.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± I tell him, as we enter the living room, ¡°I think it would make a wonderful movie or TV show, so would the other one."

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m looking for.¡±

    ¡°Is that part of what you do now?¡± I ask, opening the front door for us. Rune stops at the coffee table and sets down the two books.

    ¡°One of them. My production partners are bummed I¡¯ve been off on my own storytelling adventures and haven¡¯t found any compelling IPs to option to option recently.¡±

    I know enough about film production to know that IP means intellectual property, i.e., a novel a movie can be based on.

    ¡°I¡¯m jealous; you¡¯re doing what we wanted to do as kids,¡± I say before I can stop myself as we head off the porch toward the barn.

    ¡°Why? Your job as an illustrator seems so cool,¡± he says as we traverse the distance between the two buildings.

    ¡°It is,¡± I agree, ¡°but it¡¯s still in the early days. I hope to be in demand creating book covers and movie posters someday. But it¡¯s not as cool as seeing a favorite book come fully to life on TV or film.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Rune concurs, ¡°But you need the patience of a saint for adaptations. It usually takes years to make anything happen. You need to be really good at managing several projects at once, and nudging each along."

    ¡°I bet,¡± I say, unlocking the deadbolt on the barn and starting to slide one side of the big doors open as Rune does the other, ¡°Howl¡¯s Moving Castle would make a great live-action movie or TV series, too,¡± I add.

    ¡°Even though it was already made into a beautifully animated film?¡± He asks as we walk into the cavernous space which now only contains Theo¡¯s old SAAB that I drive and a large sealed-off room that takes up about a quarter of the barn along the Eastern wall.

    ¡°You saw the movie?¡± I ask, unlocking the door to the vintage storage room and switching on the overhead lights.

    ¡°My friend Julia and I got to go to the U.S. premiere,¡± he says casually, ¡°Whew,¡± he whistles, turning three-sixty to take in all the vintage furniture, paintings, stacks of clear plastic storage boxes, and rack after rack of vintage clothes that fill the room, ¡°I after when Theo first filled it. The room wasn¡¯t beautifully organized then. Did you do this? It¡¯s impressive,¡± He¡¯s reading a tag on the rolling clothing rack beside him.

    ¡°Yep,¡± I say, enjoying his compliment, ¡°I used organizing as a way to engage Theo¡¯s interest when I first got here and realized how depressed was.¡±

    ¡°I bet that was hard,¡± he says, walking around with keen interest in his handsome face, ¡°If you ever tire of illustrating, you can give Marie Kondo a run for her money or work in a prop department.

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. The racks are organized by decade, so this should be one of the 1960s,¡± I tell him, moving further back and quickly reading the tag, ¡°Yep,¡± I unzip the plastic cover that keeps the dust off, ¡°Knock yourself out.¡±

    ¡°This is the last of the stuff from his stores?¡± Rune asks. He¡¯s referring to the boutique in Long Beach on the famous Retro Row on 4th Street and another in Palm Springs. Theo owned both stores for decades.

    ¡°No, that stuff was all sold when my grandmother retired from running them,¡± I tell him, ¡°These pieces are all the ones loved too much to ever sell.¡±

    I check the tag on the next rack and see it¡¯s also from the 60s. I unzip it revealing clothing, accessories, and shoes.

    ¡°So back to Howl¡¯s Moving Castle,¡± Rune says, as he examines piece after piece of clothing, ¡°why do you think it would it make a good TV show or movie?¡±

 Chapter 16: Shelby finds out shes not the only one whos been fired

    ¡°The movie is gorgeous and fun, but it leaves out that Sophie unwittingly has her own magic and has been making important things happen all along,¡± I say, unzipping another 60s rack down and starting to look through it.

    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re creating your live-action coloring page, hoping to inspire another movie?¡± He asks, not looking up from his rack.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t have that kind of influence,¡± I scowl and laugh, ¡°I just like using them as drawing exercises. I didn¡¯t realize I had this secret contact to pitch my favorite stories to for possible film projects.¡±

    ¡°Lucky me,¡± Rune smiles, running his fingers over the scruff on his chin thoughtfully an unreadable look in his cat eyes, ¡°Who knows what other gems you¡¯ve read over the years that would make good shows.¡±

    ¡°Several,¡± I agree, ¡°But I only keep hard copies of the books I read again and again.¡±

    He raises his eyebrows at my revelation, ¡°You still do that?¡±

    ¡°Read a book I love again and again?¡± I ask. He nods. ¡°Yeah,¡± I smile at the memory of what geeks we were. How we¡¯d spend hours reading favorite passages of books like Howl¡¯s to each other. Sometimes Rune would act out scenes, and I¡¯d draw them. ¡°You?¡±

    ¡°Worse than ever,¡± he admits, going back to the clothes, ¡°Now I read trying to break down a book''s magic and how it could be captured in a variety of other storytelling platforms.¡±

    While Rune continues to carefully comb through the clothes on his rack, I unzip the hanging accessories bag in mine. There are multiple mini compartments where I¡¯ve put sunglasses, belts, and shoes. Sadly, none of the shoes will fit me; my feet are too big. Happily, Theo loved sunglasses, so I have a great assortment here to choose from.

    ¡°How about these?¡± I ask, putting on a pair of dark blue tinted glasses with silver wire frames that are shaped like hearts.

    ¡°Those are so George Harrison and Pattie Boyd." Rune says, impressed, "I look nothing like George, but you could be Pattie.¡±

    ¡°I could?¡± I¡¯ve heard her name before because my dad is a huge Beatles fan, but I can¡¯t put a face to the name. I take out my phone and Google Pattie Boyd + George Harrison + Summer of Love. Dozens and dozens of images come up of the two of them.

    Pattie Boyd is lovely. I''ll have to cover my freckles, but we have similar-shaped faces. My eyes are brown to her blue, and I don''t have quite her full pout, but she too has long blonde hair and bangs. In the full-length shots, I see we have similar body types too.

    ¡°You¡¯ve certainly got the legs,¡± he says as if reading my mind. I glance up from my phone to see him running his eyes over me, ¡°Ever show them off in a dress?¡±

    I laugh to cover my embarrassment. Rune says this as if it''s a normal thing to ask, and not suggestive at all. But maybe to an actor who¡¯s been so touted for his looks, it¡¯s just business as usual?

    ¡°Not really, especially not since I¡¯ve moved up here and embraced my inner Pacific Northwest comfort-loving self,¡± I admit, ¡°anyway, it¡¯s usually too chilly here most of the time.¡±

    My mom likes to say she could have ruled both the catwalk and Sports Illustrated as a model if she had the height and mile-long legs my sister and I have. I bet she could have.

    ¡°Wear tights,¡± Rune instructs, ¡°This will probably work,¡± he holds up a very short, wildly paisley-patterned dress in blues and greens. He¡¯s glancing back and forth between me and the dress, before stepping around his rack to hang the dress on the empty rack we agreed to put any possibilities.

    Oh boy, that dress is short.

    Be brave, sweetheart, Theo says, It¡¯s all for a good cause.

    While Rune continues to look through the clothes, I glance through more images of Pattie on my phone. She also wore very groovily elaborate eye makeup that I can try to copy.

    ¡°I am so wearing this if it fits,¡± Rune holds up a man¡¯s velvet blazer in chocolate brown.

    ¡°Take both of them,¡± I tell him, referring to the one in his hand, and a Levi¡¯s jacket he pulled out earlier.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± He flashes the full set of beautiful teeth he wore invisible braces for years to achieve.

    ¡°Seriously,¡± I assure him, ¡°it¡¯s a big favor, especially if you help me find a buyer for all of this.¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°I will,¡± he nods, ¡°How¡¯s your Howl¡¯s coloring page coming along? Thanks for the shout-out to my mom on Instagram, by the way.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure,¡± I say, surprised and more pleased than I want to let on, ¡°You follow me on Instagram? I thought you hated social media.¡± This was his philosophy a decade ago, maybe he¡¯s changed.

    ¡°I think the term I used was a necessary evil,¡± he tells me, slipping a pair of blue rectangle framed sunglasses onto the neck of his t-shirt, along with a pair of classic Ray Bans. ¡°I don¡¯t follow you as Asher Dill; I follow you as PupsCousin. It''s a private account.¡±

    ¡°Do you even have an account as Asher Dill?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s dormant, much to the chagrin of my producing partners and the promo teams of the books I do narrations for,¡± He moves over to the rack I¡¯m at and continues flipping through clothes, ¡°You could find yourself a cool new wardrobe here Shells.¡±

    ¡°I look through it from time to time when I think of it.¡±

    He gives me something of an exasperated look. I think I preferred him back when he was a kid when he was fussy about what he wore, but not so stylish. My leggings and hoodies must be driving him crazy.

    ¡°Howl¡¯s coloring page?¡± He circles back.

    ¡°I just need to decide who I¡¯m going to draw as Howl,¡± I tell him, pulling up my own account on my phone, ¡°My Instagram followers have been weighing in.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Who¡¯s winning?¡± He hands me two more men''s dress shirts and a pair of flair-legged jeans, for him, not me.

    ¡°So far,¡± I glance through my last post again to double check and then tell him, ¡°Jamie Campbell Bower for Howl. For young Sophie, Florence Pugh and Helen Mirren for old Sophie.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d all be fantastic,¡± he nods in approval, ¡°have you started sketching anything out?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s really rough,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Can I see it?¡±

    ¡°Sure, let¡¯s take these things into the house; my drawing¡¯s back in the office,¡± I say, trying to sound more comfortable than I am. How am I going to bring up the fact that he¡¯s still in the running too?

    The truth is that I¡¯ve never had such a lively conversation on my Instagram account before. Everyone wants to weigh in on choosing the right man to draw for Howl. Over thirty-five people have commented on their choice.

    Once we¡¯ve laid the clothes on the couch and the sunglasses on the coffee table, Rune follows me back into the office. I take out my sketch pad, turn to the right page, and hand it to him.

    I¡¯ve sketched Howl and the younger Sophy facing each other. Floating above Sophie¡¯s cupped hands (which Howl is supporting with his) floats Calcifer the fire demon. Above young Sophie and a little to her left is old Sophie, like a shadow. I worked on this for hours last night. I decided to draw the actress Helen Mirren as both because she''s been well known since her early 20''s and is now seventy-eight. That''s not quite as old as Sophie is cursed to be in the book, but I think Helen Mirren would be marvelous in the role.

    ¡°Wow, look at this. You still draw by hand?¡± Rune asks, sounding impressed as he takes the large pad of paper from me.

    ¡°I do digital stuff too,¡± I tell him, ¡°But I decided I wanted to start my serious illustration work by hand.¡±

    ¡°Shells, this really captures what I remember of the story," Runes flashes me a quick look that makes my heart stutter, rather than my libido spark this time, ¡°I love seeing art unfolding in process.¡±

    ¡°Is it at all like making movies and TV?¡± I ask, pulling up the other chair, wanting to take some of the attention off myself.

    ¡°In a way,¡± he says, leaning his hip against the desk, his eyes still on my drawing, ¡°You need to have a concept artist who creates good storyboards that spell out the story.¡±

    I watch as he seems to study every line. For a moment the years disappear and we''re twelve and thirteen instead of thirty-two and thirty-three.

    ¡°I¡¯ve done a little of that for ad campaigns," I tell him.

    ¡°Really?¡± He looks up from my sketch, his cat-green eyes giving me that appraising look again, his teeth running over his lower lip. I have no idea how to read the conclusion he''s come to when he goes back to studying my sketch again, only that he''s nodding to himself slightly.

    ¡°Some of my followers would like you to be Howl," I say abruptly, awkwardly, not knowing how else to tell him, because he apparently doesn¡¯t watch my social media feed enough to have caught on yet.

    Of course, I don''t admit their interest all stemmed from me. He glances back up at me with raised eyebrows. I rush on a little defensively, ¡°I know you¡¯re not acting anymore. It¡¯s just that you were in such a grumpy Howl-like snit that first day. I included you in the men I was considering for inspiration when I posted on Instagram about it.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not British,¡± he says, his eyes back on my drawing. This isn¡¯t the response I¡¯m expecting.

    ¡°No, but Howl¡¯s actually Welsh.¡± Rune rolls his eyes at me, and I continue, ¡°You do accents well. This is only fantasy fanart land for fun. Anyway, I apologize. I shouldn¡¯t have done it without asking.¡±

    ¡°Shelby,¡± he sighs and hands me back my sketch pad, ¡°it¡¯s no big deal. If I¡¯d been offered interesting character-rich roles like Howl, I might have stayed acting longer. Who wouldn''t want to play such a snarky anti-hero hero?"

    ¡°Really? But weren¡¯t you offered better roles after you were in The Troubadour Tales?¡±

    ¡°Yes, initially," and like a light switch being turned off, his expression becomes closed, "But I got fired from the last movie I was hired for."

    "You did?" I ask, startled. Rune''s been at this so long this seems impossible. When we were still in touch when we were younger, he always seemed like the consummate pro.

    "They said it was artistic differences," he says, using his fingers for air quotes, "but the truth is I took a rather abrupt leave of absence when my mom was dying during the first Covid lock down and they didn''t like that,¡± then he adds, "It was a film Franklin Haus was producing, by the way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± I''m completely stunned.

    ¡°I wish I were,¡± he says, exiting the office with me on his heels, ¡°There¡¯s a lot more to it than that. I¡¯ll tell you about someday when I¡¯m in a better place,¡± he says, clearly not wanting to say more. And then as I watched silently, not knowing what to say, Rune quickly picks up the clothes he¡¯s going to go try on, waves, and is gone.

    "What in the world happened on that film set?" I ask out loud.

    What the world, indeed, Theo says sadly.

 Chapter 17: Shelbys reminded of her best and worst day ever

    ¡°Darling, you can¡¯t believe how crazy busy I¡¯ve been this week!¡± Mom¡¯s voice is excited, but not manically so, which is a relief.

    It¡¯s a deliciously sunny Friday afternoon. I¡¯m driving south to go shopping after dropping off all the print collateral for the fundraiser at my friend¡¯s. Luna and her team at the Hummingbird Flower Farm will go early to handle setting up the event d¨¦cor, including all of the graphics I designed for the silent auction.

    ¡°How are your window displays coming along for the Fourth of July?¡± I ask as I turn back onto the ubiquitously hilly tree-lined road that will take me to Silverdale. I¡¯m on my way to find hair dye, makeup, and tights to match the crazy short mini-dress Rune insists I wear for the fundraiser.

    Good grief, he¡¯s being picky about this outfit. He refuses to let me wear jeans underneath it, even though the dress is not meant for someone as tall as I am. It barely covers my ass. But since there are no images to be found of the famous Pattie Boyd wearing jeans under a dress (who I now know is the muse of three legendary rock songs after all of my online research and discussions with my dad), Rune insists I don¡¯t, either. He says it would ruin the vibe.

    He¡¯s thrilled I¡¯m dying my hair and going all out on the makeup. We¡¯ve had no less than three conversations about it and numerous back-and-forth texts. I didn¡¯t realize straight men could be as addicted to Pinterest as Rune is. You¡¯d think we''re planning to make a music video tomorrow night, not simply attend a fundraiser.

    We will, however, probably be wearing two of the most fabulous outfits at the event. I will also likely have the most handsome date. I have nothing to complain about except that Jack broke my heart by ditching me and is coming with Amy Pennington. Ah, life.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be the most stunning windows Ventura has ever seen,¡± Mom is saying brightly. I realize I haven¡¯t been paying attention at all to her explicit descriptions of what¡¯s in the works, ¡°I¡¯m brainstorming the final details with a lovely macchiato. I¡¯m right down the street from the second store while your father finishes taking the before photos.¡±

    ¡°Second store?¡± I ask, confused; Syd¡¯s partner Bill and his mom only have one bike shop now (they used to own three).

    ¡°Your sister came up with the most brilliant idea,¡± Mom says, ¡°she¡¯s organized a group of artists and merchants to put up a temporary summer pop-up shop in a gorgeous old building on Main Street that lost its tenant a couple of months ago.¡±

    ¡°That is brilliant,¡± I agree and then say encouragingly, ¡°Your display will be too. Are you having fun?¡± I ask as I pull into the shopping area with all the stores I think I¡¯ll need to visit today.

    My sister, dad, and I handle Mom with such care because she¡¯s on the bipolar spectrum. It¡¯s a new-ish diagnosis but managing her moods with kid gloves is an old habit.

    ¡°A total blast; I¡¯m my element,¡± she tells me, ¡°I imagine it was like that when you started drawing again during the pandemic.¡±

    ¡°Yes, a bit. But I had to learn to tell a story well with images. I hadn¡¯t understood that before,¡± I admit.

    ¡°It¡¯s always about telling a story,¡± Mom says, ¡°every window, every party, every outfit, it¡¯s all storytelling just like a book or a movie. Speaking of which, what will you and Jack be wearing tomorrow night? What marvelous pieces have you pulled out from Theo¡¯s collection?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going as Pattie Boyd,¡± I say, ¡°I¡¯m on my way to buy more dramatic makeup.¡±

    ¡°With your long legs, that will be perfect!¡± she exclaims, ¡°I love it. If memory serves, your hair¡¯s quite a bit more ash than Pattie¡¯s, but it¡¯s long enough now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to dye it a more golden blonde.¡±

    ¡°Way to commit,¡± she says approvingly, ¡°Now, how about Jack? Is he going as George Harrison?¡±

    ¡°No. Jack¡¯s coming straight from a photo shoot at the house of our wealthy single new board member Amy Pennington, so we¡¯ll meet him there.¡±

    ¡°We?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve asked Rune Borstad to come with me to finish our table. Jack has decided he needs to sit with the same wealthy new board member.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, the daughter of tech billionaire Arnold Pennington?¡± Mom asks.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± I sigh.

    ¡°Oh, darling, I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m sure it¡¯s only a temporary thing.¡± Mom loves Jack, and Jack loves Mom. But then all of my dates and boyfriends have loved Mom, ¡°so, who¡¯s Rune?¡± She asks.

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    ¡°Asher Dillion,¡± I clarify, ¡°Strangely enough, he¡¯s my neighbor again for a couple of months.¡±

    ¡°What marvelous serendipity,¡± Mom laughs, ¡°brilliant, sweetheart; a fake date might be the very thing to spark Jack¡¯s jealousy. It¡¯s a good thing Asher''s still so in the closet.¡±

    ¡°Closet? I don¡¯t think Asher''s gay, Mom,¡± I say a little defensively. And why does she insist on using his stage name? For a second, I¡¯m mentally in the middle of the trail a few days ago. My insides twitch at the memory of being sprawled across Rune while he stared at my mouth.

    ¡°Oh, sweetheart, of course he is. Franklin spotted it immediately all those years at our Christmas party. Gaydar, you know,¡± Mom says soothingly, ¡°Franklin told me Hollywood¡¯s still not quite evolved enough to let the young male actors they set up as teen heartthrobs for girls to be out. That story Pamela told us about him out partying with a new young woman every night is more proof. Obviously, it¡¯s a cover.¡±

    ¡°I guess so,¡± I say, deciding not to argue. You have to pick your battles carefully with Mom. She lives to win arguments. It¡¯s not like Rune and I will start dating or anything.

    ¡°Anyway, Asher doted on you, just like Franklin doted on me. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s happy to help. Jack will be none the wiser.¡±

    ¡°I hope not,¡± I say as neutrally as I can. I¡¯m not happy that Franklin and Mom have ever discussed Rune, even if it was years ago. For some reason, it makes my skin crawl. Plus, I¡¯m bummed to be reminded of that disastrous Christmas party.

    ¡°So, did you have a chance to ask Asher about having Pamela handle his social media?¡± Mom asks.

    ¡°Oh, right,¡± I stammer. Crap. ¡°I did. Asher''s social media accounts are all dormant right now. He¡¯s a bit anti-social media at the moment,¡± I fib.

    ¡°Well, tell him I understand. I do, but needs must, darling. Pamela has been working wonders for her clients, and I could really use her help. Please do what you can to change his mind,¡± she encourages me, ¡°Oh, here¡¯s your father. I must run, sweetheart. Make sure to send us pics of your outfits.¡±

    I get out of the car and slam the door harder than necessary. I¡¯ve got to remember to tell Rune about Pamela Lyon¡¯s weird social media request, and how I lied for him.

    Am I being pig-headed to think he isn¡¯t gay? Is that just my ego? Or maybe he¡¯s bi? That could explain Franklin¡¯s gaydar and Rune running around Europe and Canada breaking hearts. Yes, I did a little more online snooping. Rune has quite a track record.

    Whatever the case, I now dislike Franklin Haus more than ever. I march grumpily into the health food store to look for less toxic and environmentally damaging hair coloring options. On my phone¡¯s Pinterest app, I open the folder dedicated to Pattie Boyd. Holding an image of her, I compare it to the different warm blonde hair coloring options to find the closest match.

    I wish my mom hadn¡¯t reminded me about the night Rune met Franklin. It¡¯s the massive fly in the ointment of what was otherwise a perfect evening. It was literally one of the best nights of my life and one of my worst.

    I pay for my hair coloring and walk back into the bright, breezy late afternoon. My dark gray mood is so at odds with the clear warm day, and the other shoppers delighted to be out enjoying the sunshine. Rain won¡¯t come again until Sunday night; tomorrow is supposed to be glorious.

    I¡¯m so grumpy now I pull up Taylor Swift¡¯s Shake It Off on my phone and put one earphone in as I stalk across the parking lot towards the beauty store.

    The holiday season 2001 was a magical time for fantasy films; both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings made their debuts. I was fourteen, and Rune was thirteen. Usually, we didn¡¯t see each other during the school year, but we stayed in touch. That year, however, we schemed.

    Rune convinced his mom to drive him to Santa Monica so we could go to Lord of the Rings together the same night as my parents¡¯ annual Christmas party. Theo always attended, so Astrid had someone to hang out with. Of course, she and my mom knew each other. My mom had spent plenty of time here with her grandmother while growing up, but Mom and Astrid didn¡¯t seem to have much in common.

    The movie was beyond perfect. Rune and I walked the blocks from the Third Street Promenade back to my house afterward, chatting nonstop as we shared our favorite scenes. Ironically, it was probably my best date ever. Technically, it wasn¡¯t a date; it was only friends hanging out. But I had a secret plan to make the evening romantic. I hoped some strategically placed mistletoe would lead to Rune giving me my first kiss and maybe his, too.

    Almost twenty years later, it¡¯s still embarrassing to contemplate how such a great start had such a disastrous finish. I walk up and down the aisles of the beauty store, bopping along to Taylor, doing my best to take her advice. I¡¯m searching for a light matte pink lipstick like the one Pattie favored and the eye shadow, black mascara, and black eye pencil I¡¯ll need to pull off her dramatic Cleopatra-esque look.

    There was no way I would attempt to kiss Rune first back then. It would just be too forward and weird. So I¡¯d tucked mistletoe into the places we¡¯d most likely sneak off to to escape the grownups. I figured my dad¡¯s office was the safest bet. I was on cloud nine as we entered my family¡¯s lovely little craftsman bungalow, artfully decorated under my mother¡¯s exacting eye.

    Unfortunately, as Rune and I finished filling our plates from the elaborate buffet my parents had laid out, I saw my dad and Franklin Haus go into my dad¡¯s office before we could.

    Franklin was a staple in my childhood. He and my mom stayed close friends, though he was a famous film director (briefly) and then a producer. He was undoubtedly generous; he invited my parents on vacations and took my mom to premiers and parties for years. That didn¡¯t mean I liked him. I was jealous of how my mom would drop everything when Franklin called.

    I pulled Rune into Plan B, a former closet my parents had turned into a reading alcove. I¡¯d stuck another piece of mistletoe on the top shelf of books and made sure I was sitting in the chair under it.

    We were so wrapped up in our continued movie conversation we ate slowly. When Franklin appeared, I was just getting the nerve up to mention the mistletoe over my head.

    ¡°I hear you two have been off watching the first Lord of the Rings film tonight,¡± Franklin said chummily, leaning in the doorway. He was impeccably dressed, as always in a midnight blue suit. Like my mom, like Theo, he always wore vintage, ¡°Do I need to go see it?¡±

 Chapter 18: Lots of makeup and a very short dress

    I was raised to be a polite child, so even though I was annoyed at Franklin¡¯s intrusion into my cozy nook with Rune, I responded, ¡°Absolutely,¡± to his question.

    ¡°Is Viggo as hot as ever? I hear he plays a main character,¡± Franklin looked first to Rune, his dark eyes dancing with mischievous interest. But Rune only shrugged and looked embarrassed at being asked. He was still so shy then that he had difficulty talking to strangers.

    ¡°Yes. He plays Aragorn,¡± I told Franklin, but say nothing about hotness. At that age, Viggo Mortensen was way too old for me to consider as anything other than dad-like. I only had eyes for Orlando Bloom as Legolas. I¡¯ve learned since.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Franklin smiled and leaned into our alcove more, ¡°Introduce me to your handsome friend, Shelby. Rumor has it he¡¯s doing some acting too.¡±

    ¡°Franklin, this is Rune Borstad,¡± I told him dutifully. Rune hadn¡¯t yet created his Asher Dillion stage name. ¡°Rune, this is Franklin Haus, one of my mom¡¯s good friends. He¡¯s a film producer.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± Rune said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

    ¡°You look familiar,¡± Franklin said, narrowing his eyes at Rune, studying him intently, ¡°where have I seen you before?¡±

    ¡°I have a part on a local PBS show, Answer Kids Inc.,¡± Rune told him, speaking a little louder but not looking Franklin in the eye.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Franklin snapped his fingers. ¡°You¡¯re the girl detective¡¯s secret crush. But you wear glasses and braces.¡±

    ¡°You watch kids¡¯ shows?¡± I asked, dumbfounded.

    ¡°Not regularly, but I always keep a nose out for young talent,¡± Franklin tapped the side of his nose with his index finger.

    The sharp beep of the cash register jolts me back to the present. I take out my debit card and swipe to pay for the makeup I picked out. Still in a dark mood, I walk resolutely out into the bright day, ready to find the next item on my check list.

    We never got rid of Franklin Haus that night. He just kept asking Rune questions about his career and offering small tidbits of advice. In desperation, I took our plates and offered to bring us all some dessert. On the way, I found Rune¡¯s mom outside with Uncle Theo, where he was holding court with a group of friends.

    I thought maybe if I could exchange Rune for his mom to talk with Franklin about Rune¡¯s career, there would still be a chance for us and me to sneak off together. It didn¡¯t work. While I was gone, Franklin slipped into my chair. He was charming to Astrid but kept most of his attention on Rune. I can hardly blame Rune for warming to the conversation. Who wouldn¡¯t want someone so successful in your new career giving you wise advice?

    **

    My phone buzzes with a text a few minutes before six on Saturday night, just as I finish my transformation into Pattie Boyd.

    Rune: Lorelei wants to know if she can come over now. Please say yes. She¡¯s driving me crazy.

    Me: Thumbs up sign.

    I glance again at the image of Pattie on my phone and back at my reflection. Not bad if I do say so myself. I have to admit that this rich honey blonde suits me; it makes my light brown eyes glow interestingly. Usually, I go for more drama, an orange, blue, or hot pink when I dye my hair. But I stopped doing that when Jack admitted he wasn¡¯t exotic hair colors.

    I¡¯ve trimmed my bangs like Pattie¡¯s, including the tendrils at the side, and used my curling iron to give my super straight hair the slight wave she had. I¡¯ve even created two long braids that hang down each side of my face the way I¡¯ve seen her do in some of the pics.

    Pattie¡¯s dramatic eye makeup feels a little over the top, but I guess it goes with the costume. I¡¯ve copied her heavy, sloe-eyed look verbatim. I¡¯ve never worn this much eyeliner or mascara (on both upper and lower eyelashes. Rune had better be impressed.

    Butterscotch¡¯s ears perk at my feet, and she¡¯s off like a rocket, running downstairs at Lorelei¡¯s knock.

    ¡°Hello?¡± I hear Lorelei call upstairs, ¡°Are you decent? His majesty says I¡¯m driving him cuckoo.¡±

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    ¡°As decent as I can be in this very short dress his majesty insists on,¡± I tell her from the top of the stairs, ¡°I¡¯m happy about the pair of mint green tights I found to match.¡±

    ¡°He can be a bit much,¡± Lorelei agrees as I go downstairs, ¡°I always win any Halloween contest at school when he thinks up my outfit, but it takes forever to put on.¡±

    ¡°Thank goodness they wore flats with mini-dresses back then,¡± I say, ¡°I dug out my old comfortable ballerina flats and polished them within an inch of their life since I¡¯m sure Rune will check.¡±

    ¡°He will,¡± she agrees, ¡°but you look great, and the daisy crown we made will be perfect. Can I put it on you?¡± she asks, carefully lifting the crown of daisies off the coffee table.

    ¡°Please,¡± I say, stepping close and bending my knees a little so she can gently place it on my head, ¡°Thanks for helping pick them and weave them together.¡±

    The crown was a last-minute inspiration, an homage to the crowns women wear here on mid-summer day as a nod to those the Scandinavians historically wear.

    ¡°Rune¡¯s going to be so impressed,¡± Lorelei beams at me.

    ¡°Is he ready to go?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Almost. He was annoyed that I couldn¡¯t stand watching him primp anymore,¡± she admits. ¡°Do you have the new coloring pages for Charlotte and me to color tonight?¡±

    ¡°I do; let¡¯s go get them,¡± I tell her and lead her into the office, where I hand her a file folder of some of my old Horse Girl illustrations I printed out for her earlier today.

    ¡°Oh wow,¡± she says, flipping through the pages, ¡°these are different from the ones you gave me last summer.¡±

    ¡°These are some of the original ideas I drew for the coloring book that weren¡¯t used. I¡¯m thinking about making my own project with them,¡± I say, feeling a bit nervous sharing this idea.

    ¡°I like these better,¡± she tells me enthusiastically, ¡°They¡¯re they real women and horses, aren¡¯t they?¡± she asks as Rune knocks.

    ¡°They are,¡± I tell her, ¡°Well, real women and horses mixed with some historical myths.¡±

    ¡°Hello?¡± I hear Rune call from the entryway. His eyebrows raise when Lorelei and I come back into the living room.

    ¡°Wow, Seashell,¡± he does a slow three-sixty around me as he studies my ensemble, ¡°You got Pattie¡¯s eye makeup just right, and the daisy crown is a total chef¡¯s kiss.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t have made it without Lorelei¡¯s help,¡± I say, smiling at her to distract myself from the idea of wanting something more than a chef¡¯s kiss from Rune.

    If I were the confidently flirty sort completely sober (I need a drink or two first), I¡¯d say something similar about him. I remind myself that he breaks hearts as a pastime. I checked Google yet again on this. Rune has quite an appetite for young, dark-haired, leggy, exotic models. The only thing I am in that category is leggy.

    Since he decided there wasn¡¯t anything he could do to make himself look like George Harrison, Rune¡¯s playing the role of a hip 60s London photographer. He straightened his wavy, usually artfully disheveled hair and brushed it forward. His cheeks are shaved to make the scruff around his jawline and his almost-a-mustache more pronounced, something we noticed that men did back then.

    His shirt is a vintage dress shirt (complete with a pointier collar) that goes with the greens in my dress, and his Levi¡¯s are straight-legged because we learned bell bottoms didn¡¯t come out until the early 1970s.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget your glasses,¡± Lorelei tells me as she picks up the blue heart frames off the coffee table and hands them to me. Rune has the matching blue rectangle ones resting on top of his head. ¡°I want pictures of the two of you to send to Dad and Grandpa.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll meet you at the car,¡± I tell them, ¡°I need to put Butterscotch in the laundry room.¡±

    **

    Rune and Lorelei are waiting for me by his SUV, their almost matching heads bent over my drawings.

    ¡°These are fantastic illustrations, Shells,¡± he says as I approach.

    Lorelei nods enthusiastically, ¡°I especially like the one with the girl who rode farther than Paul Revere.¡± She puts the folder in the back seat of the car.

    ¡°I¡¯d never heard of Sybil Luddington before, had you, Pup?¡± Rune asks.

    ¡°Nope, she¡¯s so cool!¡± Lorelei says emphatically, fiddling with her phone.

    ¡°I learned about her online while doing research,¡± I tell them. They both start tapping on their phones, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we leave?¡± I ask, happy they¡¯re so interested but starting to feel anxious about getting to the fundraiser.

    ¡°Photos first; family¡¯s waiting,¡± Lorelei tells us firmly. She holds her phone out in front of her, turning in a full circle, looking for the right light, ¡°Stand over here,¡± she motions confidently to a spot in the partial shade of a tree. ¡°Wait, Rune, put on your old camera on first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad her online photography course is paying off so well,¡± Rune says wryly as he gets his camera out of the car and puts the strap over his head.

    ¡°I wish I had her moxie at that age,¡± I say, ¡°heck, I wish I had it now.¡±

    ¡°You and me both,¡± Rune says quietly and then more loudly to Lorelei, ¡°Okay, Annie Liebowitz, what¡¯s our direction?¡±

    ¡°Pretend you¡¯re back in the day having fun,¡± Lorelei orders. We stand closer together and put our sunglasses on. Rune puts his arm around my shoulders, and I freeze a little at my body¡¯s happy reaction, ¡°That¡¯s too stiff,¡± she admonishes.

    ¡°How about this?¡± I ask. Needing to move a little to come out of the deer-in-the-headlights feeling and thinking of Lorelei¡¯s moxie, I jut my hip out to the side in a way I¡¯ve seen fashion models from the 60s and 70s do. Next, I hold my fingers in a peace sign over Rune¡¯s chest. In response, Rune makes a peace sign with his fingers of his hand resting on my shoulder and peers over his glasses at Lorelei.

    ¡°Much better, okay, try another one,¡± Lorelei says.

    We come up with an array of silly peace sign motifs. Rune even pretends he¡¯s taking my photo for a few until she calls cut.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Rune says, taking off the vintage camera and getting another ?expensive-looking digital one from the car, ¡°I need some shots of the two of you for Dad and Grandpa, too, and then we can take off.¡±

 Chapter 19: Bookish conversations in the car

    Once we¡¯re finally on our way to Bainbridge, I take out the 1967 playlist my dad made for us. I set my phone up to work with Rune¡¯s stereo and hit play. The first song up is The Monkees Daydream Believer.

    ¡°Granty loved this song,¡± Rune tells Lorelei in the back seat.

    Of course, Lorelei has no idea who The Monkees are. As she looks them up on her phone, we tell her as much as we can remember about the fake American rock band that was made up for a TV show to try and cash in on the success of The Beatles.

    ¡°They were a little like an old-fashioned Hannah Montana,¡± Rune tells her.

    ¡°Hannah Montana¡¯s old-fashioned,¡± Lorelei laughs.

    ¡°Ouch,¡± Rune winces dramatically.

    ¡°Well, she is!¡± Lorelei retorts, ¡°You¡¯re old fashioned too; you¡¯re thirty-two, almost thirty-three!¡±

    ¡°And feeling every moment of it right now,¡± Rune tells her, ¡°Thank you, Pup.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m even older,¡± I admit, ¡°I¡¯m an ancient thirty-four.

    ¡°I thought you were younger,¡± Lorelei says, ¡°You don¡¯t have as many wrinkles around your eyes as Rune does.¡±

    ¡°Oh, double ouch!¡± Rune exclaims as Lorelei, and I giggle conspiratorially.

    ¡°I guess my expensive face oil isn¡¯t doing its job,¡± Rune laments, ¡°Do I need to stop at Sephora on the way for some eye cream?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not that vain,¡± Lorelei admonishes him, ¡°You¡¯ve just been super stressed.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I have,¡± Rune admits, ¡°But I¡¯m getting better. We both are,¡± he says, giving her a pointed look in the rearview mirror.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she agrees and squeezes his shoulder.

    I get why Lorelei¡¯s stressed; she¡¯s getting a new stepmom she¡¯s not looking forward to. But why is Rune? I guess the mix of his mom¡¯s death, being fired from a film, and dating so many beautiful models you can¡¯t keep their names straight could do that to you.

    ¡°Lorelei, since you¡¯re kind enough to let me borrow Rune for a few hours tonight,¡± I say, ¡°how about if I make it up to you with a trip to the library next week?¡±

    ¡°The library?¡± she asks, sounding confused.

    ¡°It¡¯s this crazy old-fashioned technology,¡± Rune chimes in, ¡°They let you borrow books for free.¡±

    ¡°I know what a library is; Granty took me to them all the time,¡± Lorelei retorts, ¡°I just didn¡¯t think we had one around here.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s one in Kingston, but there¡¯s a bigger one near downtown Poulsbo I like to go to, too,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°But you have to have a library card, don¡¯t you?¡± she clarifies.

    ¡°I have one,¡± I tell her, ¡°We¡¯ll use mine and sign you up for one. We should come up with a list of books you want now so I can order them, and they can have them ready.¡±

    ¡°I want a book on Sybil Luddington if they have one,¡± she tells me. I open my phone to take notes.

    ¡°We need another copy of Howl¡¯s Moving Castle, I¡¯m not done with your copy yet, and I think Lorelei should read it,¡± Rune says, ¡°especially if you might immortalize me as Howl,¡± he throws me a sly, self-satisfied glance much like the wizard in question.

    ¡°What¡¯s Howl¡¯s Moving Castle?¡± Lorelei asks.

    ¡°One of Granty¡¯s favorite fantasy books,¡± he tells her, ¡°She gave it to me and Shelby to read the last summer we were up here together.¡±

    I glance at him sideways, surprised he remembers. I¡¯m usually the one with the elephant memory.

    ¡°It¡¯s also a beautiful, animated film you should watch,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± she starts, then says, ¡°Wait, are you going to draw Rune as a character in the story? That would be so cool.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I tell her, opening my Instagram to check on how the voting¡¯s going. Wow. I now have over one hundred votes for Howl. This is fun, ¡°So far, Jaimie Campbell Bower is in the lead according to my follower¡¯s votes.¡±

    ¡°Let me see!¡± She asks eagerly, reaching for my phone, ¡°You¡¯re in third place, Rune,¡± she tells him after studying my post for a few moments, ¡°not bad for being retired.¡±

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    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I have a home-court advantage or something?¡± Rune asks. Is he actually into this idea? Is Theo, right?

    ¡°I think he should,¡± Lorelei agrees, ¡°Will you make him wear the earrings?¡± She must be looking at images from the animated film of Howl¡¯s on YouTube.

    ¡°Yes, but in the book, he only wears one,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°It¡¯s so 80s,¡± Rune laughs, ¡°and he wears enchanted robes that help him charm women. A useful tool, that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a little frightened at how similar the two of you are,¡± I tell him. He smiles cheekily at me, ¡°Though, to be fair, it¡¯s Sophie who accidentally enchants his robe.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten to that part yet,¡± he admits, ¡°So, is this library adventure a girls¡¯ day out, or am I allowed to tag along?¡± Rune asks after we¡¯ve gone back and forth on more book ideas for Lorelei.

    ¡°Well¡­.¡± Lorelei ponders, ¡°I think we should allow him to come, Shelby, but only if he buys us lunch at Grandpa¡¯s favorite diner in downtown Poulsbo.¡±

    ¡°The one decorated like the 1950s?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes!¡± She cheers, ¡°They have excellent milkshakes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a hard bargain, but considering the books at the library are free, I think I can swing it,¡± Rune tells us.

    **

    After dropping Lorelei off at her friend Charlotte¡¯s house, Rune and I are navigating our way to the fundraiser. Like all this region, the island is lushly green, hilly, and woodsy.

    Following the directions on my phone, we¡¯re winding our way through bucolic country lanes, passing paddocks with cows, goats, and the occasional horse, as well as impressive, well-appointed homes. It¡¯s an interesting mix.

    It couldn¡¯t be a more perfect day. It feels like we¡¯re on a vacation. Like we¡¯re on our way to some sort of camping trip in the mountains, or considering how we¡¯re dressed, some kind of rustic but glamorous lodge.

    ¡°Do you remember the fairy tale East of the Sun, West of the Moon?¡± Rune asks, interrupting my fantasy life. He¡¯s referring to a well-known folktale in which an ordinary but brave young woman is the one who saves the prince.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve read a few novels inspired by it,¡± I tell him, ¡°And there are some gorgeous 1914 Kay Nielsen illustrations created for it.¡±

    ¡°Really? Will you add any favorite versions to your library list and send me links to the illustrations?¡±

    ¡°Sure, why?¡±

    ¡°Did you know it¡¯s Norwegian?¡±

    ¡°Hello, fellow Norwegian here,¡± I remind him.

    He laughs, ¡°Yes, but at least you have some Italian blood to make you spicy. I¡¯m 100% white bread.¡±

    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re half something else, too,¡± I say, realizing I don¡¯t remember him ever discussing his father. I knew as a kid not to bring him up.

    ¡°English,¡± he says shortly, ¡°my dad¡¯s English, complete with a snotty pedigree and a good dollop of Finnish.¡±

    ¡°Are you in touch with him?¡± I ask. I only remember that Rune¡¯s mom and dad never married. My mom used this as one of the excuses why hanging out with Rune between summer vacations wasn¡¯t a good idea. For some reason, neither she nor my dad were keen on my sister or me hanging out with friends who had single parents.

    ¡°Normally, he ignores my existence, but he¡¯s helping me with a project right now. It turns out being nominated for an Emmy gave me some cache.¡±

    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s right. I¡¯m sorry I forgot about that,¡± I tell him, which is true and embarrassing. I totally forgot he¡¯d been nominated for an Emmy for playing Greg Allman.

    ¡°Well, my nomination was during the pandemic, and you were focused on other things,¡± he points out.

    ¡°True,¡± I say, and then, because I don¡¯t want to be sad or dig more, ¡°Why did you bring up East of the Sun, West of the Moon?¡±

    ¡°My mom and I were brainstorming on more immersive storytelling to bring fairytales to life online, and she loved that one. She wanted to make sure we included old stories with female heroes.¡±

    ¡°Why do you say storytelling? Don¡¯t you mean TV or movies?"

    ¡°Not necessarily, though we didn¡¯t count them out,¡± he tells me, ¡°We were thinking of more interactive websites and with audio and some video content. Stuff that¡¯s much less expensive and quicker to produce.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting idea,¡± I say, intrigued, and then realize I need to pay attention to where we¡¯re going, ¡°Turn right at the next street and we¡¯re almost there. We just need to find someplace to park on the street.¡±

    Rune slows down when the sides of this narrow lane become filled with cars. He has to stop and back up to find a spot.

    I want to know more about his storytelling platform idea, but first, I ask, ¡°Do you like producing more than acting?¡±

    ¡°In some ways, especially if I¡¯m directing too,¡± he says as he expertly maneuvers his SUV into a space.

    I hide my surprise. I had no idea he¡¯d ever directed anything. I make a mental note to look up what he¡¯s done while I check my reflection in my compact to ensure my elaborate eye makeup hasn¡¯t smudged.

    Rune exits the car and removes the brown velvet jacket from the back seat. I hide a smile as I get out, watching as he slips it on and checks his reflection in the car¡¯s side window as he buttons it. He charmed Marguerite into doing a quick tailoring job on it for him to make sure it fit perfectly, of course.

    ¡°I don¡¯t hate acting; it¡¯s just that the whole being famous and having little privacy thing becomes such a grind,¡± he says as he slips the straps of both cameras over his head.

    ¡°Is it going to be a problem when people recognize you tonight?¡± I ask as another layer of dread builds. In my obsessing about seeing Jack with Amy tonight and then my outfit, I hadn¡¯t even considered Rune as a celebrity being an issue.

    ¡°No, and they probably won¡¯t,¡± he reassures me with a smile that makes me forget for a moment anything about Jack, ¡°It¡¯s not like Los Angeles or New York, where everyone¡¯s on the constant lookout for celebrities. You¡¯d be surprised how few people recognize me without sandy blonde hair, blue contacts, and a spray tan.¡±

    ¡°You wore spray tans?¡± I ask in disbelief as we start walking toward our destination. He never admitted this when we were younger.

    ¡°Frequently,¡± Rune says as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

    We make our way down the long narrow tree-lined street of large lots with fancy houses. The street curves slightly and there at the end a tall, well-tended hedge and estate gates come into view at the end of the street.

    The closer we get, the more fairy-tale-like they appear. This would be a perfect shot for Rune¡¯s storytelling platform idea. The hedge is almost two stories tall. The iron gates aren¡¯t only tall, but so elaborately wrought that they seem like they came from an ancient French chateau. We could be entering a film set for Beauty and the Beast.

 Chapter 20: The fake date costume party

    Two volunteers check our names at a long table just to the left of the elaborate gates. I don¡¯t recognize either person. Another volunteer guarding the gate welcomes us into the spacious brick-paved courtyard of a gorgeous, gigantic two-story dark wood shingle craftsman house.

    The setting is as magnificent as the house; it must sit on at least three acres of lawn bookended by forest. Behind the house, the hillsides of greater Seattle frame the background, looking closer than forty-five minutes via ferry across the Puget Sound.

    In front of the house, several yards from where we stand, a large canvas tent is set up over light pink linen-draped tables ¨C just in case rain decides to visit. For now, however, the sky is the clear, bright robin¡¯s egg blue of a perfect long summer evening.

    ¡°Wow,¡± I say softly, taking it all in, ¡°this is like one of the events my mom designs, and I¡¯m sure like many you¡¯ve attended.¡±

    ¡°Not at too many private homes like this,¡± Rune shakes his head, ¡°this is really something.¡±

    The atmosphere is festive, with a happy, chatting crowd milling about. Music is being piped in from hidden speakers.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this a Gregg Allman song?¡± I ask, listening for a moment to the groovy rock instrumental playing in the background. I recognize the song because it¡¯s one of my dad¡¯s favorites.

    ¡°It was written Dickie Betts, but yes, it¡¯s the Allman Brothers¡­Jessica,¡± Rune says, steering me towards one of the bars set up around the party¡¯s parameter, ¡°Your dad would disapprove; it didn¡¯t come out until 1973, but sometimes Gregg likes to follow me around.¡±

    When I raise my eyebrows at this surprising statement, he changes the subject, ¡°You¡¯ve never been here before?¡± He asks as we join the line for drinks.

    Gregg Allman follows him around? Does he talk to Rune in his head the way Theo has started talking to me? This isn¡¯t the place to have such a conversation; I¡¯ll probably never tell Rune (or anyone else) that Theo talks to me in my head. Still, it it makes me feel less alone with my strange situation.

    Someday, I will ask Rune what it was like to play such a well-known rock star. Dressing up as Pattie Boyd has given me a new appreciation for the commitment and work it must have taken him to play Allman. I¡¯m only dressed up for one evening, and it took a lot of effort. Rune had to dress up, sing in Allman¡¯s distinctive bluesy growl, play the organ, and pretend to fall in love with Cher.

    ¡°No,¡± I bring myself back to the present when I realize he¡¯s waiting for my answer, ¡°this is the first time this host has ever held an event for ReWild. They¡¯re friends of the new board member Amy Pennington.¡±

    ¡°Jack¡¯s new friend?¡± Rune asks. I nod, trying not to look bummed, ¡°Hey,¡± he squeezes my shoulder, ¡°you got this, Pattie Boyd.¡± When I give him a disbelieving grimace, he leans closer, ¡°No one here is rocking a mini dress quite like you are.¡±

    This makes me laugh and feel a bit better, which he intended. I¡¯ll do my best not to focus on my hurt and embarrassment over Jack tonight. My goal is to just be here now at this beautiful event with my handsome friend. It¡¯s getting harder to remember that I¡¯m still mad at him, even though he¡¯s got such a terrible reputation. He¡¯s doing me a big favor by being here tonight.

    It¡¯s a much larger turnout than the ReWild fundraiser last summer. There must be more than one hundred people milling about. The only ones I recognize are a few staff members here and there.

    The mostly late middle-aged and older crowd are dressed in varying degrees of boho chic and hippy casual. Many people, especially women, only wear lavish floral crowns with colorful summer party attire to honor the Summer of Love theme, but there are a lot of very flared jeans.

    As I imagined, our outfits are the most thought out. I¡¯m glad Rune insisted we make such an effort. People give us smiles of appreciation and toast us with their glasses as they walk by. As he passed, one man leaned in and sang a snippet of Eric Clapton¡¯s Layla to me, one of the songs Pattie inspired. His wife was not amused.

    ¡°Give me your keys,¡± I tell Rune suddenly as we step up to give our order to the bartender, remembering what I¡¯d decided earlier today, ¡°I¡¯m the designated driver.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡± he asks, reaching into his jacket pocket.

    ¡°Yes. You¡¯re doing me a big favor, and I don¡¯t drink much anyway. I¡¯m sort of a lightweight.¡±

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Good to know,¡± he says, giving me one of those looks I can¡¯t read and handing me his keys. I do my best to ignore the frisson that runs through me as his fingers lightly brush mine.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I say to distract myself, as Rune hands me my ginger ale and picks up his strawberry basil crush, the drink of the night, ¡°let¡¯s make a toast in Theo¡¯s honor for our fantastic outfits.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Rune agrees, clinking his glass to mine, and then coughs after his first sip, ¡°Whew!¡± He whistles, ¡°No wonder everyone¡¯s so happy. This will certainly help with the fundraising.¡±

    He hands me his martini glass containing the bright red drink. I take a sip and cough as well.

    ¡°Wow,¡± I say when my throat clears, ¡°be careful with those. I¡¯m pretty sure I can¡¯t carry you out of here.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he winks, ¡°I can hold my drink.¡± I hope he¡¯s right. A couple of those and I¡¯d be either dancing on one of the tables or under it.

    As we approach the tent to find our table, we run into ReWild¡¯s Executive Director, Emily Ferguson. She¡¯s strategically located to greet people on their way to their seats. Smart.

    Emily¡¯s one of those incredibly energetic late middle-aged women like my mom with the skills and ability to run a small country. She wears her iron-gray curls in a chin-length, curly bob. With a large piece of statement turquoise at her throat and a flowing, colorful caftan, she seems more like a high priestess of a secret order than someone celebrating the summer of love tonight, but the outfit suits her.

    ¡°Shelby!¡± she exclaims, ¡°I hardly recognized you. Make sure Jack gets a photo of the two of you for our email newsletter. You look fantastic!¡±

    I almost wince at the mention of Jack¡¯s name, but smile gamely instead, ¡°Emily, this is my good friend and neighbor, Rune. He deserves the credit for picking out our outfits. Rune, this is our Executive Director Emily making it all happen.¡±

    ¡°A pleasure,¡± Rune says, shaking her hand, ¡°It sounds like an amazing organization.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, it is. I can¡¯t take credit though; it¡¯s a team effort,¡± Emily tells him, then leans in conspiratorially, ¡°Are you a creative too, Rune? Might we hope Shelby will recruit your talent for our fledgling movement the way she has our photographer, Jack?¡±

    Oh no. I¡¯d totally forgotten about Emily¡¯s blunt forwardness in promoting the cause. I hope Rune isn¡¯t put off by her.

    ¡°Shelby can be persuasive,¡± Rune says knowingly, giving Emily a full-wattage grin, ¡°You could say I¡¯m a creative. I¡¯m in entertainment production.¡±

    ¡°Marvelous! I must hear all about it very soon, but for now, you both go enjoy yourselves,¡± Emily says, clearly having no idea who Rune is, but happy at the thought of more talent, ¡°I can¡¯t wait to share your video in the presentation tonight, Shelby, everyone¡¯s going to be so impressed.¡±

    ¡°You make videos?¡± Rune asks as I lead him through the maze of tables.

    ¡°Not the actual filming part, no, but I storyboard and edit them,¡± I tell him as I recognize Luna and her family across the room.

    I shared with Rune in the car that we¡¯re sitting with my friends who own Hummingbird Floral Farm. We¡¯re the last two to arrive at our table. It¡¯s situated a few rows back from the front, off to the right, with an excellent view of the podium.

    ¡°Shelby,¡± Luna waves us over to the two open seats, ¡°look at the two of you!¡± I sit next to my friend and kiss her on her warm brown cheek before introducing Rune to everyone.

    ¡°Awesome,¡± Dan, Luna¡¯s husband, says enthusiastically, standing up to shake Rune¡¯s hand across us, ¡°we get the cool kids at our table.¡±

    He¡¯s a tall, affable, barrel-chested, sandy-haired man in his mid-40s, a few years older than Luna. I like him almost as much as I like Luna. They¡¯ve both been a lifeline during my time of getting used to living in a new place and caring for Theo, even more so after his death.

    ¡°Of course, they¡¯re at our table!¡± Luna says, ¡°We¡¯re the creatives,¡± she gestures to the beautiful floral arrangement on the table of sweet peas and peonies that are as deliciously fragrant as they are delicately pretty and the elaborate floral crown on her head.

    ¡°My compliments,¡± Rune does a little bow to her, his right hand over his heart. This makes Luna flash her gorgeous smile and laugh, tossing back her long, curly black hair, usually tamed in a braid.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget we¡¯re also farmer activists!¡± Dan¡¯s dad, Tom, pipes up. He¡¯s almost a replica of his son, but twenty-plus years older, with a head of shaggy white hair. He¡¯s wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt that looks as if it might indeed be from the 1960s.

    ¡°Don¡¯t scare him,¡± Pat, Dan¡¯s mom, says. She¡¯s also wearing her shoulder-length silver-gray hair down tonight and sports an elaborate floral crown. The crowns are Luna and her daughter¡¯s handiwork. They¡¯re famous regionally, and even in Seattle, for creating them for weddings.

    ¡°No fear, this is perfect,¡± Rune holds up his glass like a toast, ¡°I¡¯m with the right team. Cheers!¡± Everyone raises their glass and cheers along with him.

    I share with Rune that Dan¡¯s parents, Tom and Pat, were good friends of Theo and Rueben and sit on the board of ReWild.

    ¡°The two of you must have had great fun going through Theo¡¯s collection,¡± Pat says, ¡°you look wonderful.¡±

    ¡°This is all Rune; he came up with our rock muse Pattie Boyd and swinging sixties photographer theme,¡± I tell everyone.

    ¡°Even your eye-makeup and hair?¡± Leslie, Dan¡¯s sister, asks. She¡¯s a stylist here on the island at a posh salon. With her keen fashion sense and constantly evolving hair, she¡¯s one of the only people I¡¯ve met here who seems like they could fit into my old life in Santa Monica.

    ¡°No. That¡¯s all Shelby¡¯s artistic skill,¡± Rune says, leaning back in his chair and putting his arm along the back of mine, ¡°I just picked out the shortest mini dress that went best with this jacket.¡±

    ¡°Wise choice,¡± Dan winks at Rune. I have a feeling he means more than the dress. I¡¯m a bit conflicted. It¡¯s good that he thinks I¡¯m a catch; a little sad, this is all a ruse to help my crushed heart.

    By the time the wait staff starts bringing around platters of hummus, tzatziki, and seasonal vegetables as shared appetizers, we¡¯re deep in conversation. Everyone¡¯s catching Rune up to speed on what ReWild focuses on.

    ¡°So, the purpose of tonight is to start fundraising to buy land for a permanent location?¡± Rune clarifies.

 Chapter 21: In which Shelby feels conflicted

    ¡°Our visionary goal is to build a year-round training facility,¡± Pat tells Rune, ¡°but first we need to buy the land. We focus on three possible locations that can work depending on the funds we can raise over the next year.¡±

    ¡°Not here on Bainbridge?¡± Rune asks, taking another crostini from the platter in the center of the table. These particular grilled, garlic-braised pieces of baguette are topped with ricotta, basil, and cherry tomatoes. They¡¯re delicious.

    ¡°It¡¯s far too expensive unless someone donated a property,¡± Dan tells him, ¡°If we can keep Amy¡¯s interest, we might find someone like that through her network, but I wouldn¡¯t bank on it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d far prefer to have the space be nearer to our home on Kitsap; we¡¯d be an easier reach for students throughout the peninsula and then we could serve those from the Olympic peninsula as well,¡± Luna chimes in.

    ¡°And anyway, from what I¡¯ve heard, Amy likes to come in, make things happen fast with her dad¡¯s money, and move on to the next project,¡± Leslie says, scooping up the dill white bean hummus with a piece of pita from another shared platter.

    ¡°Leslie,¡± Pat admonishes her daughter in a low voice, ¡°we¡¯re delighted she¡¯s focused on us for the time being. We¡¯d never have landed this estate or attracted so many guests this year without her help.¡±

    ¡°True¡­ ¡°Leslie acknowledges with a shrug. She slides me a pointed glance before running her eyes over Rune, then back at me with a question in her bright blue eyes.

    I understand why she¡¯s curious. Rune¡¯s still got his arm draped across the back of my chair while he peppers Pat and Tom with questions. What¡¯s he up to? I clarified that I only wanted him to come as a friend. However, since Jack¡¯s around here somewhere, I don¡¯t say anything. It feels nice to be cocooned by my friends like this for the moment, sharing a fantastic meal.

    **

    We¡¯re all enjoying our poached salmon served on a bed of arugula, asparagus, and blistered corn when our Executive Director Emily Ferguson steps up to the small stage and tests the mic. Behind her are three large display screens. I¡¯m glad our short video will be so visible. Amy Pennington must be responsible for this upgrade in display technology.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Tenth Annual ReWild Washington Mid-Summer Celebration,¡± Emily calls out. The crowd cheers as she goes into her presentation. I¡¯ve been sitting with my back to the stage for dinner. Now that I¡¯m turned towards it, I notice Jack¡¯s profile a few tables in front of me. My stomach gives a sickening twist.

    As if he can feel my eyes on him, Jack turns to gaze straight at me. He does an actual double take as if he doesn¡¯t recognize me at first and then lifts his glass to me in a toast. Amy looks at him curiously. He whispers something to her. She leans over to get a look at me, glances at Rune sitting next to me, and holds two thumbs up. Not the action of a woman who knows she¡¯s just stolen someone else¡¯s almost boyfriend. I do a lame little wave in return, wishing the ground would open and swallow me.

    Rune must sense my distress and leans over, ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Jack¡¯s at the head table,¡± I whisper back, ¡°I think he almost didn¡¯t realize it¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Rune leans closer. I catch a delectable whiff of tangerines again as he whispers with his lips right against my ear, so close there¡¯s a tickle of vibration, ¡°Pretend I just said something suggestive.¡±

    I gasp a laugh, as much at the sensation as his outrageousness, and turn to stare at him.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± he smiles like the cat who swallowed the canary and squeezes my shoulder with the hand across the back of my chair.

    I¡¯m so thrown off guard by this whole exchange I¡¯ve lost track of Emily¡¯s talk, which is rude. I turn from Rune and focus on the stage, my cheeks hot. What in the world is Rune up to?

    ¡°It¡¯s wisely said a picture tells a thousand words,¡± Emily tells us, ¡°So rather than my standing here and telling you our story, let me share it instead with you visually far better than I ever could.¡±

    With a quick click, Jack¡¯s engaging cover photo of teens bottle-feeding lambs appears on all three screens. The video starts. The charming music I found begins. My heart lifts. This time, the sensation in my stomach is from excitement. Yes, it¡¯s dimmed because Jack isn¡¯t sitting next to me. We can¡¯t enjoy this moment together. Still, I¡¯m proud of this video and the organization it represents.

    The video goes into a brief introduction from Emily, and next Pat and Dan (here at our table with us), who tell how they gathered together their friends to create and launch ReWild.

    The heart of the story is when the teens start sharing about their lives and what ReWild means to them. We captured these vignettes when Jack and I traveled this spring, doing interviews with students on-site.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Watching it now brings tears to my eyes, even though I¡¯ve seen it a hundred times. These are kids who share they never felt they fit in until connecting to the land, kids who¡¯d never understood why their grandparents were farmers but now think they might like to carry on that legacy, kids who are terrified of climate change but now feel like they have a solution to participate in that makes them feel much better.

    There¡¯s dead silence when the video ends. I stare at the closing credits, and the final image, afraid to look around lest I see disappointment or boredom in people¡¯s eyes.

    Rune squeezes my knee. I glance at him warily. He has an odd expression on his handsome face, almost like he¡¯s never seen me before. Around us, people start clapping and cheering loudly.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± Emily says over the roar, ¡°the credit for this beautiful video goes to our photographer and videographer, Jack Abernathy; Jack, please stand up.¡±

    Amy grabs Jack¡¯s face and kisses him, a full-on-the-mouth-we-do-this-a lot-kiss. There¡¯s no doubt about it. Being available worked out quite well for him. My stomach clenches again. Jack stands, flushed, with a sheepish grin on his face. He turns, his arm motioning for me to rise, ¡°and our illustrator and editor Shelby Alpinieri,¡± Emily continues smoothly, also motioning for me to rise.

    As I stand, I paste on a smile, hoping it doesn¡¯t appear fake. How often did Pattie Boyd have to do this? In researching her, I¡¯ve read that first George Harrison and then Eric Clapton cheated on her repeatedly. They both seemed to have loved her madly, so much so they wrote famous beloved songs about her, yet neither could be faithful.

    ¡°That was a sharp piece of editing,¡± Rune leans in again as I sit back down, ¡°I had no idea you did that kind of work.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I say shortly. I wish I felt proud of myself and happy to have my gorgeous friend escorting me here tonight. Instead, I feel conflicted and sad.

    If good-looking, talented, interestingly charismatic but otherwise ordinary Jack doesn¡¯t find me attractive enough, there¡¯s no way Rune, the head-turning heartbreaker, and I would happen in the real world. He already made that clear at Sundance. Oh joy, more salt in the wound.

    ¡°Now that you know why we¡¯re hosting our capital campaign,¡± Emily continues from the platform, ¡°I¡¯d like to invite you to consider giving generously to our silent auction and become part of our success story.¡± The crowd cheers again in approval at this short, sweet wrap-up.

    ¡°Shelby,¡± Pat exclaims, ¡°that was marvelous! I celebrate the day Theo introduced us!¡± She raises her drink glass to me, and the others do the same.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, trying to mean it. I look around the table at the people who¡¯ve become dear friends and finally at the man next to me whom I¡¯ve known since childhood. My disappointment and sadness softens a little.

    ¡°I think I do need to recruit you,¡± Rune gives me a long cat-like gaze, and then does one of those quick mood shifts of his, ¡°So what¡¯s up for bid at the silent auction? Is there anything Lorelei could participate in?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go see,¡± I say, feeling like I need to move. I want to escape Jack and Amy¡¯s love fest and the questions that will invariably come from my friends, ¡°We¡¯ll be back for dessert,¡± I tell the others.

    Rune and I walk towards the silent auction display under the open sky. On our way, Rune snags another strawberry basil crush from a passing waiter.

    ¡°You know you don¡¯t have to bid,¡± I tell him, ¡°That¡¯s not why I asked you to come.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Rune smiles as he slips his arm around my shoulders, ¡°You brought me because I¡¯m fantastic arm candy.¡±

    He pulls his colored sunglasses off his head and puts them back on. I do the same. It¡¯s still quite sunny, so we don¡¯t seem too silly. After all, they¡¯re part of our Summer of Love costumes. I¡¯m glad to have them, and his constant arm as a shield against my inevitable encounter with Jack.

    Luna and her team did a beautiful job assembling the silent auction display, mixed with their floral arrangements and my table-stand posters. A crowd is already beginning to form. People mill about reading the different opportunities to give and then start writing down their bids. This, at least, is exciting.

    ¡°Here,¡± I tell Rune, pointing to a poster about a visit to a sustainable lavender farm in Sequim. It¡¯s on the Olympic Peninsula, about an hour away, not too far from where his cousins have their ranch, ¡°I think Lorelei would like this. It¡¯s a picnic lunch and a tour.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Rune lets me go to lean in and read it over, ¡°If I win it, I¡¯ll also invite Marguerite to join us as a way to thank Marguerite for taking in my blazer.¡±

    Does ¡®us¡¯ mean he¡¯s including me? I¡¯m about to tell him he doesn¡¯t have to do that when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

    ¡°Shelby,¡± I hear Jack say behind me as I turn to see him getting his camera ready, ¡°Emily insists on a pic of the coolest couple here.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, reaching for Rune, who¡¯s already sliding beside me, arm going my shoulders again. He¡¯s taking his role as my date tonight very seriously. We do one of the peace poses we created for Lorelei.

    ¡°I¡¯m being told by those who know you¡¯re the famous music muse, Pattie Boyd,¡± Jack tells me, ¡°But who are you?¡± He asks Rune, ¡°David Bailey?¡±

    ¡°Henry Diltz,¡± Rune says without missing a beat. He chose another famous 1960s photographer to portray tonight, an American one that he felt he looked more like. I love that he¡¯s such a research nerd.

    ¡°Well done,¡± Jack says, obviously surprised, and takes a few more shots.

    ¡°Shelby! I hardly recognized you,¡± Amy Pennington exclaims, coming up behind Jack and squeezing his arm, ¡°Please introduce me to your groovy friend,¡± she says, holding her hand out to Rune.

    Amy is as coolly lovely as ever. Her long highlighted blonde hair is in its signature waves. In a sea of wildly colorful outfits tonight, she stands out in her all-cream caftan, matching leggings, strappy heels, and blush manicure. I¡¯m sure that is the point¡ªAmy¡¯s much more 40-something L.A. beach babe powerhouse than Pacific Northwest tech guru, which makes sense. She, too, is originally from Southern California.

    ¡°Rune Borstad,¡± Rune says, shaking her hand, ¡°I¡¯m Shelby¡¯s next-door neighbor and childhood friend.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Gunnar¡¯s brother?¡± Jack asks, surprised.

    ¡°Cousin,¡± Rune corrects him; his arm is now around my waist like a lifeline.

    ¡°I feel like we¡¯ve met,¡± Amy says, narrowing her eyes at Rune, ¡°you seem very familiar.¡±

    ¡°I have that kind of face,¡± Rune demurs, but with a teasing edge. Jack looks from Amy to Rune and back, confused and not happy.

    ¡°Shelby, you sly cat,¡± Amy barks a laugh and smacks me lightly on the arm. ¡°I never forget a face, and your face, Asher Dillion,¡± she says to Rune, ¡°was on two posters on my younger stepsister¡¯s wall.¡±

 Chapter 22: An old misunderstanding is cleared up

    Oh my God, you were terrific as Gregg Allman,¡± Amy tells Rune, and then to all of us and repeats, ¡°Amazing!¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Rune says good-naturedly, his cheeks slightly pink, ¡°I¡¯m glad you enjoyed it.¡±

    ¡°Asher Dillion, seriously?¡± The shocked look on Jack¡¯s face is priceless. I¡¯m tempted to snap a pic on my phone, but I don¡¯t want to move away from Rune¡¯s protective arm.

    ¡°In the flesh.¡± Rune agrees dryly.

    ¡°That was you in The Troubadour Tales?¡± Jack asks, sounding a little touched in the head.

    ¡°Too bad we stayed on a fundraising theme,¡± Amy says with a wink, ¡°we could have auctioned off dates with you, though maybe this crowd isn¡¯t the right age group.¡± She pats Rune on the arm and turns to Jack, ¡°We need to mingle, babe. My goal is to hit 300k tonight from this group; however,¡± she turns back to us, ¡°the two of you must come to our fourth of July party next week,¡± she looks at Jack, ¡°you¡¯ll send them all the details?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Jack agrees, looking a little uncomfortable.

    ¡°I wish we could,¡± I find myself saying quickly, looking at Rune and hoping he¡¯ll catch my drift, ¡°but we¡¯ve committed to making ice cream for Luna and Dan¡¯s party. Maybe another time?¡±

    ¡°Oh right, I need to dig out the ice cream maker. Yes, absolutely another time,¡± Rune agrees, thankfully playing along, which is very kind. I¡¯m sure Amy¡¯s party will be quite a party.

    ¡°Oh darn!¡± Amy says, pouting a little, ¡°Unfortunately, we¡¯re leaving the next day for Iceland. We¡¯ll be there for two weeks, and then go to East Coast.¡±

    ¡°Iceland?¡± I say, feeling like I¡¯ve been suddenly dipped in ice water.

    ¡°It was Jack¡¯s idea,¡± Amy says, smiling at him affectionately and running her beautifully manicured hand up his arm, ¡°He dazzled me with the idea and a fabulous itinerary when we were hiking Mount Ranier with some friends recently.¡±

    ¡°Mount Rainier?¡± I echo, now sounding like I¡¯m the one touched in the head. Jack¡¯s face loses more color.

    ¡°We¡¯re going camping on horseback. Can you believe it?¡± Amy asks, her eyes wide with fun and disbelief, ¡°Jack convinced me it¡¯s easier than it sounds because they have this crazy smooth trot or something. It sounds unbelievable, but he assures me it¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s true,¡± I say sharply, glaring at Jack. He¡¯s far more interested in his camera and won¡¯t return my glance.

    ¡°We¡¯re horse geeks,¡± Rune tells Amy when she looks between Jack and me with some concern, ¡°we researched the horses of Iceland as kids,¡± which ironically is true. We did it for one of Rune¡¯s homeschool homework projects.

    ¡°Wow, I hope you¡¯ll send me any tips you know,¡± Amy says.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Rune agrees, ¡°good luck tonight; it¡¯s a great cause,¡± and then he pulls me back towards the display table where he left his drink.

    ¡°That was my trip,¡± I say, low and miserable, as he hands me his glass. I take a big swig and cough, ¡°I spent months researching it. We were supposed to go next year, and he recently, out of nowhere, decided he wanted to go this year¡­¡±

    ¡°Come on, Seashell,¡± Rune says quietly, encouragingly, ¡°let¡¯s take a walk, shall we?¡± He leads me past the large tent of happily milling people.

    ¡°I bet you¡¯ve never had someone ditch you and take someone else on the vacation you planned,¡± I grumble.

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    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t,¡± he admits as he guides me around the right side of the enormous house and down the long lawn towards the water. ¡°But I did have my first official girlfriend come out of the closet and start dating a woman all in the public eye when I was eighteen. The next one decided to cheat with a rock star on me after starring in a music video with him that I directed. Does that help?¡±

    ¡°Oh crap,¡± I say, wincing in empathy. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m wearing flats as we reach the pebbly shore, ¡°I forgot about the former; I didn¡¯t know about the latter.¡±

    ¡°It was a while ago,¡± he says, ¡°why should you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that all happened,¡± I tell him. Is this why he¡¯s such a bad boy now? Is he getting back at women for breaking his heart in the past?

    ¡°And I¡¯m sorry this happened here tonight,¡± he counters kindly, ¡°Jack is an asshole.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I grumble as we make our way to the water. Pulling off my shoes and tights is tempting, but I don¡¯t think my feet would take it barefoot. I¡¯m happy that we can hear the roll and rhythm of the surf; it¡¯s soothing.

    ¡°I wish ¡­¡± I start but feel utterly lame for saying something I was thinking out loud.

    ¡°You wish what?¡± Rune slips his beautiful long fingers through mine and wiggles my hand, ¡°Cough it up, Seashell.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m always the second choice, the backup plan,¡± I admit, staring pointedly at the water, willing myself not to cry, ¡°I doubt that happens to you, as long as you stop dating gay women and putting girlfriends in music videos, of course.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± he says with a sort of disgusted snort, letting go of my hand. He bends down over the rocks, starting to collect flat ones the right size for skipping, ¡°Just because a lot of people decide you¡¯re desirably fuckable doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re at all interested in the real you.¡±

    He glances at me to see if I believe him. My face must register that I don¡¯t, ¡°It¡¯s true; most women aren¡¯t interested in the shy, serious geeky nerd homebody that I am; they want me to be the effortlessly suave and sexy characters I¡¯ve played on TV,¡± he stands back up and throws the first rock, which only skips once.

    ¡°Here, like this,¡± I tell him. Happy to have something else to focus on, I reach for his hand and the rocks he¡¯s picked up. I choose a perfect specimen, step away from him, and let it fly over the low waves with my best sideways throw. It skips three times.

    ¡°Show off,¡± he complains with fake annoyance, ¡°you were always better at so many things.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡± I scoff, ¡°I don¡¯t think skipping rocks counts for much. I could draw, and you could write, play music, and act.¡±

    He raises his eyebrow at me, ¡°That video was a solid piece of storytelling, excellent editing, short enough that people are hungry to learn more about the organization,¡± he tells me, ¡°I bet they hit their fundraising goals tonight.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell him, ¡°This would make me want to preen if I wasn¡¯t so depressed.¡±

    ¡°Seashell, you could ride better than I could, you could dance better than I could, and you weren¡¯t afraid to ask adults, even strangers, for what you wanted.¡±

    ¡°Okay, no, I wasn¡¯t shy like you were,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Are,¡± he adds, throwing another rock that skips twice, for which he raises his fists above his head in a celebratory motion.

    ¡°Those are all things I took lessons in, like you for the piano and guitar. And you¡¯re the one who came up with most of our fun adventure and project ideas,¡± I say, remembering things I haven¡¯t let myself think about for quite a while. We made the perfect team, we had so much fun.

    ¡°But you had no problem asking for permission, like taking the ferry to Seattle by ourselves to go the Pike Market and check out famous art stores that last summer together. That was a fantastic trip.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± I accept. That was a wonderful day. Rune¡¯s grandma Nan took us to the ferry terminal in Bainbridge, and his mom, Astrid, picked us up several hours later. However, we were entirely on our own for our adventure to the city.

    ¡°Listen, Shelby,¡± Rune says, running his hands through his hair and starting to pace back and forth, ¡°I¡¯m a hot mess right at this moment,¡± he holds my gaze for a beat, making sure I understand that he¡¯s serious, ¡°But just so you know, you¡¯ve certainly been a first choice for me.¡±

    ¡°As a summertime bestie, sure,¡± I cut him off because I can¡¯t stand to hear him say it, ¡°I appreciate that, Rune, I do. But it¡¯s not the same as a romance.¡±

    A tear slides down my cheek. I brush it away carefully with my fingertips, hoping I didn¡¯t wreck my eye makeup.

    ¡°Summertime bestie?¡± Rune stares at me, incredulous, then gives a little huff of a laugh, shaking his head, and runs his hand over his mouth as if trying to keep himself from saying more.

    ¡°And anyway,¡± I say, remembering to be angry at him, ¡°your summertime bestie wasn¡¯t good enough for you to be seen dancing with at Sundance!¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± He asks, making that startled expression a cat makes when sprayed with water, but quickly annoyance replaces this, ¡°You deserted me!¡±

    ¡°Only after you told me, and I quote,¡± I say furiously, holding up my fingers for emphasis, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t look good and ran off the dance floor.¡±

    ¡°Oh, God!¡± Rune exclaims, putting his sunglasses in his coat¡¯s front pocket, ¡°We¡¯re both idiots. I meant I wouldn¡¯t look good. I can¡¯t dance, Shelby.¡±

 Chapter 23: A fake date with a very real kiss

    ¡°Of course, you can dance,¡± I tell Rune hotly, poking him in the chest with my finger, ¡°you used to learn music video routines right along with me in the barn all the time. You even got your groove on with a hot pretend Cher for a TV series.¡±

    ¡°That was for a role, Shelby, playing a shy man who drinks so he can muster the courage to dance with his very famous date,¡± he tells me, grabbing my hand so I won¡¯t poke him again. ¡°I can¡¯t dance with other people watching in a club like you can, or out in a forest, for that matter.¡±

    ¡°But you can audition for dramatic roles and then act and sing and play for the camera?¡± I say, in a way that makes clear, I¡¯m not buying this.

    ¡°It¡¯s weird, I know,¡± he sighs. ¡°I would have liked absolutely nothing more than to have burned up the dance floor with you at that party ten years ago, but my ineptness at dancing in public compared to you tearing it up would have been humiliating for both of us.¡±

    I have to acknowledge he seems sincere. We stare earnestly at each other for a few moments.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I decide to believe him, letting out a deep breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding, ¡°Thanks for clearing that up. I¡¯m tired of being mad at you about it.¡±

    ¡°Ditto. Can you forgive me for being a coward?¡± he asks, tilting my chin to face him.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I agree. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just tell me all this back then?¡±

    ¡°I was going to, but you disappeared,¡± he says, ¡°and you blocked my number.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit, ¡°but I eventually unblocked it later that night, and by then, you wouldn¡¯t return my calls.¡±

    ¡°I went into hiding,¡± he says sadly.

    ¡°Not because of that, I hope,¡± I say, mortified.

    ¡°Well, yes,¡± he tells me, ¡°but it was compounded by the fact that we found out the next morning my mom was having her first bout of breast cancer. I left on a standby flight right away.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Rune, I¡¯m sorry, I had no idea.¡±

    ¡°No one did; she didn¡¯t want anyone but family to know,¡± he steps away from me to throw another stone, but it only skips once. He drops the remaining ones and brushes off his hands on his jeans.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t want support from friends and her community?¡± I ask, confused.

    ¡°It¡¯s not quite the same when you¡¯re a freelance music teacher,¡± he slips his hands in his pockets, shoulders curling forward a little, ¡°Folks can say they support you but then not hire you. People can get strange about serious illness if they haven¡¯t had to deal with it.

    ¡°True,¡± I agree, ¡°my mom couldn¡¯t deal with Theo being in hospice with congestive heart failure. She didn¡¯t even fly up to say goodbye.¡±

    Rune shakes his head, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t come to say goodbye to him in person either,¡± he tells me, ¡°I¡¯ve been too mired in my own grief.¡±

    We stand side by side, staring at the water. There¡¯s sadness in my heart remembering Astrid and Theo, but a lightness, too, because maybe I really do have one of my oldest and best friends back.

    ¡°Ready to face for dessert?¡± Rune asks after a few moments.

    When I nod and look up at him standing next to me, he¡¯s doing that thing again; he¡¯s staring at my mouth like he did that day on the trail. My heart starts pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

    Before I realize what¡¯s happening, Rune steps closer and takes my face in his hands. He presses that marvelous mouth against mine gently. When he pulls back a little, his eyes asking silently if it¡¯s okay to kiss me again, I¡¯m the one who leans forward to make it happen.

    Oh boy, he can kiss. It¡¯s as easy breathing but so much more exciting. I slip my arms around his slender torso, pressing closer, eager to learn more about the exciting ways he¡¯s making his tongue dance with mine. It¡¯s soft and sweet and so deliciously pleasurable. Was he sent to some kind of Hollywood kissing school? Or are we especially well-matched at this skill?

    I¡¯m floating. Nothing else exists except the delight of his mouth against mine, the warm firmness of his body, and the slight scent of tangerines.

    Someone wolf whistles from the lawn back behind us. We both start and pull apart sheepishly.

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    Oh God, I¡¯ve just PDA¡¯d with a celebrity at a fundraiser. My ego¡¯s only saving grace is that he started it. But wow. Just wow. Summer of Love party indeed.

    Rune has my hand in his again, gently pulling me back towards the party.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to give you my hoped-for first kiss twenty-one years late,¡± he says, using his other hand to comb his hair forward again as we make our way across the lawn.

    ¡°Thank you, it would have been my first, too,¡± I admit back. Surprised, he raises his eyebrows, ¡°I guess now I have to forgive Franklin Haus for ruining my strategically planned mistletoe.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Rune squeezes my hand, ¡°don¡¯t ever forgive Franklin Haus for that. I haven¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you knew what I was up to at the Christmas party?¡± I pause, ¡°You saw the mistletoe?¡±

    ¡°It was pretty obvious, Seashell,¡± he chuckles, ¡°you¡¯d tied it up with a very big red bow.¡±

    ¡°Needs must,¡± I laugh back.

    ¡°Again, you were the brave one,¡± he says, releasing my hand and putting his arm around my shoulders again, ¡°I¡¯d been trying to work up the nerve to kiss you all summer and couldn¡¯t do it. I was thrilled with your mistletoe scheme.¡±

    This lifts my heart even higher. I beam at him. If only he wasn¡¯t famous and a lothario to boot, maybe we could live happily ever after up here in artsy storytelling bucolic splendor. But that¡¯s not the reality, so I need to just appreciate this moment of reconciliation.

    When Rune and I reach our table, only Dan, Pat, and Tom are there, talking together. Rune goes off to find the dessert bar and bring us back treats. He hasn¡¯t been gone for five minutes before Jack slides into the seat on my right.

    ¡°Convenient old pal, you¡¯ve got there,¡± Jack says low, with a not nice but knowing smile, ¡°It¡¯s interesting how you failed to mention you¡¯re personally acquainted with your celebrity crush.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who came up with that whole weird topic of conversation. And you know Amy, so that¡¯s rich,¡± I retort, ¡°It was kind Rune agreed to be my last-minute date.¡±

    ¡°I doubt kindness had anything to do with it,¡± Jack replies, ¡°he¡¯s glued himself to you.¡±

    ¡°Stop,¡± I say tiredly to Jack, louder than I mean to. Dan, Pat, and Tom look at me, but I keep my eyes on the table.

    ¡°As your friend, I¡¯m concerned about you jumping into something you have no experience with,¡± Jack says quietly so the others can¡¯t overhear, ¡°I mean, Christ Alpine, he¡¯s famous.¡±

    ¡°So¡¯s Amy,¡± I say equally quietly, ¡°I don¡¯t see that stopping you.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not famous like that¡­¡± he starts, and I cut him off.

    ¡°I¡¯ve known Rune since I was nine, okay? Our families have lived next door to each other for decades. He has no interest in breaking my already broken heart,¡± Jack actually flinches at this. Good.

    ¡°I really didn¡¯t think you were so serious, Alpine,¡± Jack says intently.

    ¡°Yes, so you¡¯ve told me repeatedly,¡± I sigh, ¡°Certainly, you didn¡¯t if you¡¯re taking Amy on the vacation I planned for us.¡±

    I¡¯m so glad that Jack¡¯s not the last man I kissed. I¡¯m happy I can still feel Rune¡¯s plush lips against mine. I wear the feeling like a magic shield around my bruised heart and tattered ego.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come over here to argue,¡± Jack says tightly, ¡°I hope you will get to go to Iceland next year,¡± he says. I roll my eyes at him, ¡°I came to find out about how it went with Trident on the coloring book,¡± he continues doggedly but more conversationally.

    ¡°Just dandy,¡± I say with fake cheer, ¡°I¡¯m selling them the art. We¡¯ve agreed to an acceptable price, and I¡¯m going to launch another project with my original concept this fall.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Jack stares at me, shocked, ¡°Why in the world are you giving up having your name as a co-author on a coloring book with a top publisher? You already made the rounds with the original Horse Girls two years ago. It didn¡¯t go anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Because Mr. Know it All, they decided I wasn¡¯t enough of an influencer on social media to help sell the coloring book all because I don¡¯t own a horse, by which they also mean help them sell their expensive equestrian products brand.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense,¡± Jack starts, but I¡¯m not finished.

    ¡°And yes, it did go somewhere, just not the way I wanted, so I can pivot and try again a different way,¡± as I say this, it feels more like a real possibility. I like it. I could completely do my own thing.

    Good girl, I hear Theo say very, very faintly in my head.

    ¡°Alpine, didn¡¯t you learn anything from my own disaster with crowdsourcing?¡± Jack asks, his voice taking on a lecturing note I recognize.

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to fund a large, stylish, expensive coffee table book by two photographers,¡± I tell him, ¡°I¡¯ll do something small and manageable.¡±

    Jack¡¯s about to say more when, thankfully, Rune sits on my other side. He sets down two plates full of cupcakes, one in front of Dan, Pat, and Tom, the other in front of us. They¡¯re topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

    ¡°Anyone still hungry?¡± Rune asks the table and then turns to me, ¡°Want to split one?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please,¡± I say brightly, not because I¡¯m hungry but because I want to end the conversation with Jack.

    ¡°Alpine, if you don¡¯t have enough of a social media following for Trident to keep you as an author of the coloring book, you don¡¯t have enough of one yet to successfully host a crowdsourcing campaign,¡± Jack continues, eyeing the cupcakes with disdain.

    This is an annoying habit of Jack''s, how he takes the bit in his teeth when he thinks he¡¯s right and keeps harping. Ironically, when he was running his own campaign, he wouldn¡¯t listen to several of my suggestions, which were all standard best practices.

    ¡°Sure, she does,¡± Rune says conversationally, cutting one of the cupcakes in half and handing me a fork.

    ¡°How? Are you going to loan her some of your followers?¡± Jack says in a nasty tone I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s using. What is this? He can¡¯t be jealous, can he?

    ¡°My Asher Dillion account is dormant right now, but there¡¯s no time like the present to reinstate it,¡± Rune says, smiling. He takes out his phone and begins to scroll, ¡°Anyway, Shells doesn¡¯t need any of my followers to make her crowdsourcing successful. It¡¯s not so much the number of followers that¡¯s important; it¡¯s how actively engaged and supportive they are with what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°And you know all about running successful crowdsourcing campaigns, do you?¡± Jack volleys back. I¡¯m tempted to say something, but Rune squeezes my knee under the table.

 Chapter 24: Rune says yes to being drawn as Wizard Howl

    The conversation Dan, Pat, and Tom were having amongst themselves has stopped. I keep my eyes on the table, focused on the cupcake. It¡¯s a delicious shortcake, the perfect mid-summer dessert. I chew slowly, glancing under my lashes to see Dan, Pat, and Tom all staring at us. Oh, joy.

    ¡°My production partners and I have successfully crowdsourced two music videos and a short film,¡± Rune sounds completely unaffected by Jack¡¯s taunt. He¡¯s still looking at his phone, ¡°Shelby has over a hundred comments on her most recent post, polling her followers for who she should draw for her next coloring page. I¡¯d say that¡¯s engaged.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± I ask, afraid he might be exaggerating for drama. Rune hands me his phone. He¡¯s telling the truth. Wow. I start scrolling through the comments. ¡°Jaime Campbell Bower is still in the lead,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°I can live in hope,¡± he gives me a sweet smile as I hand him back his phone.

    ¡°You¡¯d really be okay with it?¡± He¡¯s the perfect person to draw as Wizard Howl. He almost is Wizard Howl.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Rune says as if he¡¯s surprised I¡¯d question this. His phone starts to vibrate, ¡°Pumpkin time,¡± he tells me, our signal for needing to go pick up Lorelei, ¡°It was lovely to meet all of you,¡± He tells the table as he gets up, looking at everyone but Jack.

    ¡°Okay, Alpine, good luck,¡± Jack says as if he hasn¡¯t been a complete asshat, ¡°Keep me posted.¡±

    That¡¯s precisely what I¡¯m not going to do, I think. But I¡¯m smiling as I say goodbye to everyone. Yes, Jack is a jerk, but I have one hundred and fifty comments! And Rune is okay with me drawing him as Howl. How sweet is that?

    I¡¯m in a happy daze as we make our way through the still-celebrating people. I wave goodbye to Luna, chatting with a group of women at another table. Once we exit the tent, I gaze up at the Western sky as we cross the courtyard to the gate. It¡¯s nine-thirty, but still dusk. Overhead, the sky is that beautiful, rich, deep, dark blue that¡¯s so hard to capture well in art. I can see an array of stars, but clouds have gathered on the horizon. The last vestiges of the long lingering sunset make a gorgeous array of rainbow sherbet hues.

    We¡¯re quiet as we exit the gates. Crickets and frogs sing their evening tunes as we go down the quiet, well-heeled residential street.

    ¡°I have one question,¡± Rune says when his car finally comes into view, ¡°You¡¯re probably going to be mad at me for asking, and I probably wouldn¡¯t be asking it if I hadn¡¯t had two strong drinks first¡­¡±

    ¡°Spit it out, Ruination,¡± I say, calling him the nickname I made up for him as a young teen based on the word botheration used in How¡¯s Moving Castle, ¡°It¡¯s your car; I can¡¯t leave you here.¡±

    ¡°Do you always date your mother?¡± He asks, using his wide-eyed, curious gaze on me.

    ¡°What?¡± I¡¯m so shocked I stop in the middle of the street to stare at him. This is a total buzz kill.

    ¡°Jack is so your mom,¡± Rune tosses back at me over his shoulder as he keeps walking.

    ¡°They look nothing alike!¡± I huff, jogging to catch up, ¡°My mother has auburn hair and totally different features!¡±

    ¡°It has nothing to do with what Jack looks like, Seashell. Your mom has that same way of trying to pull the rug out from under you in public; so does Franklin Hause, for that matter, and that dreadful PR friend of his with the ruined voice,¡± he says, taking the keys from my hand and opening the driver side door for me.

    I open my mouth to protest. I can¡¯t, he¡¯s right. I slip into the car, stunned.

    ¡°Do you mean Pamela Lyons?¡± I ask as he gets in beside me.

    ¡°Yikes, yes. God, I hate that woman,¡± he says, putting his seat belt on.

    ¡°I used to work for her,¡± I admit as I start the car and pull out, ¡°she wants me to convince you to become a social media client of hers.

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    ¡°As if,¡± he almost growls, ¡°I¡¯d almost get back on social media as Asher Dillion and work to make it a success on my own just to spite her.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you?¡± I ask, an idea brewing, ¡°Didn¡¯t you say it would make your audiobook clients and production partners happy if you did?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it would be smart, but it¡¯s so not my thing,¡± he says tiredly.

    ¡°But it is mine,¡± I say, ¡°I could help you.¡±

    I can feel his eyes on me even though I keep mine on the dark road, ¡°I¡¯d be happy to pay you,¡± he says, sounding much happier.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to pay me,¡± I say, ¡°that would be too weird.¡±

    ¡°Why? I pay friends to do things for me all the time.¡±

    ¡°Just help me sell Theo¡¯s clothing collection to the right TV or film people for a good price, and let me put your stage name on my graphic resume.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Do I get to go shopping through it first?¡± Rune asks.

    ¡°Of course, Wizard Howl, but don¡¯t clean us out; I have property taxes and a new roof to save up for.¡±

    **

    I awake in the dark, expecting the Tsunami to crush me again. This time I realize more quickly I¡¯m at home in bed. Outside, I can hear the wind whipping and moaning around. The rain¡¯s coming down in torrents, but I¡¯m safe and warm in here. I remind myself it was only a dream and drift back to sleep.

    The second time I wake on Monday morning, it¡¯s light out but still early. I glance at my phone. It¡¯s 5:30, fifteen minutes early. The wind has ?died down. So, what woke me this time? I lie still, straining to catch what it might be. Was it Butterscotch downstairs in her crate? Is she in some kind of trouble?

    After a few moments, I hear a distinct heavy drip somewhere in this room. Oh no. As I sit up to turn on my nightstand lamp, I notice a damp patch as my leg moves. Crap.

    I sit up, turn on the overhead light, and put on my slippers. Sure enough, as I walk around the room, I find three more big wet patches on the carpet in different locations. Crap, crap, crap.

    Did I curse myself Saturday night when I told Rune I needed to save for a new roof? Gunnar told me it was probably time last summer, but my sister and I have been hoping we could wait at least another year.

    I throw on my flannel robe and go down the hall to check on Theo¡¯s room. It¡¯s a musty, closed, disastrous mess. Theo had become something of a packrat in here since Rueben¡¯s death, and then I made it worse.

    When the hospice workers helped me move Theo into the downstairs spare bedroom, I also moved everything not needed down there up here. It was winter and wet, and with everything going on, it was easier than carrying everything out to the barn.

    Boxes and stacks of clothes ?cover the bed. More boxes and stacks of books cover much of the impressively large bedroom¡¯s floor. I turn on all the lights but can¡¯t see any wet patches.

    Jack''s comment comes back to me as I move around carefully, looking and feeling for dampness and listening for drips. Did I signal to him and the universe that I wasn¡¯t serious because I hadn¡¯t cleaned out Theo¡¯s bedroom yet?

    I find it highly annoying that Jack could be right about anything right now. I¡¯d prefer to wallow in my anger at him. No, that¡¯s not true. What I¡¯d rather be doing is savoring those splendid kisses with Rune the other night at the fundraiser. This feels dangerously unwise. Rune is as unavailable as Jack is. Not only is he (as Jack so helpfully pointed out) pretty darn famous, but he¡¯s also a self-declared hot mess. So here I am, alone again, naturally, as the old rock song says.

    I can find no leaks in Theo¡¯s room. Nor are there any in any other parts of the house that I can find. Still, it needs to be checked out. Marguerite will have the name of Gunnar¡¯s roofer, but even she isn¡¯t up at this hour. It¡¯ll be longer before I can nudge Rune about his costume contacts. Lorelei¡¯s informed me he¡¯s a night owl and no fun in the morning.

    I take a container of my favorite apricot yogurt and a mug of tea into the office to kill time. I¡¯m not in the mood to focus on any work for clients or to draw yet, so I do what I do when I¡¯m seriously stressed about money. Sitting with Butterscotch¡¯s comforting warmth on my lap and occasionally staring out the window at the continuing storm, I make lists.

    The roof will likely cost more than twenty thousand to repair, going on what Gunnar told me he spent a few years ago. Even if Sydney has half of that available, I only have about two thousand in savings right now.

    Theo left us things to clean up financially when he died. He made an excellent living while working, and Reuben had a generous retirement income when they retired. The challenge was that they hadn¡¯t been officially married long enough for Theo to continue to receive those benefits when Reuben passed. Just in the couple of years Rueben had been gone, Theo had already racked up quite a debt.

    I¡¯ve been putting what I can towards paying off Theo¡¯s credit line against the house so that it¡¯s ours free and clear, but I¡¯ll be paying it off for another few years.

    Sell the house, come home, and find a real job with a top agency, my mom insists in my head as I scribble down ideas of who I can reach out to for more work graphic design work.

    Oh, please, no, I think, desperately, writing faster. I so want to take a stab at doing some kind of crowdsourced Horse Girls project on my own. All things considered, that¡¯s probably a pipe dream right at the moment. I keep scribbling income ideas, including contacting the teaching platform I edit videos for to let them know I¡¯m looking for more work. It isn¡¯t exciting, and it¡¯s not illustration work, but they pay on time, and that¡¯s important.

    What about Rune¡¯s social media? Theo reminds me, he¡¯s willing to pay you.

 Chapter 25: More bad news

    ¡°How was the party?¡± Sydney exclaims when she picks up, ¡°Those pics you sent over are stellar.¡±

    She sounds like she¡¯s walking with even more vigor than usual this morning.

    ¡°Considering Jack¡¯s going to Iceland next week with Amy Pennington on the trip I planned for us next year, not bad. I¡¯m still standing.¡± I take ground turkey out of the fridge to make chili and then get the garlic, a yellow onion, canned tomatoes, pinto, and kidney beans out of the pantry.

    ¡°What an ass! I hope at least Rune made him jealous.¡±

    ¡°I guess Rune did, enough that Jack warned me off him,¡± as I walk into the pantry to get out Uncle Reuben¡¯s trusty crockpot.

    "Seriously?¡± Sydney huffs with indignation.

    ¡°He kindly told me, as a friend, Rune¡¯s too famous for me,¡± which is embarrassing to share, but she¡¯s my sister.

    ¡°What a load of shit!¡± Sydney exclaims, ¡°I bet Rune¡¯s delighted to finally have his chance.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence,¡± I laugh as I set the crock pot on the counter and open the cans. I appreciate her filial loyalty, ¡°But Rune admits to being a train wreck right now.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we all,¡± Syd says darkly.

    ¡°Oh no, what¡¯s up?¡± I pause in the middle of opening up a can of pinto beans.

    ¡°Did you call to chat about the party, or is there something else? Because when I start my latest rant about Mom, there may be no stopping me for a while,¡± Syd warns.

    ¡°The roof¡¯s leaking in our old bedroom,¡± I tell her, ¡°We may need to replace the whole thing ASAP.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s so what I don¡¯t need right now,¡± Syd groans, ¡°I may be in a much better place financially soon, but Bill¡¯s still not drawing a salary from the bike shop, and I doubt he¡¯ll let me tap into our house savings fund for this.¡±

    ¡°Darn,¡± I say; I was hoping this was precisely what she¡¯d be able to do, ¡°I thought the shop was doing well now. I thought you two engineered it back into the black.¡±

    ¡°Oh, we did. It¡¯s doing so well Bill and his mom are thinking of buying back the shop they sold when Bill¡¯s dad died,¡± she says sharply, ¡°and thanks to my connections, they¡¯re becoming the biggest ebike dealer in the region.¡±

    ¡°So, we do need to sell Theo¡¯s collection,¡± I say, ¡°Mom¡¯s going to be so unhappy. You know she wants us to give Franklin Haus a big portion of it.¡±

    ¡°Sell it all,¡± Sheila says fiercely, ¡°Mom is so mud for me right now.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, what¡¯s going on? She texted me and told me the store windows are coming together beautifully, and the pics Dad sent look fantastic.¡±

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°The windows are incredible, but she¡¯s making everyone¡¯s life hell in the process. On top of that, she had Dad contact the press,¡± Syd sighs.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a good thing?¡± I ask, confused, ¡°Won¡¯t it make up for her being a pill to deal with?¡±

    ¡°It would be if they were focused on getting news coverage for the store, but she just can¡¯t avoid hogging into the spotlight. She stopped working yesterday to go for a ride with a reporter. When I overheard their conversation, it was all about Mom discovering the joy of riding an ebike during the pandemic and her return to designing windows.¡±

    ¡°Crap!¡± I proclaim, getting out a couple of cloves of garlic from where I keep them in a jar on the counter.

    ¡°Yep, and it was a reporter from the regional NPR station.¡±

    ¡°Well, that can still be a positive for the store, right?¡± I ask, chopping as quietly as I can.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bring sunshine to my pity party,¡± Syd growls, ¡°Bill and his mom are livid. The reporter barely talked to them.¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± I wince, this isn''t good.

    ¡°It gets worse,¡± Syd warns, ¡°The reporter said he¡¯s going to pitch it for national coverage for the Fourth of July weekend. I tell you, Shells, no good deep of mine ever goes unpunished.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I commiserate. This grabbing the spotlight is how Mom often found herself on the outs with the event companies she worked with. She doesn¡¯t seem to understand the need to be a team player.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m done with it,¡± Syd says, ¡°My head is about to crack from the stress of getting everyone to play nice. Dad has been so helpful with Leif, but the sooner he takes Mom back to Santa Monica, the better. She¡¯s totally alienated Bill and his mom,¡± she says tiredly, ¡°I¡¯m already on their shit list because they want Leif to go to private school next year, and I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How could you afford that if you¡¯re already paying all the bills?¡± I ask as I shake red pepper flakes into the chili.

    ¡°How, indeed, they think we should sell Theo¡¯s place too.¡±

    The ground has dropped out from under me, ¡°But I thought the plan was for you to move up here soon before Leif goes to High School; I thought Bill had a connection with REI for a job,¡± I say, starting to vigorously empty the rest of the cans of beans and tomatoes into the crockpot.

    ¡°Bill seems to have forgotten all about that now that he¡¯s a hometown bike hero. Listen, Shells, I¡¯m seriously considering taking the job in Seattle that I passed up to help the bike shop during the pandemic.¡±

    ¡°Wow, really?¡± I ask, crumbling the ground turkey into the pot. The company Sydney works for has its U.S. headquarters in Seattle.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t breathe a word of this to anyone. It¡¯s more money, and my company¡¯s so interested in me moving they¡¯ll pay for an apartment near the office for the first year.¡±

    ¡°My lips are sealed,¡± I say, excited for myself to possibly have my sister and nephew closer, ¡°Will Bill make the move, too?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea,¡± she says sadly, ¡°It doesn¡¯t bear thinking about. But enough of my drama. Any ideas on how to best sell Theo¡¯s stuff and make a good profit? The sooner we finish paying off his debts and the roof is taken care of, the better.¡±

    ¡°A few,¡± I tell her, ¡°Rune wants to see if any of his TV or film costume contacts are interested.¡±

    ¡°Sweet! That would particularly annoy Mom.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I ask as I stir the chopped garlic into the chili.

    ¡°Well, she has that weird beef against the Borstads,¡± Syd reminds me, ¡°particularly Gunnar and Rune since we were such friends.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah, the Beautiful Blue Collar Borstads Boys,¡± I say, remembering Mom¡¯s nickname for them, ¡°She was a little weird on the phone when I told her Rune would be my date to the fundraiser. She asked me if he¡¯d come out of the closet yet.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way Rune¡¯s gay,¡± Syd asserts with a snort.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so either,¡± I say, thinking happily about our kisses on the beach, ¡°but I¡¯m curious why you¡¯re so adamant.¡±

    ¡°Look him up online; for one thing, he¡¯s quite the Romeo. It¡¯s too bad he¡¯s not the right age demographic for my market. He could help me sell a lot of ebikes,¡± Syd chuckles, ¡°For another, he was madly in love with you as a kid.¡±

 Chapter 26: A sexy but daunting new assignment

    My sister is obviously exaggerating. She¡¯s a bit of a drama queen. I know Rune liked me a lot. We were definitely summertime besties. But no, he wasn¡¯t in love with me. He wasn¡¯t. I would have known.

    But I am wearing the fact that he wanted me to be his first kiss as much as I wanted him to be mine like a favorite old sweater, the kind that makes you feel better every time you put it on. Underneath that, I¡¯m wearing his actual kisses like a silky negligee. I¡¯ve never actually owned such an elegant piece of nightwear, but if I did, this is what I would imagine it would feel like.

    The morning hours slip by as I sketch different ideas for Rune as Wizard Howl and wait for the roofers to call me back. I¡¯ve finally caught the right wry expression on Rune¡¯s face that I want. I also gave him a very 80s dangling earring complete with a jewel (like in the book). This will make Lorelei laugh.

    The old me wouldn¡¯t have shared my preferred pencil sketch at this stage with my Instagram followers. It¡¯s good, but it¡¯s still rough. But the old me wouldn¡¯t have asked my followers to vote on whom to draw, either. Their robust response has shown me it¡¯s okay to lift the veil more.

    I set my drawing pad with Rune¡¯s sketch in front of the window for good light and take a few pics. I add in the text:

    Thank you to everyone for your amazing feedback and encouragement. At the end of the day, I decided to go with my own girlhood crush Asher Dillion. I hope you¡¯ll forgive me for not drawing your personal favorite.

    I¡¯ve just posted everything when my phone rings from Vivienne. This is twice she¡¯s called me out of the blue. Interesting.

    ¡°Do you have a few minutes?¡± she asks in a rush, her normal calm demeanor sounding excited and rushed.

    ¡°Of course, what¡¯s up?¡± I ask, starting to put away my all of my various drawing supplies.

    ¡°I just got back from a breakfast meeting with Marilynn, the publicist Rune connected me with. My head¡¯s spinning.¡±

    ¡°Did you go someplace fancy? Spot any celebrities?¡± I ask, hoping for a tiny glimpse of my old life back in Santa Monica. Celebrity sightings were a part of everyday life.

    ¡°No, she had me meet her at her favorite out-of-the-way deli so that we wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Wow, she¡¯s that well known?¡±

    ¡°In certain circles, yes. Marilyn Schultz is a PR legend. I thought I recognized her name when Rune gave me her contact info. I have to keep pinching myself that she¡¯s interested in working with me.¡±

    ¡°Viv, that¡¯s terrific!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all because of her daughter Naomi. Rune must have sent her an email. Naomi used to be on TV show with Rune when they were teens, and now she works with her mom but lives in Vancouver and works with his production company occasionally.¡±

    ¡°So, how did the meeting go?¡± I ask, annoyed to realize I¡¯m a little jealous of Naomi. I bet it was that first local PBS show. Was she Rune¡¯s first kiss? Realizing this isn¡¯t a helpful thought I take myself into the kitchen to get a snack and make more tea.

    ¡°Amazing, which is the reason for this impromptu call. Marilyn wants me to push back the launch of the website a few weeks.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Is there a problem?¡± I ask, dread rising, worried something in my graphics have been found lacking as take a container of hummus and some carrots out of the fridge.

    ¡°Don¡¯t jump to worry girl!¡± Vivienne admonishes me, albeit jokingly, ¡°No. There¡¯s no problem with the website at all. I¡¯m just pivoting a bit in light of the feedback she gave me.¡±

    ¡°So, what does she want you to do?¡± I ask. Deciding I might as well make this my lunch, I get out pita bread as well, and a delicious creamy sheep''s milk feta I bought recently.

    ¡°First, she wants me to have a free download before she books me any interviews, and then she wants me to do a reel of my best selfies.

    ¡°Like a pre-sizzle reel sizzle reel?¡± I ask, referring to short video montages created to showcase how good someone is at giving interviews, speaking in public, etc. I used to make sizzle reels all the time at both agencies.

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°But don¡¯t you already have a free download?¡± I ask, pretty sure she does.

    ¡°Yes! But it doesn¡¯t have the look and feel of the new website. Marilyn wants me to create a new one from my recent Sexpectations blog post with exercises. She wants me to announce it¡¯s a preview of my upcoming book.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were writing a book!¡± I exclaim, thinking that the title does have a nice ring to it. I slide my lunch plate across the kitchen bar and sit on one of the bar stools in front of it. I start nibbling on my pita, hummus, and feta quietly.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t either until two hours ago,¡± Vivienne laughs, ¡°Shelby, I don¡¯t think anyone has ever quite got what I want to do the way Marilyn has. I¡¯m sending Rune a very good bottle of champagne. I¡¯m going to tell him he has to drink it with you in my honor.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good to me! Is your hair blowing back from the excitement?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s whipping around like I¡¯m in a convertible. That¡¯s where you come in. How busy are you the next couple of weeks?¡±

    ¡°Not as busy as I need to be. I was going to start looking for new income projects.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re game, you have one now. Marilyn and Naomi love your illustrations and want you to create a sexy, fun cover for the free download to make it look like an eBook. They want it to match the look and feel of the website, with the idea that the actual book cover will look very similar, and you¡¯ll design that as well. And I could use your editing help with the sizzle reel too.¡±

    ¡°Yes, please! I¡¯m so game,¡± I say happily, getting up to find the pad of paper and pen I keep in a kitchen drawer. How exciting to focus on a project that¡¯s my dream, to illustrate book covers! She gives me the details of what she¡¯s looking for, and we settle on a price.

    ¡°Good,¡± she says, ¡°I feel so relieved to have that settled. Now I want to hear all about your big fundraiser.¡±

    ¡°It was surprisingly fun for the most part,¡± I say, ¡°we had the best costumes there.¡±

    ¡°Send me pics!¡± she exclaims.

    ¡°I¡¯m on it,¡± I say, picking up my phone again to text them to her, ¡°just don¡¯t share them.¡±

    ¡°Of course! Who do you think you¡¯re dealing with!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m being paranoid,¡± I say as I text over the images.

    ¡°Look at you two!¡± Vivienne exclaims, ¡°Shelby, why have you been hiding this secret glam side of yourself?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m lazy?¡± I laugh, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind spending more time on my hair and makeup occasionally if I had Rune around all the time to pick out my clothes.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you will¡­¡± Vivienne says slyly, ¡°You two look really good together. I like your energy with Rune.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, but as Jack pointed out, Rune¡¯s too famous for me.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me? As if you need his opinion on anything right now,¡± Vivienne sounds exasperated.

    ¡°Thanks, I appreciate that,¡± I admit, ¡°Rune was great. We even cleared up what happened at Sundance¡­¡±

    ¡°Details!¡±

    ¡°He admitted was just too shy to dance with me in public.¡±

    ¡°But he can play a rock star? And perform in velvet and leather?¡± Vivienne says.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s weird,¡± I agree, because truly it is.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s keeping the two of you from testing the waters now?¡± Viv asks, ¡°Is he in a relationship?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, but he admitted to being a total mess right now." I don''t add that I''ve heard he''s a serial heart breaker and it appears to check out online.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Vivienne says, ¡°well, good on him for being honest. I like that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, remembering our kisses fondly, but knowing no matter how much my body feels differently, that it¡¯s better this way.

    ¡°I feel like you¡¯re leaving something out,¡± Vivienne nudges.

    ¡°He kissed me,¡± I blurt out, feeling giddy and relieved to share, ¡°He admitted he wanted to do that all those years ago when we went to see Lord of the Rings.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Vivienne cheers, ¡°Was it worth the wait?¡±

    ¡°Oh wow, yes. It was amazing.¡±

    ¡°Shelby, listen, I have a sensuality assignment for you.¡±

    Oh?¡± I ask, a little bubble of dread rising. Vivienne¡¯s self-reflective sensuality assignments make me squirm.

    ¡°While you start working on illustration ideas for me, I also want you to finish doing the assignment from my Sexpectation blog post unless you finished it already,¡± she says in a knowing tone.

    ¡°I read it in your email newsletter,¡± I admit, ¡°but no, I didn¡¯t do it.¡±

    ¡°No worries, now that you have someone new and dreamy to imagineer around, it¡¯ll be much easier to do.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t fantasize about Rune!¡± I exclaim. Remembering the kiss is bad enough.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t plain old fantasizing. It¡¯s imagineering; it¡¯s purposeful, so why not?¡± She asks as if this is a normal thing to say.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to see him all the time for the next several weeks!¡± I protest,

    ¡°And? Men fantasize about real women they know all the time.¡± Vivienne says, ¡°Heck, Rune baby probably woke up and started his morning by exercising his wrist thinking about you and your miles of legs in that very short mini dress the last couple of mornings.¡±

    ¡°I highly doubt that¡­¡± I say tartly, but then remember his seemingly innocent comment about my legs and being sprawled across him on the trail and how his nether region was responding. Is it possible?

    ¡°Shelby, I¡¯m not saying you should do anything about what you imagine. You shouldn¡¯t. He¡¯s told you he¡¯s a mess; believe him. Just be his friend. Learn to enjoy physically desiring someone without trying to make something happen.¡±

    ¡°That feels counterproductive,¡± I say a little grumpily.

    ¡°And yet you think he¡¯s too famous for you,¡± Vivienne says, pointing out my contradiction and going into her lecture tone. ¡°It sounds to me like this is the perfect setup for both of you to chill and get to know each other as the people you are now. Are you hearing me?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± I sigh. She has a point, as usual.

    ¡°Use this summer as an experiment,¡± she encourages. ¡°Hang out with Rune and get to know him again. See if he¡¯s someone you have anything in common with and respect as he is now.¡±

    ¡°Okay, that sounds wise.¡±

    ¡°I know it feels weird because you feel you usually sly Girl Friday yourself into the attention of the guys you like.¡±

    ¡°I what?¡± I ask, feeling a little offended she¡¯s seen right through me.

    ¡°You make yourself very useful,¡± she tells me kindly, ¡°Jack isn¡¯t the first talented photographer you set your sights on, is he? What about Ian?¡±

 Chapter 27: Sad Girl Fridays (duplication error fixed!)

    ¡°No, he isn¡¯t,¡± I admit, wincing at being reminded of how long I carried a torch for the older photographer.

    ¡°Look, proactively pursuing the men they¡¯re interested in totally works for some women. I¡¯m not judging at all,¡± Vivienne tells me, ¡°But those women know how to pick men who want a woman who¡¯s the one in charge. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s you. I think you want more give and take.¡±

    As she says this, something clicks for me like never before.

    ¡°I do. I hear you,¡± I say, realizing that slyly pursuing Ian by trying to earn my way didn¡¯t work with Ian. He never saw me as more than a work protege, a hiking partner, and occasionally a f***k buddy.

    That approach didn¡¯t work with Matt, the bike advocate in the long run either. He credited me with helping his org double their fundraising efforts. We dated for almost a year before I came up here, but he quickly got back together with his college girlfriend a couple of months after I¡¯d been gone (and we were supposedly having a long-distance relationship). They¡¯re now married and have a daughter.

    ¡°I¡¯m never the one for the ones I want, at least not for long,¡± I admit, ¡°I guess it really is time for a new strategy.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± Vivienne encourages. ¡°Let¡¯s look a little deeper. Let¡¯s be curious. Why do you feel you need to earn your way into a relationship with men you¡¯re interested in?¡±

    It¡¯s as if she¡¯s used some kind of magic voice on me. No wonder she has so many coaching clients. I feel compelled to answer.

    ¡°To show I have value,¡± I say quietly.

    ¡°Why is that necessary, sweetheart?¡±

    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m drawn to men who are out of my league,¡± I say even more quietly, ¡°I don¡¯t turn heads or anything unless I¡¯m on a dance floor¡­¡±

    ¡°Shelby, let''s get clear on something,¡± Vivienne says in her kindest voice. ¡°For all intents and purposes, you were raised in Hollywood and by fame-focused parents. Much Santa Monica is Hollywood, certainly our industry. It has a very warped, narrow ideal of female attractiveness that¡¯s almost impossible for anyone to live up to. You know this, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± I say, wincing at her spot-on assessment of my parents, most especially my mother.

    ¡°No one should need to earn their way into anyone¡¯s affection in any place in the world. You¡¯re a smart, kind, absolutely adorable woman,¡± Vivienne tells me, ¡°with legs to kill for you¡¯ve been completely hiding.¡±

    I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes and blink them away quickly, ¡°Thanks.¡± I say, trying to sound like I believe her.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go a little deeper if you¡¯re game. How does this earning your way play out for you in bed with a lover?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Are you a sexual performer trying to earn affection, or are you able to ask for what you like and need in bed and expect you¡¯ll be heard?¡±

    Oh boy.

    ¡°Well¡­it can be a challenge,¡± I say deciding to be really honest. I take a deep breath and go on, ¡°The thing is, I don¡¯t really enjoy intercourse. I never orgasm during it, so I feel like I need to make up for it¡­¡± I stumble, feeling both lame and unburdened.

    ¡°Shelby, my sweet, are you hearing yourself? You need to make up for the fact that you don¡¯t enjoy intercourse?" Vivienne asks, ¡°Most women don¡¯t orgasm from intercourse alone. Most need to figure out what kind of additional stimulation from hands or toys and positions they need in order to allow it to happen.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve read that,¡± I admit, ¡°But then you read books and watch movies and it seems so easy. Plus, the guys I¡¯ve slept with haven¡¯t seemed particularly open to the idea of hearing from me about what I think I might need. They act like I¡¯m insulting them or something.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you earned your way in, darling.¡± She tells me soothingly, ¡°You didn¡¯t allow yourself to be special enough to them just as yourself. And frankly, most men today watch way too much porn,¡± she says this last bit with some asperity, ¡°Which isn¡¯t real sex at all. It¡¯s just acting mixed with penetration and blow jobs, with very little actual enjoyment for women unless it¡¯s girl-on-girl stuff,¡± she says this as if she¡¯s said it many times before, ¡°I¡¯m not anti-porn. I just think we as a society need to get smarter about it.¡±

    ¡°You really do need to be on TV, or maybe you need to create your own show on YouTube,¡± I say, impressed, ¡°more people need to learn this!¡±

    ¡°Now there¡¯s an idea, and with Marilyn¡¯s help, I really think it¡¯s possible,¡± Vivienne laughs her marvelous rich laugh, ¡°So, Shelby, while I¡¯m pulling together this eBook, I want you to start figuring out what it would take for you to have an orgasm with a partner. I think if you imagine it¡¯s Rune who¡¯s helping you with this adventure, it¡¯ll be easier to do.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree, daunted and embarrassed but also inspired.

    ¡°Excellent! Always put on your own oxygen mask first, girlfriend! Do that Sexpectations homework, create a gorgeous eBook cover, and lust after Rune in your imagination only to create some sexy solutions. In the real world, just be his friend. If he¡¯s interested, he¡¯ll come after you.¡±

    I hang up and stare out the office window at the alluring green outside. Put your own oxygen mask on first. I¡¯ve heard the term, of course; who hasn¡¯t? But I¡¯ve never actually thought about what it means before.

    You have to choose yourself before anyone else will, darling, Theo says.

    Huh.

    Like when I decided to stay here and focus on becoming an illustrator rather than move back to Santa Monica after you passed? I ask.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Yes! Theo says enthusiastically.

    Buoyed by his response, I pull out my pretty Bucket List journal and open Vivienne¡¯s website on my desktop monitor. The opening lines of Vivienne¡¯s Sexpectations blog reads:

    The purpose of this exercise is to imagine forward, to write as if this fabulous new, deliciously enjoyable sex life is already unfolding for you right now.

    There¡¯s a caveat, however. To bring these things that you write down into your life, you need to move beyond simply scribbling affirmations. You need to get yourself to a place where you believe you¡¯re worth these lovely things happening for you. This is how you start to break old, unwanted patterns.

    It¡¯s not the words that matter but the intention and the belief. It¡¯s not the words that matter but the feeling, the signal, the vibration you¡¯re sending out to the universe.

    Think of yourself as a radio dial that needs to learn to be finely tuned. Answer big, but start small. For each response, what¡¯s the tiniest baby step you can take to truly believe in this new reality?

    Whoa. I read this before, but it¡¯s landing in a completely new place now.

    Have I fallen in love with different men but sent out the same vibration? I ask mentally.

    Yes, Theo says a little sadly.

    ¡°Okay, hard to hear,¡± I say out loud, which makes Butterscotch come running in from the other room. I give her a pat on the head and tell her I¡¯ll take her outside in a little bit. She tilts her head at me and woofs.

    Now that Vivienne¡¯s advice makes sense in a whole new way, I can choose to do things differently, right?

    Clever girl, Theo encourages.

    Vivienne¡¯s first homework prompt reads: What¡¯s one thing your lover does that helps you stay much more present during sex?

    Oh boy. This is something I really have a hard time with. I¡¯ve realized through listening to Vivienne and reading her blogs that I don¡¯t do a good job of staying in my body during sex.

    My experience is that the more men are turned on, the quieter they get, and the quieter they get, the more caught in my head I become. I find myself slipping out of my body and much of the mood when I start to feel like it¡¯s just the sensations of sex they¡¯re after, not me.

    An idea occurs to me. I write quickly before I lose my nerve: My partner is magic at using seductive language to help me stay present during sex. He knows precisely the heat level to turn me on, but not so X-rated I¡¯m scorched.

    I¡¯m proud of myself for this response. I have no idea how I¡¯ll ever have the nerve to ask a man for this type of verbal foreplay, but hey, baby steps, or maybe Vivienne would say baby vibrations?

    My phone beeps with a text. It¡¯s the man I¡¯m supposed to use to model a new love life around. Eeek.

    Rune: I¡¯ve connected with some people interested in Theo¡¯s clothes.

    Me: Great! What do I need to do?

    Rune: We need to take some really good photos. Ever check out Pinterest for inspiration?

    Me: I live on Pinterest.

    Rune: Excellent. Free after four? We¡¯ll need a few hours. I¡¯d like to send out a set of images tomorrow.

 Chapter 28: Luna shares good news and asks a favor

    I can do this, I think, in text anyway. In-person Rune will be more challenging. I¡¯ll cross that bridge later. I have a few hours to wrap my head around Vivienne¡¯s homework assignment and deal with the man in question in person.

    My phone beeps again.

    Rune: Doesn¡¯t Theo have an excellent midcentury bed? Let¡¯s use some of his furniture as props.

    Oh God. Of course. Theo must have toured Rune around the whole house when he and Rueben first retired and revamped it. Yes. Theo has a very cool midcentury bed. I doubt I can make Theo¡¯s room useable in time, but considering this is favor number two Rune¡¯s doing for me, I should make an effort.

    I tuck my bucket list notebook back between the bird bookends and open up Pinterest on my desktop monitor. Unfortunately, I sold all of Theo¡¯s dress dummies to a friend of Luna¡¯s who opened a new clothing boutique in downtown Poulsbo. Fortunately, the sight is full of great examples of how cleverly people lay out apparel on flat surfaces for photographs and make them inviting and alluring.

    I create a new board and start pinning. People have discovered such clever, artful ways of laying out jackets, pants, dresses, sweaters, shoes, and boots, all folded, layered, and laid out just so. This is something my mom would appreciate. Each outfit includes all the right accessories, too, of course.

    An hour slips by as I scroll through images and jot down ideas. I sit back and glance at my phone, contemplating how much of Theo¡¯s room I can clean up in time¡­maybe if I take everything off the bed and clear more space around it?

    That¡¯s not putting your own oxygen mask on first, darling, Theo chides.

    No, I guess it¡¯s not. How disappointed will Rune be if we can¡¯t use the bed? Could the dining room table, the coffee table, and even the back table would work instead? They¡¯re all cool too.

    My phone rings, jolting me out of my musings. It¡¯s Luna.

    ¡°Are you around and free for a few?¡± she asks, ¡°Can I stop by and share happy news about the fundraiser?¡±

    **

    ¡°You¡¯re a rockstar,¡± Luna tells me brightly as we hug at the door. Butterscotch is at our feet, wanting in on the action.

    ¡°Am I? I can use all of the good news I can get; we probably need a new roof,¡± I tell her as we sit down in the living room, and I hand her a glass of iced tea.

    Luna¡¯s black hair is back in its traditional braid. She¡¯s wearing a bright mustard yellow t-shirt that looks great on her. It illustrates a moth that says, Protect the Pollinators if You Enjoy Eating.

    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s going to be costly if it¡¯s true,¡± she laments with me but then teases, ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d answer the door in another of Theo¡¯s groovy vintage outfits.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m too lazy,¡± I laugh, ¡°can you imagine doing up your hair and makeup like that every day?¡±

    ¡°No, but if I had a dreamy date like Asher Dillion around, I might,¡± she winks at me and puts her hand over her brow, looking towards the Borstad house as if looking for Rune, ¡°Where is your famous friend?¡±

    ¡°Not sure, either escorting his cousin to one of her day camps or recording an audiobook,¡± I tell her, trying to sound nonchalant. ¡°But he¡¯s coming over to help me photograph Theo¡¯s clothes later. So, who spilled the beans about who Rune is? Amy Penington?¡±

    ¡°No, she didn¡¯t breathe a word. My daughter Inga recognized him in the photo of the two of you from ReWild¡¯s email newsletter,¡± Luna leans forward towards me from her place on the couch and touches my knee, ¡°I was absolutely gobsmacked when Jack showed up on Amy¡¯s arm but delighted when you showed up with Rune. Why didn¡¯t you warn me?¡±

    ¡°Jack sprang the fact that he was attending with Amy on me at the last minute. I was embarrassed,¡± I admit, ¡°and I didn¡¯t want you to be in a difficult position with Amy.¡±

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    ¡°Well, thank you,¡± she says, ¡°but why were you embarrassed? I¡¯d have been furious!¡±

    ¡°Oh, I was that too,¡± I tell her, ¡°I was lucky Rune arrived with Lorelei, and he was willing to be my last-minute date.¡±

    ¡°Jack has a serious black mark in my book now, and so does Amy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure she knew that Jack and I were dating; he certainly didn¡¯t tell her.¡±

    ¡°What an opportunistic jerk; I wish he weren¡¯t so talented,¡± Luna scowls but brightens quickly, ¡°are you sure Rune¡¯s only a friend? He looked much more than that Saturday night.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because he¡¯s a good actor, I was honest with him about what Jack did,¡± I tell her, as someone else taps on the door.

    Butterscotch starts yipping, and the door opens. Speak of the devil, Rune¡¯s handsome head pops in as if he¡¯s been conjured by his name. Again. In this, he¡¯s more like Chrestomanci (one of Diana Wynne Jones¡¯ other famous wizard characters) than Howl.

    ¡°Hey, hi Luna,¡± he says, giving her a charming smile as he steps inside and scoops Butterscotch up for a cuddle, making my lower stomach and pelvis do their giddy dance.

    How in the world am I 1) become used to this? 2) imagineer a better love life, fantasizing Rune¡¯s the one helping me do it without being constantly flustered when I see him? Vivienne¡¯s crazy.

    ¡°Rune, perfect timing! You can hear my exciting news, too,¡± she beams back at him.

    ¡°Oh? He sits on the chair on the other side of the fireplace from me, dog in hand, as if he always does this. Butterscotch is wearing her most self-satisfied grin.

    ¡°The midsummer event beat its fundraising goal,¡± Luna says, clapping her hands together happily, ¡°we raised $360,000.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fantastic!¡± I say, amazed, and hold my glass up to toast hers, ¡°I thought Amy was being overly optimistic.¡±

    ¡°Amy¡¯s a total champ at getting money out of her wealthy friends,¡± Luna admits, ¡°But well done to you and Jack too,¡± Luna clinks her glass to mine again, ¡°We did $310,000 at the event and raised another $50,000 when the email newsletter was sent out with your brilliant video. It also included images from the event, including you two and your fabulous costumes.¡±

    ¡°It pays to have the right storytelling,¡± Rune agrees, getting up and going into the kitchen. My bad. I didn¡¯t think to offer him any tea. My lust is making me forget my manners.

    Luna gives me a quick, pointed look as if asking if you¡¯re sure you¡¯re just friends. I give her a head shake back, scowling no. Best to nip any rumors in the bud with my real friends, though, of course, I¡¯m fine if Jack and Amy think this is the case.

    ¡°You¡¯ve convinced us all about the power of video storytelling,¡± Luna says loud enough for her voice to carry into the kitchen, ¡°especially our fearless leader, Emily.¡±

    ¡°Shelby and Jack created an engaging piece,¡± Rune agrees as he comes back into the living room and sits again with his own glass of iced tea, the dog on his arm, ¡°What do you want to make happen next?¡±

    ¡°We were hoping you might guide us,¡± Luna says coyly, ¡°with your background in entertainment production.¡±

    I glance worriedly at Rune, but he seems thoughtful rather than annoyed.

    ¡°Not Jack?¡± Rune asks, using his innocent curiosity look, complete with that head tilt. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s designed to make anyone he¡¯s using it on feel like the most important person in the room.

    ¡°Sure, when the time¡¯s right,¡± Luna says, leaning forward eagerly into his focused attention. ¡°But Shelby¡¯s the one who came up with the idea of doing a video story in the first place¡­we thought we might entice the two of you to come up with some ideas together, maybe something that could be produced for end-of-year fundraising?¡± Luna looks imploringly from me to Rune and back.

    I open my mouth to say he won¡¯t be here, but Rune¡¯s ahead of me.

    ¡°Will you have a budget again for Shelby?¡± He asks, which is not at all what I was expecting.

    ¡°Of course, she volunteers enough for us in other ways,¡± Luna says without batting an eye. Wow. Sweet.

    ¡°Then I¡¯m sure we can come up with something that might spark your fancy,¡± Rune agrees. He¡¯s combing his elegant hands through Butterscotch¡¯s fur in a way that¡¯s making the dog extremely happy and giving me those kinds of ASMR feelings that make your scalp tingle. Now is not the time to think about what those graceful hands might have the power to do to me, regardless of Vivienne''s exercise.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Luna stands up and puts her tea glass back on the coaster on the coffee table, ¡°I¡¯m off for more supplies for our Fourth party. You¡¯re still good with bringing ice cream and cake?¡± She turns to me first but obviously includes Rune in the invite. Sly wench.

    ¡°If Rune can find the ice cream maker,¡± I hedge. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s going to like being included, regardless of what he told Jack and Amy at the fundraiser. Maybe he has other plans.

    ¡°Done. Gunnar left it in an obvious spot,¡± he smiles with all of his teeth, this time hitting both of us with it. I wonder if it sent the same electric sizzle up Luna¡¯s spine as it did mine.

    ¡°Beautiful! We¡¯ll see you all on Monday!¡± Luna says brightly as she hurries towards the door.¡± I jump up and follow her.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I ask her quietly, ¡°is your Tia Cecelia in town for the party this year?¡±

    ¡°She will be; Tom picks her up later this week,¡± she tells me as she steps onto the porch, ¡°Want another Tarot card reading?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually, although she only read my palm last year,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°That¡¯s how she hooks everyone,¡± Luna winks, waves goodbye, and hurries off the porch back to her car.

    The fragrance of roses fills my nostrils as I close the door even though I don¡¯t currently have any roses in this room. Weird.

    ¡°Looking for advice on becoming a more powerful witch?¡± Rune asks his smile now the wry lifting of just one corner of his too-kissable mouth.

 Chapter 29: Rune the hepful micromanager

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have a more exciting party to take Lorelei to on the Fourth?¡± I retort annoyed Rune has great hearing. Why is he calling me a witch?

    ¡°And where would that be?¡± he asks, following me into the kitchen. I pour us both more tea.

    ¡°In Vancouver or Victoria Island, aren''t those the last places you''ve been hanging out?¡± This is what Lorelei had told me.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure someone¡¯s having a party this weekend,¡± he says, ¡°but it won¡¯t be the sort I¡¯d take Lorelei to, and it won¡¯t be on Monday, considering they don¡¯t celebrate the Fourth in Canada Shells. What planet are you on today?"

    ¡°Oh, of course,¡± I say lamely, ¡°Great, you and Lorelei can help Marguerite make the ice cream. I¡¯m making the cake.¡±

    ¡°What kind of cake?¡± If he were a dog, his ears would be perked.

    ¡°It used to be one of your favorites,¡± I tell him, remembering it was, ¡°chocolate Texas cake.¡± His grandmother used to make it for us. It¡¯s almost like a brownie, made with buttermilk and chocolate walnut icing. It¡¯s dreamy deliciously good.

    ¡°Really? In my honor?¡± He looks surprised but with a twist of slyness about it.

    ¡°No, vain Wizard Howl, not just for you,¡± I huff at him, ¡°I make it every year for this party.¡±

    To distract myself from the effect he¡¯s having on my libido, which is thrilled he''s here in person, I start looking through the freezer for some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies I made a few weeks ago. I tell myself this is mostly for Lorelei¡¯s sweet tooth tonight, not Rune¡¯s.

    ¡°Silly me,¡± he laughs lightly, ¡°but I am flattered you remembered how much I like it.¡± He¡¯s leaning against the counter and scrolling through his phone. ¡°Did you get the Pinterest examples I emailed a half hour ago?¡±

    ¡°No, I found my own Mr. Micromanager,¡± I tell him as I set the bag of cookies on the counter.

    ¡°Shells, it¡¯s really important these photos look impressive,¡± he says in a serious tone as he reaches for the cookies, ¡°Some of these wardrobe people I¡¯m reaching out to are the best of the best.¡±

    ¡°The cookies are still frozen,¡± I admonish him, ¡°Can¡¯t you wait until tonight?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he takes one and bites into it with a decisive chomp, ¡°Show me what you¡¯re thinking about. I want to make sure we¡¯re on the same page.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± I motion for him to follow me, ¡°There, satisfied?¡± I say once we¡¯re in the office and I show him my new Pinterest board full of ideas on my computer.

    ¡°These are great,¡± he nods, leaning over the desk and looking carefully through my pins.

    ¡°I am an artist, you know,¡± I say, miffed at his second-guessing.

    ¡°Of course, you are, but you¡¯re also¡­¡± he stalls, looking over my leggings and hoodie that are, as usual, a bit worse for the wear, ¡°more into utility than fashion.¡±

    I no longer feel like kissing him, now I¡¯d prefer to smack him. He¡¯s dressed casually too, in jeans, and yet another V-neck. This time it¡¯s a lightweight deep orange sweater that makes his eyes glow. Everything looks neat as a pin. It''s as if his jeans and sweater were tailored just for him; likely they were.

    ¡°Not when I¡¯m sitting around the house or working in the garden,¡± I grumble; it extends beyond that, but I have my pride. My dad¡¯s nickname for me is Sporty Spice. I do love my athleisure. ¡°Why do you need wins?¡± I ask again more pointedly.

    Rune sits down in the office chair next to mine and runs his hand over his mouth the way he does when he¡¯s thinking, stalling, or both. He¡¯s still gazing at my Pinterest pins.

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    The light from the window is harsher here. There are faint crow¡¯s feet at the corner of his eyes, and he¡¯s still a bit too skinny. I feel good about the crow¡¯s feet, but bad about telling him not to take the cookies.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been dragging my feet on a couple of projects. I need to make some tough decisions that will make some people I care about unhappy,¡± he says, leaning his chin in his hand, eyes still on the images I¡¯ve collected.

    ¡°Oh?¡± I slip into my chair and pull Butterscotch up onto my lap. Rune pulls the other office chair over and sits next to me.

    ¡°I think I told you the publishers I do audiobooks for are pushing me to use my social media to help promote the books I narrate,¡± he glances at me under his lashes quickly, a slight blush blooming on his cheek, ¡°but I¡¯ve dragged my feet about that too.¡±

    ¡°So, it really is time to reactivate your Asher Dillion account,¡± I say.

    He lifts his eyebrows and does a tiny nod but doesn¡¯t say anything for a minute. He¡¯s moved on to studying the pins I¡¯ve created for Horse Girls, ¡°More or less,¡± he finally sighs, ¡°I just hate doing any kind of promotion that isn¡¯t for a specific role and character related.¡±

    ¡°I told you I¡¯d help,¡± I remind him, as neutral as possible, hoping I¡¯m not doing my same Girl Friday routine. No, I don¡¯t think so, I¡¯m certainly not trying to date him or actually get into bed with him. No matter what my body thinks, or Vivienne''s crazy homework assignment, in reality that would be completely nuts.

    ¡°Are you still set on not letting me pay you?¡± He asks as the dog decides she¡¯d rather sit on his lap, ¡°roofs are expensive Seashell.¡±

    ¡°Yes, for now. Let¡¯s see if we can work together first without killing each other,¡± I tell him. He was the easiest person in the world for me to collaborate with as a kid, he might be a nightmare now.

    "How would we start?¡± he asks, his gloom of a moment ago passing with a snap. How does he do that? It¡¯s like a switch flips, and he¡¯s effervescent again.

    For the next hour, Rune walks me through how to log into his Instagram account (the only social media he¡¯ll do). That¡¯s the easy part. What takes longer is walking him through how I design social media cards and organize editorial calendars for my clients.

    Rune is the absolute opposite of Jack and many of people I work with. He has no problem focusing, and an interest in and questions about everything I show him.

    ¡°I like how you¡¯re sharing ideas and information here and only occasional personal images,¡± he says, studying what I¡¯ve created for Vivienne¡¯s new website launch.

    ¡°Duly noted,¡± I say, scribbling down notes, ¡°Since you don¡¯t have a website, you¡¯ll need to send me a list of your favorite colors and your favorite fonts.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± he says, clicking on one of my specific Instagram post designs, ¡°I love geeking out on this kind of thing.

    **

    I¡¯m arranging the last little bits and pieces of flowers and greens for our photoshoot when Lorelei shows up.

    ¡°I have to choose a book to write a book report on,¡± Lorelei announces in a grumpy way, setting herself and her backpack down in front of the coffee table, while Butterscotch wiggles onto her lap for some love, ¡°Will you help me find one at the library tomorrow based on one of your coloring pages while Rune brings in the clothes to photograph?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I tell her, ¡°But some of them might be a little old for you.¡±

    Since Rune was so nervous about replicating the caliber of images we saw online, I¡¯ve made sure I have all kinds of cool props ready. I¡¯ve even ironed the tablecloths from Reuben¡¯s impressive linen collection.

    We agreed to use the dining room table for all of the photos after I admitted via text that Theo¡¯s room is a mess and there wasn¡¯t time to clean it up.

    ¡°I thought I could color one of your coloring pages for extra credit,¡± she tells me.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what we discussed Pup,¡± Rune warns, coming through the front door with a load of clothes and what appear to be camera lights.

    ¡°But you know I color much better than I draw!¡± Lorelei retorts hotly. It¡¯s clearly an ongoing argument.

    ¡°Your tutor wants everything you turn in to be something you created,¡± he glances at me with meaning, ¡°I¡¯m sure Shelby would be happy to give you some drawing tips.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I agree easily.

    ¡°But drawing¡¯s hard!¡± Lorelei laments, her lower lip starting to pout.

    ¡°Since we¡¯re going to the library already,¡± I tell her, ¡°Let me see if they have any good books on drawing for kids.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it while I go get more clothes,¡± Rune tells us, giving Lorelei a sort of warning glance that I¡¯m sure means something like don¡¯t be a pill.

    ¡°They have the book on Sybil Luddington, the girl who rode her horse Star farther than Paul Revere, and Howl¡¯s Moving Castle waiting,¡± I tell Lorelei, ¡°Let¡¯s see what else we can find.¡±

    ¡°Goodie for me, but you may never get your own Howl¡¯s back,¡± Lorelei tells me as she follows me into the office so we can both sit at the bigger computer monitor.

    ¡°Oh?¡± I ask, looking for the small pad of drawing paper I use when I travel.

    ¡°Your book looks like one of Rune¡¯s audiobook projects, he¡¯s got it filled with stickie notes,¡± she tells me as I set aside the pad of paper, some pencils, and erasers.

    I¡¯m not sure what to think about this. Why can¡¯t he get his own copy of Howl¡¯s to mark however he likes?

    Do you really need to ask that darling? Theo asks so quietly I almost think I¡¯ve imagined he said it.

 Chapter 30: Shelby lies to her mother

    ¡°I told you she was fancy,¡± Rune says to Lorelei as we all three set down the things we¡¯ve carried from the kitchen onto the table on the back porch for dinner. We¡¯ve wrapped up our meticulous photographing of clothes for the evening. Emphasis on meticulous. I thought I was picky about details when working on a project. Rune takes things to a whole new level.

    It took a while for us to find our stride working together tonight. Eventually, we did click back into our old collaborative mode as kids. But wow, he certainly knows how to focus in on creating the vision of what he wants.

    ¡°Fancy?¡± I scowl at him a little and then glance at the table, ¡°I didn¡¯t put on a tablecloth or use the nice china.¡±

    ¡°He means the cloth napkins, matching placemats, and the flowers,¡± Lorelei says, and nods to what she just set down, ¡°and all of the little dishes instead of just putting the dressing bottles and the bag of cheese on the table.¡±

    ¡°Cloth napkins are more sustainable, the flowers were from the photo session,¡± I say, admittedly a little primly, ¡°and my parents would kill me if I started putting salad dressing bottles or a cheese bag on the table.¡±

    ¡°Fancy,¡± Lorelei agrees with Rune, as we head back in for the rest of dinner.

    ¡°Fancy?¡± I almost snort at Rune¡¯s back, ¡°That¡¯s rich from a guy who had a blazer tailored for a costume party, and just double-checked every artistic choice I made for a photo session to make sure it reached his exalted level of taste.¡±

    ¡°Point taken Seashell,¡± he agrees jovially, picking up the tray with the bowls of chili on it while Lorelei takes up the salad bowl. I grab our drink glasses and the pitcher of tea, and we all head back outside again, ¡°But isn¡¯t it more important to focus on the big systemic changes needed to head off the climate crises than personal actions like choosing cloth napkins?¡±

    He asks this innocently enough as if he really is curious, but I feel the imaginary fur rise on the back of my neck. I frown as I set the pitcher of tea and glasses down on the table. This was an argument I¡¯ve had several times with Jack. He thought my gardening, and reducing my own plastic use was silly, that my volunteering and working with ReWild was enough of a commitment for one person on climate change since it¡¯s big industry that¡¯s the real culprit.

    ¡°You mean like helping to get climate-friendly politicians elected? And collaborating with other advocates to get the local and regional governments working on viable climate plans that will really help turn back global warming rather than platitudes or continuing to stick their heads in the sand?¡±

    Both Rune and Lorelei¡¯s eyebrows are raised almost to their hairlines at my tone. Both have their spoons in midair over their chili. Lorelei¡¯s eyes dance with mischief. Rune starts to laugh so hard that he almost chokes.

    ¡°Seashell I should have known you¡¯d be way ahead of me on this one,¡± he actually wipes a tear from his eye. I¡¯m mollified, sort of, but a part of me still wants to fight.

    ¡°Individual actions are important because people need to feel a sense of ownership rather than being overwhelmed with despair,¡± I say, ¡°and we need to viscerally understand what really works.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re flexitarians,¡± Lorelei chimes in proudly.

    ¡°We are,¡± Rune agrees between mouthfuls of chili, ¡°but I have a feeling Shelby will convince us there are other changes we need to make too.¡±

    ¡°Like no more paper napkins,¡± Lorelei nods.

    ¡°You have a lot of power as a professional storyteller,¡± I say to Rune, feeling a frisson of excitement for one of my favorite soapboxes, ¡°Hollywood isn¡¯t doing a very good job yet of educating people about climate crisis solutions, it¡¯s still focused on action thrillers all about doom and gloom.¡±

    ¡°What about the excellent documentary films getting made?¡± He counters, pouring himself more tea.

    ¡°They¡¯re great, but they don¡¯t get nearly the promotion or distribution of a popular TV. Oh!¡± I hit the table with excitement, ¡°You¡¯re such a good director. You could fictionalize the work of ReWild. You could tell a cool story of teens who are learning how important sustainable farming is. You could somehow make that as an action thriller!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to watch that!¡± Lorelei exclaims excitedly and fist bumps me.

    Rune¡¯s chewing on his lower lip as we say this, watching us both intently. I ignore my pelvis doing its happy dance each time I feel his eyes on me, ¡°Why don¡¯t we start by telling the full Hero¡¯s Journey stories of a few of the real teens in the program for the fall fundraising drive?¡± He asks.

    ¡°How¡¯s that different than what Jack and I did?¡± I ask, confused.

    ¡°What you did was good, but they were anecdotes rather than fully crafted narratives,¡± he says, adding more grated cheddar to the top of his chili.

    ¡°I guess I don¡¯t know the difference,¡± I admit, feeling a bit daunted.

    ¡°Can you give me an example?¡±

    Rune runs his hand over his mouth and through his almost beard, which he still hasn¡¯t shaved since he arrived.

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    ¡°Now you¡¯re in for a lecture,¡± Lorelei warns me, ¡°this is one of his favorite topics.¡±

    ¡°The book we¡¯re getting at the library tomorrow on Sybil Luddington and her horse Star might be a good example,¡± he says, ¡°It¡¯s easier to show than tell.¡±

    **

    I had the Tsunami dream again early this morning. On one hand, I¡¯m pretty freaked out about it. I¡¯ve never had the dream so close together, but there is a small crumb of hope.

    I did something different this time. I took a step toward the wave. There I was, terrified, watching a mountain of water rising above me, realizing I couldn¡¯t outrun it, and the thought occurred to me, ¡°What if I walk into it?¡± I woke up as soon as I took the step.

    I still feel a sense of dread but with a small spoonful of possibility. Maybe I had the dream because I have a call scheduled with her at eleven thirty to talk to my mom about her website and social media. I scheduled it for then so I can only talk for half an hour. Rune, Lorelei, and I leave at noon for our adventure to the library.

    Unfortunately, with the scary energy of the dream still in my head I¡¯m in no mood to make any more progress on Vivienne¡¯s eBook cover right now. But buoyed by my courage in the dream, and Rune and Lorelei¡¯s enthusiastic response to my original Horse Girl illustrations, I¡¯ve decided to take stock of what as a toe in the water towards maybe doing a crowdsource campaign towards creating something. What that thing is, and whether I can do it this year, I have no idea.

    Today we¡¯re not just going to the library and lunch, we¡¯re also going to check out a local bookstore in downtown Poulsbo. Rune wants to look at the best sellers, and I want to look at their calendars.

    I¡¯m always looking at Etsy and Pinterest for inspiration, to see what clever things artists are doing with their illustrations for gift items. But there¡¯s something special about being able to see things in person.

    Rune¡¯s comment about Hero¡¯s Journey stories last night was interesting. I remember how fun it was to learn about these goddesses, real women, and their horses when I first decided to try and draw a coloring book. I had no idea how much effort it would take.

    The very first Horse Girl illustration I created was of the Quaker author Anna Sewell standing together with her famous fictional horse Black Beauty. Her story is inspiring but heartbreaking. In 1877, as a first-time author and invalid she published one of the best-selling books of all time. But she died at the age of fifty-eight, not long after it came out.

    The second woman I drew was the Celtic goddess Epona. I drew her as she¡¯s often shown, with both a mare and foal, a crown of oak leaves on her head, and she¡¯s holding a sheaf of wheat.

    The third woman I drew was Sacagawea. I drew her sitting on a horse with her baby on her back. Of course, I learned about the famous young indigenous scout in school, and that it was in big part her navigation skills that made the Lewis and Clark expedition a success. But I certainly didn¡¯t learn back then that she¡¯d been kidnapped and sold to her French-Canadian fur-trading husband.

    I lay all ten finished drawings out on the big wide desk that runs along almost the full length of the office, under the windows. Inspired by the positive response to my Howl¡¯s Moving Castle coloring page as a work in progress (and that most people are accepting my choice of Asher Dill as Wizard Howl) I snap a pic of each of the original Horse Girl pages.

    For the tag on Instagram, I type ¡°exciting new #wip, more coming soon¡± under it. My phone beeps. It¡¯s time to chat with mom.

    ¡°Darling!¡± Mom picks up right away, ¡°Thanks for giving your old mom some pointers!¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s the interest from your NPR story?¡±

    ¡°Amazing, I¡¯m going down to Santa Monica tomorrow to meet with two very promising possible window display clients. More importantly, Pamela and I are having dinner with Franklin Haus. He¡¯s crazy about the NPR piece.¡± she says excitedly.

    ¡°That¡¯ll be fun,¡± I say, hoping we¡¯re not going to talk too much about them on this call, especially my giving Franklin any of Theo¡¯s vintage clothes, or my convincing Rune to work with Pamela, ¡°did you go ahead and relaunch your Instagram account?¡±

    ¡°Your father got that all set up for me. I have to say I don¡¯t like the idea of having to do all this straight from my own phone. How do celebrities do it? Beyonce can¡¯t be handling her own Instagram.¡±

    ¡°Some do it all themselves, but usually they have a separate phone and number just for Instagram and have a social media assistant handle it,¡± I tell her.

    ¡°Smart! So, I could just get a different phone and number, have your dad set up the account, and then we could ship it up to you to handle it? You could coordinate it all with Pamela¡¯s guidance?¡±

    What I want to say very tersely is, over my dead body and you don¡¯t need Pamela, but what I say instead carefully is, ¡°You¡¯ve officially signed up with Pamela¡¯s agency?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to. But we don¡¯t have the budget right now unless you¡¯ve convinced Asher Dillion to sign on with her? How¡¯s that going?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Mom. I¡¯ve tried,¡± I say, ¡°he¡¯s not seeing her as the right fit for him and what he¡¯s focused on right now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very disappointing.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s narrating books right now and not keen on her focus on reality show contestants,¡± I ad-lib. I looked up what Pamela¡¯s up to these days on Instagram. It seems to be focused on nightlife and parties.

    ¡°Maybe he shouldn¡¯t be so narrow-minded,¡± Mom sniffs, ¡°Franklin¡¯s so disappointed in Asher after he¡¯s been such a mentor to him. He needs a brand refresh. Speaking of which Pamela thinks you should create an illustration of me for my Instagram page to help with my own new branding. What did she call it? Oh yes, an avatar.¡±

    ¡°New branding?¡± I ask, with a sense of dread. Right now, Mom¡¯s website isn¡¯t anything fancy, but it¡¯s elegant and has some great images of her remarkable event designs.

    ¡°Pamela thinks I need a fresh look. She wants me to celebrate my move into designing windows again as well as events. And of course, I need to capitalize on the upcoming anniversary of One More Midnight with You.¡±

    ¡°While I agree that icons can be fun,¡± I say, hedging ¡°you¡¯re so photogenic¡­¡± I don¡¯t hate the avatar idea in general, but I¡¯m not going to be art-directed by Pamela to draw my own mother. I honestly do think she should just be photographed.

    ¡°Thank you, sweetheart, I¡¯m holding up well but Pamela has this marvelous idea of my new site being very retro fashion-oriented. Franklin would love this idea too. Pamela thinks you should create custom illustrations of me done in the style of the brilliant Rene Gruau -- won¡¯t that be fun to do?¡±

    Fun? No. Gruau is only one of the most brilliant fashion illustrators ever with a very distinctive style, ¡°I¡¯m flattered Pamela has faith that I could pull it off¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sell yourself short darling! Pamela reminded me you¡¯re brilliant at copying other artists¡¯ styles,¡± Mom says happily, oblivious to why I might find this not the compliment they both appear to think it is.

    I remember my dream and how I stepped towards the tsunami, ¡°The thing is Mom, my days of doing that kind of copycat art for graphics are over. I¡¯m focused on polishing my own illustration style now.¡±

 Chapter 31: Book talk & mystery

    ¡°Oh? I wasn¡¯t aware people were knocking down the door yet for your original work,¡± she says, dryly.

    ¡°No, not yet, but I¡¯m getting some good accounts,¡± I say, doing my best to keep defensiveness out of my tone.

    ¡°And you¡¯d get even better accounts collaborating on projects again with Pamela,¡± she says.

    ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t,¡± I say so sharply I surprise myself. I hardly ever raise my voice to my mother, it doesn¡¯t go well, ¡°I¡¯m not interested in working with her again. She was an absolute disaster to deal with as an employee.¡±

    ¡°Shelby, I will not have you speaking about my good friend this way,¡± my mom fiercely, ¡°Shame on you. She¡¯s a talented seasoned professional you could still learn from. You were straight out of art school when she hired you. Honestly, I think Pamela''s right, you''ve been up there by yourself in that moldy old house too long."

    "Mom, we''ve been over this, I enjoy living here and I''m making good strides moving into illustration," I say, trying to sound firm but lighter. I need to get off this phone call.

    "Then you''ll do even better in Southern California where you have a network of work relationships. Pamela agrees with me that you should sell the house while the market is hot and come back to reality and get your career back on track. It was totally unfair of Theo not to include me in the ownership of the house. Splitting the proceeds three ways would go far in helping me get back all I''ve lost from being out of work due to the pandemic."

    "Mom, we don''t want to sell," I tell her, my eyes on the clock, and before she can say anything else I hurry on, ¡°I think understand the concept of what Pamela¡¯s going for with you, and it''s really cool," I put a lot of happy emotion in this, "But icons are a emotionally removed. I think you should consider being photographed in the Rene Gruau style for your website in celebration of One More Midnight with You.¡±

    ¡°Shelby at my age, really¡­¡± Mom objects, but I can tell the idea intrigues her. She loves to be photographed by professional photographers.

    ¡°Lots of people are your age, Mom. You look fantastic,¡± I say quickly, parroting lessons from my sister, ¡°and Baby Boomers want to see women that reflect themselves now not baby models. How about I send you and Dad some Baby Boomer influencers you should be following for ideas?¡±

    My hands are shaking when we hang up. Partially because it¡¯s been hours since I ate anything. I walk quickly into the kitchen, grab two packets of string cheese, and eat them quickly, pacing back and forth in the living room to help burn off the jitters.

    My lower back aches with what I¡¯ve come to understand is suppressed anger. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m ever going to work with Pamela Lyons ever again. I¡¯m so grateful Rune doesn¡¯t like her either.

    **

    The air¡¯s a little balmy this afternoon now that the earlier fog burned off. There''s a hint brine coming off of Liberty Bay. We catch glimpses of the water, and the boat filled Marina through the side street as we cross and turn right to walk down Front Street to the bookstore. Rune and I are strolling, happy to take in all of the sights Poulsbo¡¯s historic Norwegian-inspired downtown has to offer after lunch at the diner. Lorelei, however, has no interest in window shopping. She turns her nose up at a dessert donut from Sluy¡¯s famous bakery, or checking out the impressive collection of licorice (a particular favorite of Norwegians) at the boutique Marina Market.

    ¡°You can go ahead,¡± Rune tells her, ¡°Just don¡¯t go into any other stores except the bookstore unless you tell me first,¡± she nods and takes off like a shot.

    ¡°What¡¯s her hurry?¡± I ask as we watch his cousin move quickly away from us, deftly weaving her way through the crowd of other shoppers who¡¯ve decided to take an extra day for the Fourth of July weekend.

    ¡°She¡¯s on a new mission,¡± he tells me, ¡°She was going through some of the boxes last night she hadn¡¯t finished unpacking and found one of the scrapbooks my mom made for her. She wants to make one of her own.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a great idea, but she¡¯ll probably need an art store,¡± I say, stopping to snap a pic of one of the hanging baskets overflowing with pink and purple petunias, and then a particularly good-looking planter. The front porch could use some snazzing up, ¡°I need to go and get some things soon. I can take her with me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be great,¡± Rune says, and we move a little more quickly to catch up, ¡°She¡¯s pretty busy with her online tutor, and all of the different horseback riding lessons, but I noticed she was quite happy drawing with you the other yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Even though she was sure she couldn¡¯t do it?¡± I ask, surprised.

    ¡°Especially so, she gets in her head too much about stuff she feels she¡¯s not good at,¡± he tells me. I¡¯m impressed he knows Lorelei that well.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡± I ask lightly as he opens the bookstore door for me, ever the gentleman. No wonder all of the models he dates fall for him. Rune nods at my comment but gives me a very piercing glance. For some reason, this reminds me of the Sexpectations homework Vivienne gave me which I still haven¡¯t finished yet. Feeling my cheeks grow hot, I busy myself looking at some books on display in the front of the store.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    I breathe a sigh of relief when Rune wanders past me. I¡¯m starting to be fine around him as long as we stay in the old-friend vibe; the minute I think back to those kisses at the fundraiser though, my knees get a little weak.

    **

    ¡°What about day planners?¡± Rune appears about ten minutes or so into our browsing, holding up a very pretty calendar with an illustration of autumn trees on the cover.

    ¡°What about them?¡± I ask, not following.

    ¡°You said you¡¯re trying to find the right item to illustrate for your Horse Girls idea, and that you¡¯re considering calendars.¡±

    ¡°Oh, wow, that could work, couldn¡¯t it?¡± I say, reaching for it, ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to decide if people would take a wall calendar down and color it every month.¡±

    ¡°Maybe create both?¡± He asks, ¡°They¡¯d certainly color one of these,¡± he tells me, ¡°My mom loved these things.¡±

    Rune shows me where he found the planner on a display full of them. I thought calendars of any kind were only sold at the end of the year. I flip through several of them and see they¡¯re not just filled with beautiful images, calendar and planning space, but inspirational quotes too. They remind me a bit of what we put together for Passion, Fashion, Fun: Horses.

    ¡°No stories though,¡± Rune says over my shoulder, sounding disappointed, so close I catch that whiff of tangerines.

    ¡°Do you think that¡¯s important for something like this?¡±

    ¡°For your project yes. You have to include your stories Shells, your drawings are gorgeous, but I think people need the story to fall fully in love.¡±

    It¡¯s a great idea, but I find myself unexpectedly panicking, ¡°But I¡¯m not a writer,¡± I tell him, ¡°those little blurbs I shared on my mock-up coloring pages are notes straight from the internet just so I could keep each woman and horse straight.¡±

    ¡°The stories are the easy part,¡± he tells me, moving away to pick up another calendar and flip through it.

    ¡°Maybe for you,¡± I retort, feeling daunted by this idea of his.

    ¡°What¡¯s the easy part?¡± Lorelei joins us, ¡°lots of great books but nothing for scrapbooking,¡± she sighs.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go to an art store,¡± I tell her and she smiles sweetly at me and takes off again.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you ever take any creative writing classes?¡± Rune asks with a note of disbelief, watching me browse through the day calendars trying to decide which ones to buy.

    ¡°Not since high school,¡± I tell him as I decide to buy the planner with the autumn trees and one other with images of vintage bookstores.

    ¡°How about this,¡± Rune says, ¡°if you¡¯ll help Lorelei with this scrapbooking project, I¡¯ll help you draft out the stories for the calendar.¡±

    ¡°Deal,¡± I say slowly, thinking about my tsunami dream. Is this what it was trying to tell me? That I need to step towards things that feel scary but might help me be a better artist?

    **

    ¡°You should have worn a hat,¡± Lorelei admonishes Rune when yet another woman¡¯s eyes open in the surprise of recognition as we walk by them.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, I have one in the car,¡± he tells her, and then to me ¡°She¡¯s my fan radar, she¡¯s got eyes like a hawk for paparazzi too.¡±

    ¡°You have to,¡± she tells me, in her very matter-of-fact way, pulling Rune by the hand towards the parking lot, ¡°Dad¡¯s fans are pretty normal, but sometimes Rune¡¯s fans get all weird and googly-eyed and act like they want to follow us home.¡±

    I¡¯d forgotten that Gunnar must have ardent fans wanting autographs and selfies too.

    ¡°Did your mom get recognized much for that music video?¡± Rune asks as we all get back into the car.

    ¡°Not like you must,¡± I tell him, ¡°But quite a bit, she still does.¡±

    ¡°What music video?¡± Lorelei asks, as we enter the large downtown parking lot with a marvelous view of the bay, ¡°Is it one I can look up on YouTube?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I tell her, ¡°It¡¯s called One More Midnight with You and it¡¯s from 1983.¡±

    ¡°This?¡± She holds her phone up for me to see.

    ¡°Yep,¡± I tell her, seeing the familiar black-and-white cover image of my mother for the video. She slips on her earbuds to watch as we spy Rune¡¯s car.

    ¡°Does she still dress like a 1940s glamour queen?¡± Rune asks as he opens the car door for me.

    ¡°Of course, she loves turning heads,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°So does Franklin Haus,¡± Rune shakes his head, as he opens the door for Lorelei.

    ¡°And you don¡¯t?¡± I laugh, ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Only on the red carpet, or a photo shoot¡± he says, once we¡¯re all in the car, ¡°otherwise I prefer to blend in.¡±

    ¡°MmmHmm,¡± I say, not sure I buy this at all, otherwise why would he need to be so bespoke even in his casual clothes? Instead, I say, ¡°My mom says she saves a lot of money by not being a slave to fashion and knowing what looks good on her.¡±

    ¡°Is this your mom?¡± Lorelei asks, showing me her phone from the back seat. She has the video frozen on the profile of a beautiful dark-haired woman with a classic long page boy and a white gardenia in her hair. It¡¯s my mom¡¯s classic hairstyle, that and a chignon.

    ¡°That¡¯s her,¡± I nod.

    ¡°She¡¯s really beautiful,¡± Lorelei says, her eyes studying my face.

    ¡°She is,¡± I agree, ¡°and no, we don¡¯t look anything alike. I take after my dad.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t look anything like my mom either,¡± Lorelei sighs, ¡°I¡¯m just as strawberry-headed as Rune was at my age and just as bean poley as my dad.¡±

    ¡°We were all bean poles,¡± Rune tells her, ¡°even Shelby.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fantastic just as you are now,¡± I tell her. She gives me a dubious look before sitting back to watch the video. I haven¡¯t seen it in years. I pull it up while also giving Rune directions to the library.

    The video certainly got my mom quite a bit of attention, but it only brought her nominal financial success from a few modeling jobs. She was just a little too short and curvy for fashion and had no interest in going into acting.

    For Franklin Haus, however, the video meant both fame and financial success. He immediately went on to direct more music videos before directing a few films and then settled into being a top-tier producer.

    As much as Franklin annoys me, I have to admit One More Midnight with You is a beautiful video. It was created for a popular Rock a-Billy band Picture This from Long Beach. Both my mom and Franklin knew them well. Oddly this particular song was a slow ballad and their one big top-forty hit.

    I¡¯d forgotten that the video also starred a very handsome young blond man along with my mom as her date to a formal dance.

    As I watch it with adult eyes, I realize with a shock, he bears a striking resemblance to Rune. I stop the video and zoom in when it hits the part where my mom and the young man are dancing cheek to cheek in the moonlight on the terrace of an abandoned house.

 Chapter 32: In which the mystery intensifies

    I remember my mom telling us One More Midnight with You was shot at some abandoned but glamorous ruin of a house in Echo Park that Franklin knew about. That historic neighborhood just north of downtown Los Angeles has gone through a renaissance, but had some pretty seedy sections back in the 80s, including this derelict mansion.

    The storyline of the video is that the band¡¯s lead singer has a crush on my mom¡¯s character. He watches her mom first at a High School gym for a dance, then at a late-night diner when she, her date, and their friends go for a snack, and finally then from the shadows of the abandoned mansion where kids gather to continue the party all while he sings mournfully of his unrequited love.

    But I notice something different as I watch the video this time. The camera zoom-ins on my mom¡¯s date with just as much as it does on my mother.

    Bingo, says Theo in my head.

    Oh.

    I stare at my phone even after Rune has pulled into a parking place at the library. Lorelei¡¯s out of the car like a shot, but I sit stunned, staring at the close-up in my hand.

    ¡°Earth to Shelby. Are you coming?¡± Rune asks.

    ¡°Yeah, I just¡­¡± I pause, wondering how to broach what¡¯s just dawned on both me and Theo, ¡°I always thought this video was a love letter to my mom for being Franklin¡¯s muse when he was getting started. That¡¯s what he told her anyway. Now I feel like maybe that wasn¡¯t the full story.¡± I hold my phone up for him to see the image I¡¯ve paused the video at.

    ¡°That¡¯s certainly the story he always told me,¡± he says, studying my face for a minute before he takes my phone, ¡°you don¡¯t think that¡¯s the case?¡±

    ¡°Maybe it is,¡± I say as Rune starts the video from the beginning, ¡°but watching now it feels like maybe there¡¯s a story within the story.¡±

    Is Rune some type that Franklin likes or something? I ask Theo in my head, not sure I want to know the answer.

    Watch Rune watch the video, Theo instructs.

    At first, nothing happens. Then Rune¡¯s eyebrows raise in surprise, and he runs his hand over his mouth as if keeping himself from commenting. When it¡¯s done, he forwards himself the link, his lips compressed in an unhappy line.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he hands me back my phone quickly, as if it might bite him, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he¡¯s grinding his teeth, ¡°I need to make a quick phone call, would you mind keeping an eye on Lorelei?¡±

    **

    Rune doesn¡¯t join us in the library until Lorelei and I are at the self-check-out machine. He¡¯s wearing a baseball cap now, and his face is tense.

    ¡°That¡¯s quite a hoard you¡¯ve got there, Pup,¡± he says looking at the few left on the table and then into the tote bag I brought along. He smiles as he says this, but the smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes.

    ¡°Miss Parnacci¡¯s going to be pleased,¡± Lorelei says, saying the name of her tutor, while she finishes putting the books I scanned into the tote, ¡°we got almost all of the books on my summer reading list except two and we¡¯re on the wait list for those.¡±

    ¡°Did you get a copy of Howl¡¯s?¡± he asks, running his hand over one of her braids as if it¡¯s a touchstone.

    ¡°Yes, and Shelby¡¯s two favorite retellings of East of the Sun, West of the Moon for you, but I think I might like to read them too, and the book on Sybil Luddington.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± he nods lifting the tote bag she just put the last book into, ¡°Oof, I can also use this tote for weight training.¡±

    ¡°You were complaining of still being too skinny,¡± Lorelie giggles at him as we make our way to the front doors.¡±

    ¡°True, good reminder, Pup, I think we need some ice-cream to finish off our afternoon, don¡¯t you?¡±

    **

    We¡¯re sitting in a booth at the back of the Dairy Queen, waiting for Lorelei to bring us our order. Rune is wearing both his hat, and his sunglasses, and has his back to the restaurant. The restaurant is full of teenagers and a couple of elderly couples. None have given him a second glance.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I ask, his face has lost none of the tension.

    ¡°Oh, a nod from the universe that I need to make a decision I don¡¯t want to make,¡± he tells me, sliding down in his chair and crossing his arms.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Could you be any more opaque?¡± I scowl at him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you about it when I can,¡± he says unhelpfully. I want to press the issue but I see Lorelei heading towards us now with our tray of sundaes.

    **

    Friday morning, I¡¯ve just sent off some rough sketches for Vivienne¡¯s possible new eBook when I remember the look on Rune¡¯s face yesterday after he watched One More Midnight with You.

    I pull up the video on YouTube again. This time I¡¯m hunting for a version that will tell me who the handsome blond man is. Instinct tells me not to ask my mom. Somehow, I know it won¡¯t lead anywhere good. After searching through a dozen or so posts I find, of all things, a version of it on Pamela Lyon¡¯s YouTube channel. Yes, that Pamela, my former boss who I¡¯m trying desperately to avoid.

    The actor who starred along with my mom in the video is named Scott Treadman. But when I Google Scott Treadman and don¡¯t find hardly anything. He doesn¡¯t even have a profile on the popular entertainment database IMDb. There are tons of entries about the video itself. The only thing I can find is that Treadman starred in a soap, and then in one big Broadway revival of Oklahoma, but that¡¯s it. Weird.

    Well, maybe he didn¡¯t have what it takes after all. Or...it was the 80s, maybe he died of AIDS? I remember Theo telling my sister and me how terrible that time was and how many friends he lost.

    Or maybe being a celebrity just wasn¡¯t for him, Theo says.

    That¡¯s possible too, I think, it happens.

    Rune certainly doesn¡¯t seem to find being a celebrity very much fun, at least not right now. This time when I search I Google, ¡°Whatever happened to 80¡¯s actor Scott Treadman?¡± and hit enter. I find three blogs from the very early days of the Internet; two from women, one from a man, all bemoaning the fact that this handsome talented man seems to have disappeared with no trace. Interesting.

    The blog post by the man has the most images of Scott. Wow, Rune really does bear a striking resemblance to him, though the wheat color of his hair is more like Gunnar¡¯s. I copy the link and send it to Rune.

    **

    A couple of hours later I¡¯m in the middle of creating a new series of infographics for one of my teaching clients when my phone rings with Rune¡¯s number.

    ¡°I need a favor,¡± he says quickly without greeting, his voice tense as his face was yesterday, ¡°I have to go to Seattle overnight. Can you watch Lorelei tomorrow until early evening? Marguerite¡¯s looking after her tonight, but she has a class all day tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I tell him, ¡°no problem. But what¡¯s going on? It¡¯s not about the video is it?¡±

    ¡°Yes. But this is serious Seashell,¡± he warns, ¡°If I promise to tell you everything as soon as I can, will you promise to stop looking into Scott Treadman?¡±

    That¡¯s certainly not the response I thought I¡¯d get, ¡°WTF Rune, this feels crazy!¡± I exclaim.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s super WTF. But promise you¡¯ll stop looking.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but you¡¯re creeping me out,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Welcome to my world,¡± he huffs, ¡°Forget I said that. Let¡¯s change topics; Lorelei wants to make chocolate chip ice cream for Monday. Is that cool or does it have to be vanilla?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you make vanilla, and then add chocolate chips to half of it?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good!¡± he says cheerily, doing that weird pivot of emotion he does so quickly, ¡°If you want to make extra Texas cake for us to have here at home, feel free!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m hanging up now,¡± I tell him and do so.

    **

    Late in the afternoon, I¡¯m out in the garden harvesting flowers to try my hand at making my own rose-calendula body butter. I thought it would be a fun project for Lorelei to help me with tomorrow.

    It¡¯s a gloriously warm day. The garden is coming along marvelously. Zinnias, Nasturtiums, and Marigolds are planted along the borders of the well-tended raised wooden beds for their riot of rainbow sherbet colors, and in the case of the latter, helping to keep pests away too.

    All around me, bees hum busily at their propagating. Above me, the birds are busy and in full chorus, chasing each other through the trees and across the grass, with the sharp caws of bossy blue jays the loudest. The sun¡¯s warmth is bringing out the rich mineral mushroom-y fragrance of earth. I couldn¡¯t be happier. I¡¯m looking forward to having fresh cucumber and arugula on wheat toast with dilled cream cheese and a big salad for dinner, and then hanging out with Lorelei tomorrow.

    I finally bought a long lunge line at the local farm store to tie up Butterscotch, so she won¡¯t wander away. She whined when I first put it on her, but she''s happy enough now that she''s realized it gives her a wide range of motion. At the moment she¡¯s fascinated by a small white butterfly looping lazily around, flitting from one cucumber vine to another.

    My wicker basket is about halfway filled with flowers when the dog starts to yip excitedly. I look up to see Rune striding across the lawn towards me with determination, an annoyed expression on his handsome face. If he were playing Wizard Howl in a live-action movie right now, the sleeves of his robe would be billowing behind him. As it is it just looks like smoke should be coming out of his ears.

    ¡°Do you have a meat cleaver?¡± He asks without preamble.

    ¡°Planning a murder?¡± I ask mildly.

    ¡°Yes, first to a bag of chocolate chips, and then possibly to Jenna.¡± When I send him a questioning look he goes on with a huff, ¡°She¡¯s gotten rid of any of Nan¡¯s cooking utensils she doesn¡¯t understand because apparently, she can¡¯t imagine anyone eats anything but pre-packaged rabbit food.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure she didn¡¯t just box them up and put them in the barn?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes Shells,¡± he huffs, narrowing his eyes at me, ¡°that¡¯s where I¡¯ve wasted the last half an hour.¡±

    He does look a little dustier and more disheveled than normal. This makes me think of hay lofts, and how my sister and Gunnar used to sneak off all the time to make out. Oh, good grief body, really body. Just chill, please.

    ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± Rune breaks into my fledgling daydream about him, his tone acerbic, ¡°Gathering up items for a potion? Practicing your hedge witch skills?¡±

    ¡°How do you know I haven¡¯t gone to an official witch school?¡± I ask equally sharply, putting my clippers back in the potting shed, ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve graduated with flying colors you grump,¡± I tell him, heading for the house, then turn to make sure he¡¯s following.

    ¡°Forgive my maladroitness,¡± he laughs, raising his hands in surrender.

    ¡°Quoting one of the best lines from Crown Duel won¡¯t keep me from cursing you if you annoy me enough,¡± I tell him. Still, I¡¯m impressed he remembers this line from another of our favorite YA fantasy novels.

    ¡°You¡¯re too late,¡± he swivels around me in his catlike way and opens the front door, ¡°I¡¯m already cursed.¡±

 Chapter 33: Shelby finally makes space for a new love life

    ¡°This is a strong start for the Sexpectations eBook cover Shelby, but it needs to be sexier,¡± Vivienne tells me over Zoom late Friday afternoon.

    Today she¡¯s dressed in a bright turquoise curve-hugging velour tracksuit. She and her partner Matthias live in a lovely condo above Santa Monica¡¯s popular Third Street Promenade, not far from my parents¡¯ house. This is one of her Friday afternoon outfits. She and her partner like to go to an early evening movie before the crowds arrive.

    ¡°Sexier?¡± I deflate. I thought what I¡¯d put together was pretty hot. Not in a graphic way, but the colors and the text are flirty and fun and match the website¡¯s look and feel.

    ¡°I¡¯m not totally on fire about it the way I am with all of the graphics you¡¯ve done for my website,¡± Vivienne shares, ¡°and I want to be.¡±

    As I listen to her, I¡¯m taking notes. I doodle a little flame in the margins next to the word ¡®sexier¡¯ with several exclamation points.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I nod, trying to sound more confident than I am.

    ¡°This eBook has to sing for both of us,¡± Vivienne says encouragingly, ¡°I need you to tap into your inner sex goddess to make the cover sizzle.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have an inner sex goddess,¡± I admit, drawing a bigger dancing flame next to the first one. It¡¯s starting to look like the fire demon Calcifer from my Howl¡¯s Moving Castle coloring page. That¡¯s probably not quite what she¡¯s looking for.

    ¡°Anyone who¡¯s seen you shake your groove thang on the dance floor will beg to differ,¡± Vivienne chuckles.

    ¡°That¡¯s the only place she appears,¡± I lament.

    ¡°Only because you haven¡¯t invited her into other places in your life yet,¡± Vivienne says, in her most metaphysical way, ¡°How are you coming along with your own Sexpectations homework and imagineering?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve started to write a few things down that I¡¯m proud of,¡± I say, feeling my face heat. This is true, but I¡¯ve only had the nerve to answer one more question, ¡°As far as imagineering goes, that¡¯s proving a bit more challenging with Rune popping in all the time.¡±

    ¡°Take your time. Baby steps are valuable,¡± Vivienne encourages, ¡°How¡¯s your new coloring page and your Horse Girl project coming along?¡±

    ¡°Better than my homework!¡± I say enthusiastically, happy to be on an easier subject, ¡°I¡¯m warming up to the idea of a day planner, and people are responding well to my drawing Rune as Wizard Howl. I¡¯m doing my best to finish the entire draft sketch this weekend.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to see where you¡¯re at if you¡¯re game,¡± Vivienne tells me, ¡°I bet Marilyn and Naomi would too.¡±

    ¡°Really? I guess Rune won¡¯t mind¡­¡± I say as I send her an email with the coloring page attached. Secretly, I¡¯m delighted that Vivienne wants to share my rough sketch with her publicists. I hold my breath as she opens her email.

    ¡°Shelby, you¡¯ve outdone yourself!¡± She says, ¡°This is fantastic. All these cool characters and Rune with his long hair looking as hot as he did as Gregg Allman.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so,¡± I say, thrilled and flattered.

    ¡°I know you have the real man next door, but did you go back and watch The Troubadour Tales again for inspiration?¡±

    ¡°No, I had a hard enough time sitting through it once.¡±

    ¡°Back when you were mad at him?¡± Vivienne laughs.

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    ¡°You should go back and watch it again. I just did.¡±

    ¡°Why? Are you such a student of the 70s L.A. rock scene?¡± I ask, surprised.

    ¡°Neither. I love soul music, and the Allman Brothers had a lot of it. They also had a black drummer way before interracial bands were much of a thing,¡± she tells me, which I didn¡¯t know, ¡°but mostly, I watched it again because Naomi and Marilyn are worried about Rune.¡±

    ¡°They are?¡± I ask, uncomfortably remembering Rune¡¯s reaction to Scott Treadman and having a last-minute trip this weekend.

    ¡°Since they know I know him through you, his longtime childhood friend, they¡¯ve shared that they don¡¯t understand why he threw his acting career away after such an amazing performance. He morphs into Allman. It¡¯s uncanny. I can¡¯t believe it didn¡¯t get an Emmy.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he intentionally threw it away,¡± I say carefully, ¡°at least that¡¯s not what he told me.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t say anything to them, not yet, but I think something bad happened to him,¡± I say, happy to share my growing worry and thinking about Rune¡¯s comment yesterday that he¡¯s cursed.

    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Vivienne looks concerned.

    ¡°Rune says he¡¯s tired of acting but also told me he got fired for taking a leave of absence from a film when his mom was dying. After that, all his offers for roles dried up.¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Wow, really?¡± Alarm registers on Vivienne¡¯s lovely face, ¡°I wonder why he hasn¡¯t told Marilyn and Naomi his side of things.¡±

    ¡°I do, too,¡± I say, ¡°but right now, he¡¯s telling me to keep my nose out of it,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Okay, well, let¡¯s honor his wishes,¡± Vivienne says, nodding, but adds, ¡°In the meantime, watch The Troubadour Tales this long weekend and get inspired for some imagineering. I think that¡¯ll help with the eBook cover. And try this, don¡¯t think of Rune as Rune; think of him as his sexy acting persona, Asher Dillion.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my homework assignment?¡± I laugh, feeling challenged, but I think this approach might help.

    ¡°Yes, and some dancing!¡±

    As soon as we hang up, I try to look at the draft eBook cover without my ego involved. On a hot pink background, it¡¯s a series of hand-drawn pen and ink bubbles floating up from a Champaign bottle at the bottom left-hand corner. The bubbles also float around a whimsically fun font for the title Sexpectations: How to Figure Out What You Really Want in Bed.

    Vivienne¡¯s right; it¡¯s not there yet. What does this eBook need?

    Nothing comes to mind. Theo¡¯s on radio silence. I miss his feedback and I¡¯m brain-dead. Sitting here longer isn¡¯t going to get me where I want to go; I¡¯ve been at it for hours. I already took Butterscotch for a walk earlier. Maybe Vivienne¡¯s right. Maybe it is time to dance myself into a better place.

    **

    After dinner and putting Butterscotch to bed, I make my way upstairs. I¡¯m carrying my laptop and stems of rosemary and red cedar leaves from the backyard that I¡¯ve made into a little bundle.

    I¡¯ve been slowly moving into Theo and Reuben¡¯s bedroom, but I haven¡¯t slept in here yet. I take a deep breath as I walk into the expansive room. My whole apartment in Santa Monica (the one I shared with a friend from High School) could fit inside here. Having this much space for myself is exciting but daunting.

    It¡¯s also an undeniably masculine room. The furniture is sleek, light Scandinavian wood; the art on the walls, the lamps, and the area rug covering a good portion of the hardwood floor are all done in shades of blues and greens, most of them dark. The duvet on the king-size bed looks like the ocean, vast and dark.

    As I open the French doors on the back wall to let fresh air into the still-stuffy room, I realize this might seem silly to anyone else. After all, I¡¯ve had run of this big old house for six months now. But that doesn¡¯t intimidate me the way this room does. I know I share ownership of the house with Sydney. But this room will be just mine, and it feels too large and too male.

    The doors lead onto a narrow balcony overlooking the back deck. Beyond it is the small orchard, the expansive meadow behind it, and then the thicket of fir trees that edge the back of the property. There are two Adirondack chairs out here. Once I find some good cushions for them they¡¯ll be a great place to sit and read.

    How will I make all of this space my own? How can I give it a more colorful feminine twist on my tight budget?

    I set my laptop on the long, low, modern chest of drawers next to a terracotta saucer I brought in from the potting shed yesterday. I light the loose end of my rosemary and cedar bundle, enough so a thin line of smoke drifts up. I lay it down carefully on the saucer to make sure it doesn¡¯t burn the wood.

    Marguerite gave me the idea of making this bundle and doing some smudging when I admitted to her how hard it was for me to move into this room. The burning of cedar, she told me, according to indigenous wisdom, is to help bring in good energy and chase out any negative. The rosemary is for clarity. I certainly need help with both.

    I pull up one of my favorite Shamanic DJ Deep House sets on my laptop. Before I start the music, I step out of my slippers and pull off my socks. I want to feel the nubby texture of the bold geometric area rug beneath my feet.

    My intentions as I dance are to allow myself to be more at home in this room, and to bring myself back into my body to help unlock my stalled creativity.

    Not only do I need inspiration for Vivienne¡¯s eBook cover, but I¡¯ve also reached a stumbling block on my Howl¡¯s Moving Castle illustration. I can¡¯t quite get the right expression on Rune¡¯s face as I was able to do in the larger detailed sketch of him.

    I hit play. Drums and other percussion instruments start things off with a tantalizing swinging rhythm. Next come whistles that sound like bird calls, echoing each other. A low thrumming builds. Strings add shimmer. Each new instrument builds layers of interesting texture over the previous one.

    I purposefully picked one of the sexiest sets I¡¯ve ever found for today¡¯s experiment. My routine starts very simply, with some shaking and swaying that I¡¯ve learned from Qigong videos online.

    The rhythm¡¯s hypnotic. I shake and sway, take deep breaths, and let them out more slowly. I acknowledge how much tension has built up in my neck, shoulders, and back from sitting too much. Finally, the flutes come in with their lyrical yearning, and the beat kicks up. I begin by swinging my arms, then swaying my hips, and slowly put my whole body into moving, starting to do moves and steps I learned in years and years of jazz and hip-hop.

    According to my phone, I dance for a solid forty minutes. Sweat isn¡¯t dripping when I stop, but my heart¡¯s pounding, and my body is much looser and more relaxed.

    While running a bath complete with Epsom salts, I put my laptop on a bed desk I used to serve Theo his meals on. If I¡¯m going to watch The Troubadour Tales I want to be comfortable while I do so.

    On the streaming platform that''s hosting the show, for each of the six episodes, there are alluring promo images of Rune and Cindy Gonzales, the actress who played Cher. The two are resplendent in 70s rock and roll wardrobes.

    Intrigued, I look up the show¡¯s own website. Here there are even more images of Rune and Cindy as Allman and Cher. I Google ¡°Gregg Allman and Cher,¡± and find out that these promo images are almost exact replicas of famous images of the real duo wearing tight-fitting leather, velvet, and denim. Rune must have been in his element. He should have been born at a time when men were dressed as elaborately, or even more so, than women.

    If these are some of the costume people Rune¡¯s been reaching out to, I understand now why he was so fussy about how our photos turned out. It¡¯s working; two of the people he¡¯s contacted wanted more images emailed to them and a detailed description of everything I have available. Rune was very impressed I already had the information ready.

    Good grief, the original Cher and Gregg were gorgeous together. Both were tall and gray hound slender, with long manes of shiny straight 70s hair, hers black, his light blond.

    Interestingly, Allman never seems quite at ease when looking at the camera in paparazzi images. Most often, it¡¯s obvious his heart isn¡¯t into it. When I look back at The Troubadour images, I see Rune has mimicked that same slightly uncomfortable look.

    Allman¡¯s smile only becomes genuine when he¡¯s gazing at Cher, and the photographer has caught him unaware. In contrast, Cher beams as fearlessly for the camera head-on as she does for Gregg in private moments.

    I ponder this as I slip into my rose-scented bath. I can¡¯t remember anyone ever looking at me with that sort of adoring gaze.

    That¡¯s not true, is it? Theo asks.

    No, I admit, only after I¡¯ve immersed my head to wet my hair. Rune used to look at me like that. Not romantically; of course, we were kids.

    Is Vivienne enough of a witch that she can sense that? Is that why she wants me to imagineer a fulfilling sex life around my former childhood bestie?

 Chapter 34: Inspiration and scrapbooks

    I wake up slowly on Sunday in the bright early dawn. I¡¯m doing my best to hold onto the dream. It¡¯s Vivienne¡¯s eBook cover, but it¡¯s not static. It¡¯s an animation, and it¡¯s perfect. I need to capture all the marvelous details before they disappear.

    I grab my sketchpad and pencil from the right side of this gigantic bed, stack the pillows behind me, and settle myself down to remember.

    Flipping to a new page, I start a rough thumbnail large enough to draw out good details. The version of the eBook cover I sent to Vivienne shows a Champagne bottle in the lower left corner on a hot pink background, a popped cork in the right-hand corner, and confetti and bubbles in the air between, behind, and around the title.

    I close my eyes and remember the action of this new animation. The Champagne bottle rises up in the left-hand corner, then the cork pops from the bottle up to the right. It¡¯s followed by the explosion of not just confetti and bubbles (like the old version) but now also candy, flower petals, and tiny little flames. This is so cool. I¡¯ve only started to teach myself simple animation, but I think I could pull this off. Wow. My efforts to tap into my inner sex goddess are working.

    The bad news, I think while I furiously sketch out the full animation idea frame by frame, is that I may never be able to look Rune in the eye again. How do men do it? How do they fantasize about women they know who aren¡¯t their girlfriends, wives, or lovers and then carry on interacting with those same women as if nothing is going on in their imaginations?

    How do they sit across from these women in business meetings, or classes, or wherever, and act as if they haven¡¯t been imagining all sorts of crazy, explicit, sexy things while they touch themselves and not turn into piles of awkward stammering embarrassment?

    How will I face Rune again, let alone tomorrow, for the Fourth of July party? I overdid it. I went on a binge as if Vivienne had waved a magic wand and permitted me to go crazy.

    I watched the first three episodes of The Troubadour Tales on Gregg Allman and Cher on Friday night. Last night, I watched the final three. This time, I kept my eyes glued on Rune. Vivienne¡¯s right. He morphed right into the angel-faced-gravel-voiced Allman all right. It was a remarkable performance. Rune brilliantly portrayed the shy, brainy, talented man who used drugs and alcohol to keep grief and ghosts at bay.

    Finished with my rough sketches, I jump out of bed, the energy almost crackling and sizzling around me. I want to start drawing this idea out formally before I start to hang out with Lorelei at nine. First, I need tea and food. I¡¯m starving.

    As I let Butterscotch out before giving her breakfast, I breathe in the grounding fragrance of Bergamot in my Earl Grey tea. The morning is still cool, but it¡¯ll be warm today. Lorelei and I can sit out here to work on her scrapbook. My thoughts are a jumble of the sexy but sad drama of The Troubadour Tales and the new things I want to add to Vivienne''s eBoook cover.

    Gregg Allman''s love for Cher couldn¡¯t save him from his demons. He would eventually go to rehab seventeen times before truly becoming sober. He was famous for his womanizing. He¡¯d married seven times and had five children. I hope he didn¡¯t inspire Rune to be such a heartbreaker. Is that the real he had a vasectomy? To make sure he wasn''t creating children all over the place?

    Unfortunately, we can¡¯t change for others, only ourselves, Theo breaks into my thoughts.

    Did you ever try to change for anyone? I ask him, realizing uncomfortably it''s been a bit of my M.O.

    Just once, it didn¡¯t work out, he chuckles, You have to find someone who loves you just as you are.

    Fat chance, I smirk.

    Patience, dear heart, Theo tells me, his voice fading so much I''m not sure I haven''t made up the last bit, brighter days are coming.

    I hope so. In the meantime, I have a new eBook cover to create and a homework assignment to finish writing up.

    To top off my Rune Fest, I looked him up on the biggest audiobook platform. I¡¯m impressed. He¡¯s narrated dozens of books, thrillers, sci-fi and fantasy, non-fiction (including environmental), and even a few romances. I bought one of those, and I¡¯ve listened to half of it so far. So apparently, he does get some work done while he¡¯s a traveling Romeo.

    Watching the TV series and listening to the audiobook made some sort of magical alchemic cocktail of a self-pleasure potion. I didn¡¯t have to work at making up any fantasies to get the job done last night; they made themselves up as I let my fingers do the walking. Ahem.

    I''m pretty sure I''ll be able to make some good inroads on my Sexpectations homework later tonight, after I¡¯ve hung out with Lorelei first. Of course, Rune won¡¯t be the one to help me make my list happen in reality. What a disaster that would be. I¡¯m so glad he warned me off. Who wants to be a one-time, or a few-times, mercy hookup because someone liked you when you were kids but is now completely out of your league? And considers himself cursed. No, thank you.

    **

    ¡°I wish Rune were here to help us decide,¡± Lorelei muses, chewing on her lower lip as she stares at the vast array of pretty background papers the arts and crafts store has displayed.

    I have to agree that the number of choices is a bit overwhelming. We¡¯re standing before a wall of racks and racks of colorful paper. Almost every hue imaginable and all kinds of cheerful and whimsical patterns, too.

    ¡°What if you pick different backgrounds depending on a theme?¡± I ask, holding up a page with firecrackers going off in celebration of tomorrow¡¯s holiday.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Like special events?¡± She asks, taking the page from me and studying it.

    ¡°Maybe seasons and holidays?¡± I ask her, ¡°What if we go through the year and see what you¡¯re inspired to pick out?¡±

    ¡°I like that idea!¡± she exclaims, looking relieved.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s start with July and the 4th and work forward from there,¡± I tell her.

    We¡¯ve already picked out an eight-and-a-half by eleven spiral notebook of heavy-duty multi-media paper. When she showed me the scrapbook her Granty had made for her this morning for inspiration, it was clear Rune¡¯s mother had used something similar instead of a pre-made scrapbook, and had decorated it all herself. That made sense. Astride was very creative and frugal too, if memory serves. She would certainly want Lorelei to use her own imagination and build her skills rather than rely too much on anything store-bought.

    With this in mind, I¡¯m trying to steer the tween towards items that will help build her drawing and creativity instead of relying on the alluring but expensive scrapbook elements this store has aisles of.

    Lorelei has a pre-loaded credit card from Rune to spend on this project in her pocket (money she¡¯s earned as her allowance, matched by him), but she¡¯s carefully thinking about every possible purchase. I like that the Borstads are keen on raising a child who is savvy with her money. My parents were good about this, too, though my mom was known to go on shopping sprees when in one of her manic phases.

    We¡¯ve made it through Lorelei picking out paper backgrounds for July, August, and September when Lorelei stalls again, unsure of what background paper she wants for October.

    ¡°I do wish Rune were here,¡± she laments again, ¡°He loves the fall and helping me dress up for Halloween. He told me it¡¯s so beautiful here that time of year.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± I agree, ¡°but this is your project, Lorelei, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be happy with anything you pick out.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± she wrinkles her nose, ¡°I wish he was here having fun with us and not off hanging out with his latest crush.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± I say before I can stop myself, wishing I could both take the word back and stop my stomach from sinking.

    **

    ¡°Hold on! I have to take our cake out of the oven,¡± I call out to my nephew Nils as the timer on the bookcase behind us goes off.

    ¡°Show me again, I¡¯m almost there,¡± I hear Lorelei say as I dash out of the office for the kitchen.Nils and I started having dance parties and teaching each other steps on Zoom calls during the pandemic as a fun way to keep in touch. I called him last night and asked him if he¡¯d teach Lorelei and me something today as a way for them to connect. Chances are he¡¯ll be living in Seattle soon and coming for frequent visits.

    For the past fifteen minutes, he¡¯s been showing us how to do the Smooth Step. Something all the cool kids know how to do.

    The entire downstairs is infused with the rich, sweet smell of chocolate. I pull the sheet pan of Texas cake out of the oven and set it on the counter. We need to finish it off with the chocolate walnut icing sitting on the stove, waiting to be warmed up.

    ¡°I can do it!¡± Lorelei comes racing in to get me, ¡°Watch! He¡¯s such a good teacher!¡± I rejoin her in the office, where we can see my fleet-of-foot thirteen-year-old nephew. He¡¯s dancing away by himself, his baseball cap on backward to keep his red-brown curls out of his face.

    ¡°Ready to show her?¡± Nils stops and asks as soon as he sees us.

    ¡°Ready,¡± Lorelei says excitedly. Nils counts down, and they both start doing the step to the catchy dance music. Lorelei¡¯s a little stiff. She¡¯s got the step but not the full groove yet, but she¡¯s picking it up fast.

    ¡°You¡¯re an amazing learner, Lorelei,¡± I cheer. She beams at me but doesn¡¯t stop doing the step, ¡°And you¡¯re an amazing instructor!¡± I tell Nils. He nods with a sheepish grin,

    ¡°Okay, you two, I¡¯ve got to go ice the cake,¡± I tell them, ¡°Lorelei, are you going to continue dancing or help me out?¡± Lorelei stops dancing and looks back and forth between me and Nils on Zoom, obviously torn between the cute new older boy she just met and being helpful.

    ¡°I¡¯d better go you guys, I¡¯ve got stuff I need to help my grandpa with for tomorrow,¡± Nils tells us, making her choice easy. He signs off quickly, and Lorelei and I return to the kitchen to finish our cake.

    ¡°He¡¯s so nice,¡± Lorelei says, ¡°does he ever come to visit?¡±

    ¡°He might be coming a little later this summer,¡± I say, hoping this will be the case.

    While we¡¯re pouring the warm nut-filled icing over the warm cake, she continues questioning me about Nils. What grade is he in? What does he like to do? I tell her he¡¯ll be in eighth grade, a year ahead of her, and he likes to build things and ride his mountain bike.

    ¡°He sounds like my dad,¡± she laughs.

    ¡°He does at that,¡± I admit. I hadn¡¯t thought about it before, ¡°why don¡¯t you and Butterscotch get us some more greens from the garden for our salad?¡± I ask her as I let the dog out of the laundry room. I was afraid she¡¯d be stepped on with all the dancing.

    The two are just going out as Rune¡¯s coming in. I look at the clock. He¡¯s back earlier than planned. ¡°Did Daphne like your idea?¡± I hear Lorelei ask. Her tone is a little short, but she stops long enough for Butterscotch to get some love from Rune.

    ¡°She did; we both thank you for understanding. I had to go in person, Pup,¡± he tells her. She nods but doesn¡¯t say anything else and runs out with the dog on her heels. I wish I wasn¡¯t as bummed as she is he spent the night with his new crush.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to wash away any of that chocolate, are you?¡± Rune asks, slipping his light brown suit jacket over the back of one of the counter stools, ¡°Especially since I don¡¯t notice the requested second cake.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I say, pivoting to give him the saucepan and the chocolate-covered spatula quickly, hoping my face isn¡¯t red as I remember what I was doing while thinking about him last night, ¡°you¡¯re all dressed up for a Sunday. Did you go to church?¡±

    ¡°I wish, that would¡¯ve been more fun. No, I was meeting with my father,¡± he sighs. I stare at him for a moment, surprised, before schooling my face to neutrality while he sits at the counter stool next to his jacket.

    ¡°How did that go?¡± I ask carefully, over my shoulder as I get the chicken salad I made earlier out of the fridge.

    ¡°Useful but stressful,¡± he says shortly, clearly not wanting to say more, ¡°though this is making up for it.¡± He takes a large mouthful of chocolate and closes his eyes, smiling.

    He looks transported, but tired. A fun night with a new crush will do that to you, I think meanly, studying his lovely face. I¡¯m way too happy he didn¡¯t shave for this overnight outing. I¡¯m not going to ask more. I don¡¯t want to hear about Daphne.

    ¡°Shelby, you¡¯re magic,¡± Rune¡¯s green eyes open slowly, half massed to gaze back at me. I never noticed before I drew him that they tilt down ever so slightly at the ends. They¡¯re such bedroom eyes.

    ¡°Well, I am a witch," I say, deciding to own it. Why not? "Would you like dinner to go with your dessert?¡± I ask dryly, turning quickly back to the fridge to get the homemade ranch dressing and some cucumbers.

    ¡°I¡¯d love anything you have to spare, I¡¯m starving,¡± he admits as I get out the cutting board and my favorite knife, ¡°Can I help?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯ve got it,¡± I say quickly, getting out Uncle Reuben¡¯s large classic 70s wooden salad bowl. The last thing I need is Rune with his elegant hands, and long light gold forearms in their rolled-up dress shirt sleeves helping me in the kitchen. My body¡¯s already making up new fantasies.

    ¡°What are all these?¡± Rune asks, nodding at the three mason jars next to the espresso machine on the counter. They¡¯re filled with oil, calendula flowers, and rose petals.

    ¡°Lorelei¡¯s helping me in my first attempt to make calendula rose body butter,¡± I admit, ¡°This is the slow method. The flowers need to sit in the oil for several weeks to infuse it.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the fast method?¡± he asks, continuing to use the spatula to lick away at the pot of chocolate. My nether regions are now twitching like a cat as my body contemplates what it would be like to have him lick away at me. Just sit with your desire, I tell myself sternly. He spent the night making love to another woman.

    ¡°Cooking it for twelve hours on low heat. I didn¡¯t think watching the stove on such a nice day would be fun, and since I¡¯ve still got some of the fancy rose-scented body butter my sister sent me, I thought I¡¯d try it this way,¡± I tell him, making myself busy with chopping to keep my eyes off his lovely mouth so I don¡¯t cut myself.

    ¡°Slow can be good,¡± he says, I hear the smile in his voice, ¡°is that why you always smell so good?¡±

    I stop chopping and lift my eyes to his, opening my mouth to answer but I¡¯m saved by Lorelei and Butterscotch bursting in excitedly from the laundry room.

 Chapter 35: Lord Ganesha the remover of obstacles

    Sunday night, I¡¯m in bed with my lap desk on my bed, looking at Vivienne¡¯s homework on my laptop. I can do this, I think, looking at Vivienne¡¯s second question. This is the sticking point that I¡¯ve been dragging my feet over.

    2) What¡¯s something you want to be experiencing regularly during sex?

    Why is it so hard to write down what I want to write? Why is it so hard to admit that I, too, would like to experience the big O as much as my lovers? I will myself to scribble down quickly, ¡°I now regularly enjoy experiencing orgasms during intercourse with my lover. He¡¯s been patient and kind as we¡¯ve worked together to find the best positions for me to achieve this.¡± Whew.

    As I admitted to Viv, this is something I¡¯ve never experienced. If I did, I¡¯d be much more enthusiastic about getting it on, even when I haven¡¯t had a couple of glasses of wine first. This is one of the biggest bummers of things ending with Jack when they did. I was still quite into the sex because of the newness of it. I thought I had a relationship so that I could delve into this kind of conversation.

    He¡¯d better not email me images from Iceland.

    Vivienne¡¯s next question is 3) What¡¯s something that scares you about sex that you¡¯d like to be open to?

    Oof. One more embarrassing admission. Sex toys freak me out. I think they¡¯re ugly. I went to a sex shop with Matt, my bike advocate flame. It was an overwhelming and unenjoyable experience. He had no patience for my trepidation. We left without buying anything but condoms.

    I almost close my eyes as I boldly write out, ¡°I have a selection of attractive sex toys that help heighten the mood and hit all the right spots to bring more pleasure.¡± I¡¯m not sure if lovely and sex toys work in the same sentence, but I can live in hope. Whew.

    I¡¯m happy there¡¯s only one more question: 4) What¡¯s something you¡¯ve only read about sexually that you¡¯d like to experience?¡±

    Nervous sweat is collecting under my arms as I consider my reply. I¡¯m interested in something a bit controversial. I want to experience a G-spot orgasm. Some experts say it exists in many women; others say no, it¡¯s a pipe dream. But the real people say that if you can find it and give it the proper stimulation, it helps create the most unbelievably long and pleasurable orgasms. Yes, please!

    Feeling bolder, I write, ¡°4) My lover knows exactly how to find my G-spot with his long, elegant fingers.¡± If anyone has the fingers for such a skill, it¡¯s undoubtedly Asher Dillion. Vivienne¡¯s idea of calling Rune by his stage name in my head as I imagineer a great new sex life with him as my lover is extremely helpful. I¡¯m so turned on by this homework I decide to let my fingers do the walking again. I don¡¯t need to listen to Rune narrate more of the steamy romance audiobook.

    **

    Mid-morning Monday, Rune and I are on the back deck working on his social media. We won¡¯t head to Hummingbird Farm for the Fourth of July until later this afternoon.

    I¡¯m trying not to feel guilty over fantasizing about him last night. I tell myself that thousands of women have fantasized about him over the years, and, per Vivienne¡¯s quip, he fantasizes about women back. Not about me, of course, except for that first kiss. But I¡¯m sure he woke up this morning and exercised his wrist, thinking about Daphne. Whoever she is, I imagine her to be young, dark-haired, and incredibly chic and sophisticated.

    I¡¯ve been doing my best not to ruminate on this as we¡¯ve been going through the pictures he took on his overnight to Seattle. We¡¯re deciding which shots we want to add to the schedule of posts I¡¯ve already designed for him. I¡¯m impressed. He¡¯s included a selfie of himself on the ferry looking windblown but very handsome in his light brown double-breasted suit and vintage Ray-Bans from Theo¡¯s collection.

    ¡°I want to move the relaunch up. I want to do it today,¡± Rune tells me firmly, as if he¡¯s just decided on this and wants to convince himself that it is the right thing.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I tell him, surprised and trying to stay focused on the images. It¡¯s distracting with him sitting so close that his broad shoulder occasionally brushes mine as we look down at his phone. His hair is damp from a shower, and especially bed-heady. He smells even more beguilingly of tangerines than usual.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°What image do you want to launch with?¡± I ask, telling myself to focus and be professional, ¡°One of the latest books you¡¯ve narrated?¡±

    ¡°No, this,¡± he says, holding up his left wrist. I noticed earlier he¡¯s wearing a bracelet I¡¯ve never seen before. It¡¯s a triple role of small dark wooden beads with a small round flat silver charm at the end, ¡°Can you take a pic for me?¡±

    ¡°Who is this?¡± I ask, studying the tiny, engraved elephant on the face of the charm, ¡°One of my Hindu classmates in High School told me, but I can¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°Lord Ganesha, he¡¯s the lord of success and the remover of obstacles. I need both right now,¡± Rune tells me, a corner of his mouth lifting in a wry half-smile, ¡°How should I hold my hand?¡±

    ¡°Lay it flat on the table,¡± I instruct, reaching for my phone and standing up.

    ¡°Okay, madam, art director,¡± he agrees readily. He lays his elegant, long-fingered hand on the rough wooden table, making sure the charm faces up and is centered.

    "Where did you get this?" I ask, realizing it''ll be an interesting shot if I can capture it the right way. The faded wood of the table and the darker beads set off his lightly golden tanned hand, which makes the charm pop.

    "The bracelet was my mothers," he says, as still as a cat as I try different angles, "I had a friend add some beads to make it large enough for me. I found this charm on my travels to add to it and had my friend put it altogether. It came in the mail over the weekend."

    "It''s lovely," I tell him, "What kind of success do you want Lord Ganesha to help you with?" I ask, deciding it¡¯s best if I position myself across from him and lean over the table.

    "Excelling on new storytelling platforms," he tells me as I put on my knees on a chair and lean over to brace myself on my elbows over his hand, "and facing my demons."

    He winks at me when I look up, surprised at this admission, "Here, here," I smile and nod, looking back down at the charm through my phone. Suddenly the scent of cedar and rosemary from my little bundle of herbs fills my nostrils. The world seems to tilt for a nanosecond. In my mind¡¯s eye, a beautiful light pink lotus blossom rises out of a lake and blooms.

    I freeze, holding my breath. The image fades. I take a deep breath, steady my hands, and take three pics in succession.

    What the heck just happened?

    ¡°Why do you need Lord Ganesha right now,¡± I ask, trying to sound casual as I sit back and look at the images on my phone. I like the second one best. I zoom in on it and hand him my phone.

    ¡°That works,¡± he nods and hands me back my phone. He doesn¡¯t seem to have noticed that anything strange has happened, ¡°I pitched someone on an idea for a podcast this weekend,¡± he tells me, his face guarded.

    ¡°Wow, good for you,¡± I say, meaning it. I send the image to my laptop and sitting back on the couch next to him, which makes up the seating for one side of the table.

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± he says vaguely in the tone that means he¡¯s not going to share anything more right now, ¡°Oh, and I ordered you a brand-new copy of Howl¡¯s.¡± He pulls a small brown paper-wrapped package from his computer bag and hands it to me.

    ¡°What happened to my copy?¡± I ask, annoyed, ¡°Are you dog-earring the pages?¡±

    ¡°Worse. It¡¯s now full of Post-it notes and highlighted sections,¡± he tells me blithely, ignoring my scowl as I unwrap the book, ¡°This is the new pretty new cover from the UK, but I still like your coloring page better.¡±

    ¡°Of course you do Ruination; it stars you. Couldn¡¯t you wait to buy your own copy?¡± I ask tersely. But he¡¯s right. This new cover is lovely.

    ¡°I got caught up in the moment, excited by possibilities," he goes on, "Did you finish your Howl¡¯s coloring page? There are some people I want to show it to.¡±

    ¡°Almost; I¡¯ll have it done by tonight or tomorrow morning. Is it cool if Vivienne¡¯s going to share it with Naomi and Marilyn?¡± I ask, my vanity at his wanting to share my illustration overcoming my annoyance.

    ¡°Yes. Excellent,¡± he beams at me as his phone rings, ¡°I¡¯ve got to grab this,¡± he says, standing and picking up his phone and bag, ¡°See you at one?¡±

    I nod and wave him off. I¡¯d like to stay annoyed at him. It¡¯s so helpful at countering my infatuation, but who knows what sort of interesting people he could be showing my illustration to? I''ve already sold several pieces of Theo''s apparel collection to one of his contacts. I have to wrap them up and ship them this week.

    I¡¯m a vain creature, I think, as I open up my laptop to the social media design platform and Rune¡¯s folder. I must also admit that I¡¯m having fun working on his social media. It¡¯ll be fascinating to see what kind of response we get when we launch his Instagram account today.

    I upload the shot of his hand and start laying it out in the program. I decide it should only be the image itself, just his hand with the charm no text on it. But what should we say to accompany it?

    I send him a note and run my eyes critically over the mix of little square posts on my computer screen. I like the vibe we¡¯ve curated for him. It''s a mix of his rather artsy scenic images from places he''s been visiting around here, shots about books he''s narrating, and quotes from his favorite spiritual gurus and favorite authors about storytelling. In other words, it''s a creative introvert''s way of being social. Take that Pamela Lyons.

    I upload the image of his selfie, and another shot he took of one of the books he¡¯s narrated in a bookstore window in a famous Seattle bookstore. I''m deciding where I want to place them in the overall schedule over the next week, when my phone beeps.

    Rune: Say, ¡°Let the new adventures begin!¡±

 Chapter 36: Scary Tarot!

    ¡°They certainly put the B in bucolic here,¡± Rune comments as we drive down the private gravel-covered lane to Hummingbird Flower Farm. The narrow private road is lined on one side with apple trees full of tiny bright green fruit, the other side with dogwood trees carpeted with their small peachy pink blossoms. Both sides also host whimsical creatures made of rusty scrap metal, birds, bees, dragons, and hand painted signs on pieced of wood say, ¡°this way¡± with arrows pointing to the parking lot near the old barn where Luna and Tom host their events and flower sales.

    We pass the main house. It¡¯s an old two-story wooden farmhouse similar to ours, complete with covered front porch. But it''s a little smaller than our twin houses and looks like it belongs on a film set or a beloved childhood novel. It''s painted the distinctive rusty orange of the vibrantly colored Rufous hummingbirds. The tiny creatures make this region home for part of the year. They¡¯re particular favorites of both Pat and Luna.

    ¡°I wish our house was painted a bright color and we had a field of flowers in our front yard!¡± Lorelei exclaims as she and Butterscotch stick their heads out the window for a better look.

    ¡°That might not go with Jenna¡¯s particularly blue-gray vision,¡± Rune says to me under his breath. I shoot him a warning look.

    The house¡¯s color goes well with the vibrant mix of flowers covering the front lawn and the darker red brick of the barn we¡¯re now approaching.

    ¡°Marguerite and I are going to try our hands at turning our lawns into meadows,¡± I turn back to tell Lorelei, ¡°Want to help us pick out the flowers this fall?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Lorelei agrees enthusiastically.

    ¡°Wait! I¡¯m not invited to chime in with my excellent color sense?¡± Rune asks, sounding slightly offended. With his sunglasses on I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s joking.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be in Victoria,¡± I say, where he¡¯s going after he¡¯s done watching Lorelei. His production office is headquartered there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll only be three hours away,¡± he objects.

    ¡°Of course, we¡¯d love your input, especially if you help convince Gunner to let us try it at your place as well,¡± Marguerite soothes his ruffled ego as we pull into the gravel parking lot, already quite filled with cars. We all wave at Luna, Tom, and other family members moving things into the barn, ¡°Luna believes in the power of beauty as an advocacy tool, and the reasons we need to turn our lawns into meadows is a great conversation starter.¡±

    ¡°Smart,¡± Rune says, sounding mollified, and then turns to me as he opens his car door, ¡°You didn¡¯t use much of this setting for the ReWild fundraising video, did you?¡±

    ¡°No, only for two of the student interviews. We wanted to keep it real; most small farms aren¡¯t such showpieces,¡± I tell him as I start to get out of the car, trying not to sound defensive.

    ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± he says, doing that weird flattening lips with side twist he does when pondering or perhaps disagreeing, but not wanting to say it out loud.

    ¡°What Luna¡¯s convinced Tom and his family to let her do here, re-imagining this place over the past decade is nothing less than remarkable,¡± Marguerite continues to Rune and Lorelei as they get out of the car.

    ¡°So, what was it like before?¡± Rune asks, opening the back.

    ¡°An ordinary local blueberry farm,¡± Marguerite tells him, ¡°The only whimsy was in Pat¡¯s hand-painted signs and her husband¡¯s metal sculptures.¡±

    ¡°We came and picked bags full of blueberries last year!¡± Lorelei chimes in, ¡°Shelby made us such delicious muffins,¡± she¡¯s doing her best to keep untangled from the dog¡¯s leash, but Butterscotch is determined to wrap it around her legs in her excitement over being someplace new. One of the first things I¡¯ll recommend when Gunnar and Rune finally say it¡¯s okay to give Lorelei the dog is some leash training classes.

    ¡°I wondered why the freezer was full of nothing but blueberries when we got here,¡± Rune says as he hands me the sheet pan of chocolate cake.

    ¡°Need help?¡± Tom calls, coming towards us, dressed in head-to-toe red, white, and blue, including an Uncle Sam top hat, ¡°Or someone to taste test the ice cream?¡±

    ¡°You can take the other side of the ice chest,¡± Rune tells him as Lorelei goes into an extensive explanation of the two flavors and how they were made. Tom listens and nods along kindly.

    I hope Rune¡¯s baseball cap and aviators will keep people from recognizing him. As we enter the barn, I search for Luna and Tom¡¯s daughter, Angela. I want to cut her off at the pass, so she doesn¡¯t say anything to anyone.

    He¡¯s a grown man, Shelby, Theo says very faintly, he can take care of himself.

    Okay, I hear you, I grumble back internally, a bit annoyed at being chastised for my hypervigilance.

    The old barn¡¯s doors are thrown wide open. Inside the first third of the large space has hay bales and tables set up in a half circle for the food, drink. It¡¯s decorated to the hilt in red, white, and blue. Streamers hang from the exposed beams above us. Several large picnic tables are set up here and in front of the barn for dining. Each table has holds pairs of mason jars filled with bright red peonies (one of the flowers Hummingbird specializes in), and white roses.

    Tom and Rune deftly maneuver the ice chest to where the dessert stand is set up next to the serve-yourself drinks bar. There are already pitchers filled with cucumber water, iced tea, and the tell-tale deep wine red and floating fruit of Luna¡¯s special sangria. I set down the cake and contemplate the wisdom of a glass of sangria before I eat anything.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Go for it,¡± Rune says right behind me, ¡°I am."

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree, reaching for two mason jars to use as cups while he picks up the pitcher. It¡¯ll help give me more courage to ask Tia Cecelia about Theo¡¯s voice in my head. Also, there are already bowls of chips and veggies and dip out on several tables to nosh on, so I don¡¯t get light-headed.

    **

    I¡¯m in the barn helping Luna, and Pat organize the series of buffet tables of potluck food with little stand-up signs to make it clear what¡¯s vegan, vegetarian, and for the carnivores when a tiny woman with a short chic silver hair and purple statement glasses walks briskly up to me. It¡¯s Tia Cecilia.

    ¡°Ah, here¡¯s my rose girl,¡± she says, ¡°I¡¯ve been expecting you, come.¡±

    With that, I¡¯m following her outside to a little table off to the side, set up under the shade of a large willow tree where it¡¯s clear she¡¯s been giving Tarot readings.

    I¡¯m self-conscious as I follow in her small, neatly dressed wake. I keep my eyes on her petite, erect, postured shoulders in their bright periwinkle denim jacket rather than look around at the crowd of people, most of whom I¡¯ve met at least once before. Compared to Tia Cecilia I feel like the ungainly, too-tall stork of my junior high years.

    ¡°Here we go,¡± she says as she sits across from me, motioning for me to do the same.

    ¡°I¡¯m not really here for a reading,¡± I admit as I set my sangria on the table. My face is hot under her dark, bird-bright, direct gaze. I take a sip of my fruity drink to buy a little time and then say, ¡°I have a specific question about hearing voices.¡±

    ¡°Channeling,¡± she nods, picking up the beautiful Tarot deck I remember from last year. The images look like they¡¯ve been inspired by the Art Nouveau master Alphonse Mucha. Tia Cecilia quickly shuffles the card in her small, elegant hands, ¡°What do you want to know about it?¡±

    ¡°I think my late uncle is talking to me,¡± I say quickly as a hot tear slides down my cheek before I can catch it, ¡°you met him here last year.¡±

    ¡°Theo,¡± she says kindly, smiling, but keeps her eyes on the cards as she picks one from the deck and lays it down on the center of the table between us. It¡¯s The Fool card, upright to me. Good grief, he¡¯s blond and handsome and looks like he could be Wizard Howl, Rune, or both.

    She taps the card with a long purple nail that matches her glasses, ¡°You¡¯ve worked through some of your old blocks recently, so you can hear him now.¡±

    ¡°So, it¡¯s not just my imagination,¡± I say, letting out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding.

    ¡°It runs in your family, Theo, your great-grandmother,¡± Tia Cecelia says, in the no-nonsense way of the bank manager she used to be, ¡°but you¡¯ve kept your skill mostly buried until recently. I see you¡¯ve brought roses more into your life as I recommended. Good,¡± she says, tapping the card again.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit, ¡°mostly as lotion and bouquets from the garden.¡±

    She told me last year I should bring roses into my life in any authentic way I felt moved to if I wanted to be more open to love and romance. Frankly, at the time, I thought it was trite advice. But Luna swore her aunt was the real thing, so I did it, and here we are.

    As I speak, Tia Cecilia¡¯s head swivels up and right as if someone¡¯s calling her name. I follow her gaze and see Rune standing with Tom and a group of other men chatting around Tom¡¯s smoker. As if he senses our gaze, Rune glances over. Our eyes meet. A spark of electric thrill run up my spine. Oh boy, I¡¯ve got it bad.

    ¡°Well,¡± Tia Cecilia clears her throat with a small laugh, ¡°it¡¯s certainly working. That¡¯s not the same man you were here with last time.¡±

    ¡°No, he¡¯s my old childhood friend,¡± I say, wanting desperately to know what she means by certainly working but afraid to ask. To me it doesn¡¯t appear to be working at all. I¡¯ve just found that I really like roses.

    ¡°That¡¯s one way to describe him,¡± she says dryly and picks up The Fool card, neatly returning it to the deck, and starts to shuffle again, ¡°one dear love has departed, and one seeks to return. My guides want you to choose three cards,¡± she says fanning the deck out for me as if she won¡¯t take no for an answer.

    This is important, Theo says very very faintly, pay attention.

    ¡°Can I record this on my phone?¡± I ask, feeling my stomach twist with both excitement and dread.

    ¡°Of course, I recommend you do,¡± she tells me as I set up my cell phone to do just that. The first card I pull out and lay down is VI of Pentacles upright.

    ¡°This is what¡¯s been going on recently,¡± she tells me, ¡°You¡¯re learning to receive more freely, and it¡¯s paying off. You¡¯re also learning to advocate for yourself, which allows Theo to connect with you.¡±

    This makes sense. I think of all that¡¯s happened in the past few years, Theo leaving Sydney and me the house and his clothes, and my putting together HorseGirls and how it played out with Trident, so now I¡¯m being paid for illustrations but am free to also do my own thing.

    ¡°Take another card,¡± Tia Cecilia tells me.

    I draw out the V of Wands upright and lay it to the left of the first card.

    ¡°Hmmm, heads up,¡± she taps the card, ¡°this is some of the strong negative energy starting to surround you right now. I¡¯m being told it¡¯s appearing in career, personal, and romance,¡± she gives me a quick sharp glance, ¡°You need to stay calm in the chaos of a brewing storm, especially regarding any legal troubles. You can prevail but you¡¯ve got to keep advocating for yourself and those you love. Pick the final card,¡± she instructs.

    With growing dread, I pick another card carefully. I turn over and lay down The World card to the right of the other two, upside down to me. My heart sinks. She must be able to see it on my face.

    ¡°This is your future; have faith, rose girl; upside-down cards aren¡¯t always bad news,¡± she tells me, ¡°At its essence, this card is about seeking closure on personal issues. You¡¯re being warned not to take the easy or coward¡¯s way out but to stick to what you know is right in your soul. Yes, you and your lover and loved ones have some tough challenges ahead of you, but the rewards will be particularly sweet if you can stay true to your heart.¡±

    **

    Somehow, I make it through the extended Fourth of July meal. But the pleasure of so much delicious food and fun company is dimmed by the warning tone of Tia Cecilia¡¯s words. Worry feels like a faint but persistent fog. It¡¯s like a veil separating me from my friends and enjoyment. I miss Theo so much I can taste it. Everywhere I look, I¡¯m reminded of him being here with us, weak, frail, using a wheelchair but fully present and alive, keeping everyone entertained with his marvelous stories.

    I take off on my own when Pat comes over to ask Rune if he¡¯d like a personalized farm tour. Marguerite joins them, and Lorelei takes Butterscotch to join a game organized for the kids on the front lawn. I need to get away, clear my head, and think. I grab my fedora and backpack and head out through the flower fields toward the woods that line the back of the farm in such a rush that I don¡¯t even stop to admire the array of colors and fragrances.

    I¡¯m always better when I¡¯m surrounded by trees. Maybe it¡¯s all the extra oxygen. Or perhaps they¡¯re just magic. The Japanese are right about their idea of forest bathing to help with what ails you. The only sound is birdsong and my boots, muffled by years of leavings from the fir trees around me.

    Making sure no one¡¯s around, I walk over to the tallest, grandest tree just off the trail and sit at its base, ¡°I miss you, Theo,¡± I sob, letting the tears that have wanted to fall for the past hour or so go.

    I¡¯m hoping he¡¯ll answer me. I¡¯m hoping we can have an actual conversation out here in the woods rather than only the little snippets that have happened so far because I¡¯ve been worried, and I¡¯m just talking to myself.

 Chapter 37: Rune calls in his favor, big time

    After my scary tarot card reading, I¡¯m happy to have a busy week to distract me. I spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday carefully packing and shipping the pieces of Theo¡¯s vintage clothes already sold to Rune¡¯s costume contacts.

    Even more exciting, I¡¯m texting back and forth with one of the costume team from The Troubadour Tales. They¡¯re on vacation, traveling around the Pacific Northwest, and want to come next Monday to look at the clothes in person. They might want to buy everything I have from the late 70s and early 80s.

    And Vivienne loves my new version of the eBook for her and the animation (which she¡¯s paying me for).

    I wish, however, I could stop mulling over Tia Cecelia¡¯s words, ¡°You need to stay calm in the chaos of a brewing storm, especially regarding any legal troubles.¡± What in the world could that mean? Trident gave me the okay to use HorseGirls; I have it in writing. Does she mean my sister and Bill breaking up? Or are my parents possibly suing Syd and me for part of Theo¡¯s house and land?

    I can¡¯t even ask Theo about any of this because he¡¯s disappeared. Are my thoughts too dull for him? Has he moved on?

    **

    Thursday afternoon, Rune and I discuss how well his Instagram relaunch is going. I¡¯m spreading olive oil over dough with a brush to make us a pizza for lunch. Rune¡¯s sitting at the kitchen bar across from me, emailing me more images for upcoming posts.

    The power of celebrity is impressive. His follows, and likes jump by the hundreds every time I check.

    ¡°The publishers have all sent me appreciative notes,¡± Rune tells me, ¡°But they¡¯d like me to do selfie videos too.¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t want to do that?¡± I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

    ¡°Not just to promote their books, I make a flat fee for narrating them.¡±

    ¡°What if it could help you negotiate a higher fee?¡± I ask, now spreading a jar of the marinara sauce I helped Luna can last summer.

    ¡°What an excellent idea! How cleverly mercenary you are, Shelby,¡± Rune smiles mischievously, ¡°which reminds me, I need to call in that favor date. Julia Endo wants to do lunch in Seattle next week after finishing her current project.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± As I cover the pizza with mozzarella, I ask, ¡°Can¡¯t you take Daphne?¡±

    ¡°Daphne?¡± He shakes his head and snorts, ¡°Ah no, Julia would never believe Daphne and I are a serious item. Besides, which Daphne''s far too busy.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± I ask, my hand freezing over the olives, several conflicting emotions clamoring for my attention at once, ¡°you want Julia to think we¡¯re dating? Why?¡±

    My libido, which has been quiet so far this morning, wakes up with a joyful dance of desire. My ego is both bruised and preening. Daphne¡¯s too busy, but I¡¯m not. And yet, I¡¯m the more believable steady. Hmmm. I finish with the olives and add tomatoes, basil, and artichokes to the pizza.

    ¡°Because I need a favor from her, but I don¡¯t want her to think I¡¯m available,¡± he says, closing his laptop and reaching over to steal a black olive from the jar.

    ¡°Does she want to get back together?¡± Weirdly, this makes me sadder than the idea of him being a player.

    ¡°She¡¯s sending those kinds of signals again,¡± he sighs unhappily, ¡°she probably wants help finding her next project.¡±

    ¡°Now, who¡¯s the mercenary thinker?¡± I narrow my eyes at him and bite my tongue from mentioning Ben Ito, Julia¡¯s current boyfriend ¨C at least according to the internet. I don¡¯t want him to know I¡¯ve looked up so much of his history online. Glancing at him under my lashes I also find it strange that Julia would be interested in getting back together with Rune because of his ability to help her with the business side of acting.

    Of all the reasons one would want to be in a relationship with him business help isn''t the first thing I''d put on my list. Isn''t there a famous old song, it''s one my parents like, something about "because your kiss is on my list?"

    ¡°Needs must, Shells,¡± he says simply, moving on to stealing an artichoke while I put the pizza in the oven, "I''m getting better at self-preservation."

    ¡°Where¡¯s this lunch going to take place?¡±

    ¡°Julia wants to go to a place at Pike Market called The Pink Door. Have you heard of it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s Luna¡¯s favorite, but I¡¯ve never been. Is this something you want me to dress up for? As you know, my wardrobe is limited.¡±

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± he agrees, ¡°but I told you I¡¯d have you covered. Can you come to Bainbridge when I take Lorelei¡¯s friend Charlotte back tomorrow? I saw a boutique there that will probably have something perfect.¡±

    **

    Since I had a morning of errands to run on Friday (including shipping off more apparel from the Port Gamble post office), I arranged to meet Rune and the girls at Butcher Baker Provisions for lunch.

    The ?restaurant and bakery live in an old filling station outside the historic Port Gamble downtown. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m here a little early; outdoor dining is popular on such a gorgeous day. But I planned for it; I knew the outdoor patio would be crowded, so I brought a picnic basket for us to eat on the vast expanse of lawn that rises behind the restaurant until the entrance to the Port Gamble Forest.

    Above me, the sky is almost cloudless, and the most glorious robin¡¯s egg is blue. To the north of me, the land slopes down gently. From here, all of what¡¯s left of the historic logging town, founded in the late 1850s, is in view. Beyond is the deep blue-green of the Puget Sound

    I¡¯m studying the paper and the weekly changing menu, trying to decide between three delicious options, when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

    ¡°Alpinieri! Just the woman I hoped I¡¯d be running into!¡± I turn to see my old crush, the photographer Ian McCallister, walking towards me, kitted out in road bike gear. There¡¯s a big grin on his deeply tanned face. His longish, wavy, almost black hair has quite a bit more silver streaked through than the last time I saw him. It suits him.

    ¡°Ian, what are you doing here?¡± I ask, delighted at the serendipity as he hugs me. I''m even more glad I dressed up a little. Well, dressed up for me. I''m wearing my best jeans, my favorite vintage boots, that cute cream-colored vintage sweater over a tank top, Ray Bans and my dark brown fedora. I''m even wearing a flirty pair of gold, dangling fish earrings my sister got me for my birthday this year (I''m a Pisces). I love them. But they feel too fancy for every day. I figured they were just right for going clothes shopping with a millennial heartthrob.

    ¡°Some friends and I are on a short trip. We¡¯re riding over to check out the Olympic Discovery Trail,¡± he motions to the group of athletic-looking middle-aged men with expensive-looking bikes standing outside the restaurant¡¯s outdoor seating gate, ¡°We¡¯ve got a gorgeous Airbnb close by for tonight with a spectacular view. I was going to text to invite you to come and hang out with us.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll love the trail,¡± I tell him eagerly because I¡¯m unsure what to say about his invitation. It¡¯s just like him, very last minute. I am flattered, but.

    ¡°You¡¯ve biked it?¡± His dark eyes twinkle.

    ¡°No, hiked, but it¡¯s gorgeous. Are you staying in an Airbnb there or at the Lake Crescent Lodge?¡±

    ¡°The lodge, of course; I can¡¯t resist a historic old hotel like that,¡± he says, and then leans in closer to speak in a lower smile of a voice so that the others in line can¡¯t overhear us, ¡°I¡¯ve got my own room; you should join me¡­¡± he cuts off as his eye catches something, ¡°that can¡¯t be Ash Dillion coming towards us, can it?¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± I tell him as I wave to show Rune where I am in line, ¡°He¡¯s an old friend. Do you know him?¡±

    My heart¡¯s beating wildly from Ian''s words, and the sight of Rune striding towards us quickly. He¡¯s wearing his Ray Ban sunglasses too, so I can¡¯t see his eyes, but his mouth doesn¡¯t look happy.

    ¡°I photographed him for GQ when he got The Troubadour Tales gig,¡± Ian tells me, and then low again, ¡°Christ, the guy is photogenic, the camera absolutely adores him. But he¡¯s completely fallen off the map. I heard all kinds of crazy bad stories about him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s producing now,¡± I say quietly, a little defensively, as Rune comes into earshot.

    Rune smiles a genuine smile when he recognizes Ian. But before shaking the photographer¡¯s out-held hand, he slips in so that he¡¯s standing closer to me than Ian is.

    ¡°Dude, fancy meeting you here,¡± Ian laughs, slapping him on the shoulder as they shake, ¡°Alpinieri tells me you¡¯re old friends,¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one word for it,¡± Rune says, winking at Ian, repeating what Tia Cecelia said. He sounds good-natured about it, but sliding his arm across my shoulders in a way that makes Ian raise his eyebrows. ¡°Are we splitting something, Seashell? The girls want to split a grilled cheese.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to split something,¡± I say, being honest but not sure whether I like his arm on my shoulders in front of Ian. What is he up to?

    My body¡¯s thrilled, of course, but part of me is annoyed. Why is Rune doing this relationship charade here? Did he catch what Ian was in the middle of asking me? Are his ears that sharp? My ego would like a moment to relish that proposition and consider whether I should take up the offer.

    ¡°I was in the middle of inviting Shelby to come and hang with us in a few hours at our Airbnb just down the road,¡± Ian says smoothly, ¡°but I¡¯ll amend that and expand it to the both of you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d love to, but we¡¯re babysitting,¡± Rune answers, lying easily, motioning to the long grassy upward slope behind the restaurant where I can make out Lorelei¡¯s bright hair, ¡°Are you here tomorrow? You should come for dinner. Have you been to Shelby¡¯s farm yet?¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯d love to, but we¡¯ll already be past Port Angeles tomorrow.¡±

    **

    It¡¯s not until Rune and I have said goodbye to Ian and his group, picked up our order, and are making our way up the grass slope towards the girls that I have a chance to ask Rune what the heck he¡¯s up to.

    ¡°I need people to think we¡¯re an item,¡± he says softly as we make our way across the grass so none of the other picnicking people can overhear, ¡°You didn¡¯t really want to go have a booty call with him, did you, Shells? He¡¯s such a notorious player.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from you!¡± I whisper harshly, ¡°So what if he is? Anyway, that¡¯s not the point. You should have asked before assuming I¡¯m up for playing along with this couple¡¯s charade idea of yours beyond this date with Julia.¡±

    ¡°Fair point, Seashell,¡± he puts his sunglasses on top of his head, looking duly chastened, ¡°Is Ian that important to you?¡±

    ¡°He was at one time,¡± I admit, with a sigh. I don¡¯t add I was never that important to Ian. Rune¡¯s right; he¡¯s a player, but still. The arrogance!

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Rune says quickly, lightly bumping his should against mine since our hands are full of lunch, ¡°but I do need people to think we¡¯re an item. You¡¯ll improve my poor reputation.¡±

    ¡°Why and how?¡± I ask, stubbornly. This is too much. But as I turn my head to glare at him, my eye catches on something out of place. Up ahead of us, past where Lorelei and Charlotte are playing with their model horses, stands a giant Indian elephant right where the forest begins.

 Chapter 38: A very surreal picnic

    I blink slowly. The elephant is still there. I blink again.

    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Rune asks, his gaze moving from me to where I¡¯m staring.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I stammer, ¡°I thought I saw a bear,¡± the elephant, however, is still there. It¡¯s even wearing an elaborately decorated headdress in brilliant colors. It raises its trunk as if in cheery greeting.

    Good grief. I¡¯m being followed by Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles.

    ¡°You were saying?¡± I ask Rune, wondering why I¡¯m seeing this, and he isn¡¯t. What has being able to hear Uncle Theo opened me up to? Or am I going crazy?

    ¡°I need Julia to believe we¡¯re in a serious relationship,¡± Rune repeats, ¡°I know it¡¯s asking a lot, Shells, but I really need this favor,¡± he says when I make an exasperated face at him, ¡°I promise I¡¯ll make it up to you. Come sit in the shade. I think the sun¡¯s getting to you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think it is,¡± I agree, taking a sip of my iced tea and glancing at the trees again. Lord Ganesha¡¯s still there.

    I follow Rune to where Lorelei and Charlotte are waiting for us under the shade of a large tree, sitting on Uncle Rueben¡¯s plaid picnic blanket. Part of me is thrilled Rune is asking me this favor, but it feels like a strange ploy.

    ¡°I need more information than you¡¯ve given me so far,¡± I say as the girls jump up from their horses.

    ¡°In a minute,¡± Rune says as he hands the girls the boxes with their sandwiches. As we organize our picnic I glance occasionally towards the forest entrance. Lord Ganesha is still there.

    For the next half an hour or so, we cajole and encourage two fussy-eating tweens to eat their sandwiches while Lord Ganesha continues to monitor the situation from the trees. Finally, we have to threaten no chocolate chunk cookies for dessert and agree to judge their horse show if they¡¯ll finish their gourmet grilled cheese.

    Rune carted along Lorelei¡¯s wooden eight-horse barn, paddock fencing, and a selection of model horses to keep the girls entertained for this outing. Gunnar built the barn for Lorelei last summer; she and Rune have recently painted it dark green with white trim.

    While Rune helps the girls set up everything the way they want for the show, I pick up all our trash and put everything else back in the basket.

    I¡¯m still annoyed and flattered by Rune¡¯s assumption that I¡¯ll follow along with his crazy plan. A night at Lake Crescent Lodge with Ian, with real intimacy rather than fake intimacy with Rune could be a lot of fun,¡± I think as I walk over to toss out our trash.

    Suddenly, a resounding gong reverberates through me. Nothing is moving. It¡¯s as if time itself is frozen. There¡¯s no noise except what¡¯s in my head.

    Will that truly make you happy? A voice asks in a tone of such deep, rich, melodious sweetness that I almost stumble from its impact on me.

    Lord Ganesha isn¡¯t only a vision at the forest''s edge; now he¡¯s talking to me.

    From where I stand, I can see Ian and his buddies enjoying their meal at one of the restaurant¡¯s outdoor tables. They¡¯re in mid-action, some with sandwiches half raised to their mouths.

    Will spending time alone with Ian be worth it? I ask myself, staring down at the full trash in front of me because I don¡¯t want to see other strange sights, or am I simply flattered by Ian¡¯s attention? Would I put my homework from Vivienne to use, or would this be repeating my same old pattern of being too available?

    Yes, says Lord Ganesha''s voice, with honey sadness, However, It¡¯s your choice. You can accept crumbs now, but I recommend waiting for the feast.

    But aren¡¯t I making the same mistake by being too available for Rune? I protest, Aren''t I continuing to be too Girl Friday

    That¡¯s different, dear heart, the voice says, Rune is truly your friend. Though I admit, his delivery and approach need some work.

    What¡¯s the feast I should wait for? I ask, and a marvelous belly laugh rings around inside my head, You¡¯ll see it when you¡¯ve brought yourself into fuller alignment, Lord Ganesha instructs, Keep doing your homework.

    Okay, I agree, I just hope I can do all this before I¡¯m too old to enjoy it.

    Age and time are false constructs, Lord Ganesha chuckles, but I recommend you keep focusing on your own square of the garden.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    My head is filled with another gong note that shakes my core. My conversation with the Hindu god has ended.

    ¡°I would have killed for that barn when I was a kid,¡± I tell Rune as I sit back on the picnic blanket next to him, hoping I don¡¯t sound as shaky and weird as I feel. I pick up my tea and find it empty; I chomp on a piece of ice instead. How apropos.

    ¡°It certainly beats the one we made out of my mom¡¯s old Lincoln logs,¡± Rune laughs, ¡°though I was pretty proud of that one.¡±

    ¡°So was I,¡± I laugh along with him, relieved to be focused on something normal. We played with that stable for at least two summers. Rune was the only boy I ever knew who would play horses with me without needing to insert G.I. Joes and some kind of war theme.

    Rune is truly your friend, I remember Lord Ganesha saying. I glance at Rune¡¯s wrist and the little silver elephant charm sparkles at me like a wink.

    The horse show consists of Lorelei and Charlotte holding their selected show horse up at chest level while also mimicking the movements of the horses with their own legs.

    ¡°Shelby, you be the announcer since you know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Lorelei instructs in her bossy voice. The girls are walking in a big circle a few feet from where we¡¯re sitting as if they¡¯re horses just entering the show ring.

    ¡°Ouch!¡± Rune objects, ¡°I think I¡¯ve watched enough shows from the sidelines to remember what to say.¡±

    Lorelei shakes her head, ¡°Shelby¡¯s much more of an expert, even if¡­¡± She stops quickly when she sees Rune make a ¡®zip it¡¯ sign across his mouth.

    ¡°What¡¯s that about?¡± I ask, intrigued.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Rune says nonchalantly, ¡°you¡¯re up, announcer. Tell them what to do.¡±

    ¡°Trot, please,¡± I say in my best announcer voice, ¡°everyone trot.¡±

    After the girls have each won a class and gone back to playing on their own with the horses on the grass, I turn to Rune lounging on his elbows next to me.

    ¡°Spill it, Ruination. More details, please.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± he sighs and lays back, scrubbing his hands through his hair, ¡°Out of nowhere, Julia¡¯s decided she wants to be an active member of our production company again,¡± he puts his glasses on the neck of his shirt and rubs his face over his hands, before turning his eyes to me, ¡°That¡¯s why she wants to have lunch next week. I¡¯m suspicious because I just pitched the podcast idea, which is supposed to be completely secret, but if I get a green light, it¡¯s perfect because I¡¯ll want her to be interviewed for it.¡±

    ¡°I had no idea she was part of your production company,¡± I say, though to be fair, until recently I had no idea about the production company either.

    ¡°She hasn¡¯t been for years, not since we broke up,¡± he tells me, ¡°Honestly, she was only nominally involved in the actual work of it before. But yes, Franklin encouraged us to start it. Originally, it was mostly about projects for her."

    ¡°Why do you think she wants to get back together? Isn¡¯t she in a relationship with that Japanese rock star?¡± I ask. When he sits up again and looks at me like he¡¯s disappointed I know this, I continue defensively, ¡°Their pictures came up when I was looking for images of you with long hair. You and Julia were photographed a lot together, and then suddenly, she was being photographed with him instead.¡±

    ¡°Yep, that¡¯s pretty much how it happened,¡± Rune says darkly, reaching over to open the box with our desserts. He lifts out the ¨¦clair and takes a large bite. Then he¡¯s smiling happily over the flavor, licking the chocolate off his lips, ¡°This helps,¡± he says, holding up the dark chocolate-covered pastry to me. I take a much smaller bite. Oh boy, it¡¯s good.

    When Rune slowly licks the chocolate off his fingers, I feel an electric, erotic jolt of desire pulse through me. It reminds of something I¡¯m trying to get up the nerve to expand on for my Sexpectations homework; tongues and what they can do to a woman¡¯s nether regions. Eeek.

    Ian who? My libido asks as I look over at the girls playing, trying to get my equilibrium back.

    ¡°Part of the reason I¡¯m so reluctant to take any selfies now is that I¡¯m still burnt out on it. Julia loves taking selfies even more than I love dressing up for roles; she lives for it,¡± Rune says, sounding exasperated, breaking into my fantasies by handing me the pastry again.

    I take another small bite but make sure to get some of the custard, ¡°So, is she flirting with you via text or something?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve been through this with her before,¡± he tells me. He uses his fingers to scoop out some of the custard trying to escape and licks that off his fingers, too.

    Is he doing this on purpose? Is he playing seductive like one of his Asher Dillion roles, so we look more genuine as a couple? I glance around at our fellow picnickers, none of whom is paying us any attention to us. Good. I¡¯ve been listening to Vivienne¡¯s advice, learning to desire without needing to manipulate the situation to do anything about it. But this isn¡¯t helping.

    It¡¯s time to switch topics, ¡°Why can¡¯t you just say ¡®thank you, no thank you¡¯ to Julia?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s extremely wily and has a hard time taking no for an answer,¡± Rune says, pulling a gigantic molasses cookie out of the sweets box and taking a bite. His appetite for sweets is unbelievable. But he¡¯s slowly gaining weight and looks healthier, so who am I to judge?

    ¡°Can¡¯t you just take Lorelei with you?¡± I ask, taking a very small piece of the molasses cookie myself, when what I want to do instead is take a pic of him for his Instagram.

    ¡°She¡¯s coming too; I promised her a trip to a toy store near the Pike with a big Breyer Horse collection,¡± he tells me, ¡°You¡¯re important because you¡¯ve known me longer than Julia. She knows we were very good friends. It¡¯s perfect.¡±

    ¡°She knows about me?¡± I ask, stunned.

    ¡°Seriously, Seashell?¡± He asks, dusting sugar off his hands and lap, ¡°Didn¡¯t you tell your new friends about your old friends, or your school friends about your vacation friends when you were young?¡±

    ¡°Not about you,¡± I tell him honestly. When his face register insult, I go on quickly, ¡°It would have sounded pathetic if I told school friends I was summertime besties with TV''s favorite boyfriend.¡±

    ¡°All right, point taken,¡± Rune nods, then looks around as if checking to see if people are listening then lifts his glasses onto the top of his head. He leans towards me, his hand reaching out to squeeze my knee gently, if anyone is watching they¡¯ll think he¡¯s about to kiss me, but instead, he asks, ¡°Can you keep a secret Shells, a very big secret? A secret only my dad as my lawyer, and Gunnar and Hank know about?¡±

 Chapter 39: Runes big creepy secret

    Rune and I stare at each other for a beat, and then I hold up my little finger, "Pinkie, swear," I say, meaning it.

    "Thanks," Rune smiles and hooks his little finger with mine. A jolt of energy runs through our hands as they connect briefly.

    He grabs my hand and stands up, "Girls, Shelby and I are going just up to the trailhead entrance; you have fifteen minutes until we need to pack up and take Charlotte home."

    The girls pause mid-play, both frowning, "Okay," Lorelei says mulishly. He pats her on the head as we pass by and wags a finger at her. Chastened, her expression lightens.

    Rune''s demeanor changes as we stride? up the gradual grass slope. He''s dropped my hand and has his own hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans; his broad shoulders are curved in a little as if under a heavy weight. I stay silent, biting my tongue, giving him space.

    "The episode idea I''ve pitched to Raymond Santiago is about Franklin Haus," he says finally as we approach the little wooden sign marking the entrance of the forest trail. His eyes are on the ground. He''s walking more slowly than usual. When we reach the sign, he turns to face me, his expression somber.

    "What did he do?" I ask, my voice rough, knowing I''m going to hate his answer.

    "It''s ugly," Rune sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then glances at me quickly under his lashes before looking down at his feet, "I''m one of a group of straight men of similar appearance he groomed as proteges and then turned on when we didn''t want to become his lovers, and when I say ''groomed as proteges and then turned on'' that''s putting it lightly. He''s done his best to destroy us."

    "Oh God," I say, no wonder his shoulders are curved in, as a led weight lands on my chest, "and you met him at my house."

    "Don''t feel guilty. It would have happened eventually anyway, Shells," Rune says, running the palm of one hand over the upper arm of the other in a self-soothing gesture, "I fit his type; I was already on his radar, remember?"

    "Yes, he saw your show," I say; my eyes pricking with tears. I scrub at them quickly. No wonder he''s been traveling around breaking hearts to distract himself. I still don''t approve, but I get it. This is so awful.

    "Yep. He would have tracked me down one way or another. He''s always on the lookout for his next mark."

    "You don''t want to take him to court?"

    "That''s what my father''s been helping me look into," he says, crossing his arms, as if in self-protection, "I decided not to. I respect anyone with the courage for that, but the victims are always put on trial as much as the defendants. A couple of the men he''s stalked have tried to bring cases in the past, but he always finds out about them and blackmails them into silence."

    "I''m so sorry, Rune; how can I support you?" I ask, wanting to hug him but unsure if that''s the right thing to do. Also, I know we''re up the slope from dozens of picnickers, almost like a stage.

    "You already are, it means a lot having you as a friend again" he says, starting to walk along the edge of the forest, "And I''ve been studying how the Narcissus podcasts are put together and planning my pitch for over a year. Seashell, your noticing that the One More Midnight with You video is just as much about Scott Treadman is one of the things putting the cherry on top for Santiago."

    A strange sensation runs up my spine, a frisson that feels like a cross between excitement and fear, "So, it''s a go? I thought you were still waiting on his answer."

    "It''s a go as long as enough of the men I''ve put him in touch with say yes to being interviewed," Rune says folding his arms across his chest, "even though they''ve agreed to the project with me, people can get cold feet about this kind of thing."

    "I bet," I say, as something occurs to me, "Is this what you''ve been doing while traveling around?"

    "That, and doing the recordings, and spending a lot of time with my therapist in online sessions," he laughs a little ruefully and self-consciously at this, "but much of my time, I''ve been meeting with people who do different forms of immersive online storytelling that have sparked my interest."

    "By immersive, do you mean blending text with audio and other things?" I ask, intrigued.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Exactly," he says, sounding happier to be on this subject, "Imagine if you could bring some of that to your HorseGirls stories."

    We turn left when we reach the white picket fence that separates the grass field and the forest edge from Highway 104, which comes north into Port Gamble.

    Rune explains that he thinks I should not just write short stories for the day calendar, but I record them, too, as extras for the crowdsourcing.

    "I haven''t written since college," I tell him, "and I don''t know anything about writing stories."

    "I told you I''ll teach you," he says, "let''s sit down next week and start. But first, let''s go find something for you to wear to a fancy lunch."

    "The restaurant is lovely," I tell him, "I''ve looked it up online, but I''m not sure it''s that fancy."

    "However, Julia is," he points out, "we have to fashion fight fire with fashion fire.

    **

    "Earth to Shelby," someone breaks into my musing about Rune and his terrible news by tapping me lightly on the shoulder from behind. I turn to see Leslie, Luna''s chic sister-in-law, "what are you doing here?" Leslie looks incredible, sporting a new, super short boy cut that''s fantastic on her.

    At the Fourth party, her hair was dark, rich brown; now it''s a fabulous auburn close to my mother and Syd''s hair color.

    "An impromptu art lesson," I tell her, pointing to where Lorelei sits, working studiously on a drawing in her scrapbook.

    "Isn''t that your friend Rune''s niece?"

    "Cousin, yes, we''re hanging out together, but I needed some caffeine to keep up with her," I tell her as I order three iced teas.

    "I can imagine," she smiles and places her order. After that, she joins me on the side of the cart to get sugar and cream, "Where''s Rune? Or should I say, Asher Dill?" She doesn''t sound weird about it, only a little teasing.

    "He prefers Rune," I tell her, "He''s just down the street shopping. We''re on our way to meet him in a few minutes."

    To be honest, Leslie''s cool, perfect looks have always intimidated me; I always feel a little disheveled in comparison. But to play the role of Rune''s girlfriend at lunch, I need more tools than a new outfit. I think it''s finally time to have my hair cut.

    "Hey, are you still interested in trading my help for refreshing your website and social media graphics for a haircut?" I ask before I can lose my nerve.

    Leslie cuts and colors the hair of the well-to-do on Bainbridge. Doing in-kind is about the only way I can afford her, especially if I need my hair cut again regularly.

    "Yes," she smiles enthusiastically, "I thought you''d forgotten all about that!"

    "I didn''t, but Jack really liked long hair," I say quickly, embarrassed, picking up my little tray of iced teas, "I know you''re normally booked weeks ahead, but any chance you''re free Monday, your day off? I have a super important meeting on Thursday. I''d like to have a great haircut for it."

    "Any chance feeding me is part of the bargain?" she asks as she picks up her coffee, "And giving my card to Rune for when he needs a trim?"

    "Absolutely," I say, "How about risotto? For lunch or dinner?"

    "I''m yours for lunch," she says, "I''ve got to run to a color appointment," she says as her phone chimes, "but I''ll email you questions and see you Monday, about noon?"

    **

    "We need to find a book or two as possible adaptation material for Julia to share at our lunch," Rune tells me when we meet him out front of the charming bookstore. "We have half an hour until the seamstress will be at the boutique."

    "Seamstress?" I ask, somewhat horrified, "You''re not having someone make something custom for me, are you?"

    "Chill Seashell," he sighs and rolls his eyes at me, "she''s a local woman who does alterations for this shop."

    "Oh, okay, give me more details about what kind of book might be right for Julia," I say, nervousness squeezing my stomach at his crazy idea of playing his new girlfriend in front of the extremely famous and beautiful old one.

    "If it''s a fantasy, there can''t be any sword fighting for her to do," Rune tells me as we enter the bookstore, "She doesn''t want to be an action star; she tried that and didn''t like it."

    Lorelei sees the magazines and makes a beeline for them as we browse through the display tables of the newest releases.

    Rune switches his sunglasses for his regular ones, an elegant pair of dark turtle shell horn rims that somehow work with his baseball cap, and continues Julia''s list of criteria. I''d forgotten he wears contacts.

    "The best bet would be something contemporary, but it can''t be so popular it''s already been snapped up or in a bidding war, or it is likely to be in one. We can''t afford that. A thriller could be okay, but preferably some romance and witty banter. That''s her forte." As he''s rattling all this off, I take out my phone and jot down notes.

    "Don''t you have an in on new books?" I say almost in a whisper. I don''t want the other browsers to pick up on our conversation.

    "No, the audio company pitches the books to me," he tells me equally as low, "and I''d prefer the IPs not be ones I''ve narrated."

    "Duly noted," I say, feeling relieved. I wish my jealousy were just as fake as my girlfriend status.

    Unfortunately, with each book I show him, Rune has a specific list of reasons Julia won''t like them.

    "She''s very picky," he admits after we''ve moved over to the shelved fiction section, "Very very picky," he renumerates.

    We don''t find anything that Rune thinks will work. Honestly, Julia sounds impossible to please.

    It''s not until we''re standing in line for Rune to pay for Lorelei''s magazines on scrapbooking that an idea occurs to me.

    "My first official paid book cover was for someone I made friends with on the Wattpad author site," I tell him, "It''s a modern remake of the Jane Austen book Persuasion but set in Palos Verdes and other parts of Los Angeles. It''s terrific. It''s self-published, but she''s getting strong sales."

    "Seashell, you''re magic; that could be just the thing," he says, smiling so appreciatively at me that I hear the woman behind us catch her breath. She gives me a thumbs-up sign when we turn to leave.

    I feel a sense of pride at this, and then I remember, chagrined, I''m only pretending to be his girlfriend.

 Chapter 40: Runes very stylish bribe

    "We''re back," Rune tells an attractive, late middle-aged woman and a young, artsy-looking one chatting behind the counter of the lovely high-end boutique we''ve entered. It''s the sort of place I only go to with my sister Sydney because the price tags give me heart failure.

    The older woman with silver hair in a knot on the top of her head has that air of being the owner about her. She''s all in black, sporting a fantastic pair of bold crimson statement glasses and matching lipstick, both look great with her hair.

    When she comes from behind the counter carrying an armload of clothes, I see that Black Doc Martin high tops complete her outfit. Fresh. I love the Pacific Northwest.

    "I think it''s going to be the dark green suit," she tells Rune conversationally as she gives me a friendly once-over and hangs up the clothes in a curtained dressing room.

    "You''re probably right," Rune agrees as if they''re old friends, "Try the green one on first, sweetheart," he says to me, squeezing my shoulder before sitting down next to Lorelei on one of the two plush chairs not far from the dressing rooms.

    Ah. Here we go again. It''s girlfriend time. Lorelei gives me the okay sign and starts looking through one of her new magazines. What has Rune told her? Or does he call everyone sweetheart, and I never noticed? Is Lorelei in on our ruse of pretending to be in a relationship?

    If she is, I''m not sure what I think about that. I''ve been learning as an adult how inappropriate some of the things were that my mother and her mother (my grandmother) used to share with me when I was a kid. I¡¯m always careful with my nephew Nils, and now Lorelei.

    Inside the well-lit dressing room, being watched by a full-length mirror, I slip off my jeans and put on the pair of pants in the larger size of the green suits. There are also two identical light peachy pink suits and several dress shirts. The suits are all made of lightweight wool, which is good. You can never tell what the temperature will be here, even in July.

    The trousers are high-waisted with front pleats that drape elegantly into wide legs, but they¡¯re too big. Apparently, I still haven''t gained back much of the weight I lost from grieving Theo. I remove them, carefully attach them to their hanger again, and put on the smaller size. These fit perfectly.

    I take off my sweater, slip the jacket over my tank top, and gaze at my reflection as I belt it. I''ve never owned anything to wear this expensive in my entire life. Everything about it is understated but costly. The buttons, the fine quality of the stitching, the luxurious matching satin lining.

    For all that my mother dresses to the nines, it''s also in vintage, and rarely top designers. She''s good at hunting out bargains and having them repaired and tailored. My sister and I weren''t showered with hipster wardrobes like most kids we knew at school. My parents taught us that true style is about investing in a few good pieces and accessorizing.

    They bought us clothes when we were young, but by middle school, we were expected to start earning money to buy our own. They were united in taking a stand against helicopter parenting and credit card debt because my dad''s Italian. They just don''t do that kind of thing, and my mom was trying to be different from her extravagant, always in-debt mother.

    This suit is definitely an investment piece. I almost fainted when I glanced at the price tag. I''ll certainly be able to confidently walk into The Pink Door in this. I''d be able to walk into any top-tier restaurant in LA, New York, or even Milan wearing this.

    The jacket has padding in the shoulders, not quite as wide as the 40s or even the 80s, but enough that makes the waist narrow dramatically. It¡¯s also longer than most suit jackets and so chic.

    "Are you ever coming out?" Rune asks from the other side of the heavy curtain, "or did you escape into Narnia?"

    "I''m considering it," I tell him as I step out, "I think even the White Witch would be jealous of me in this."

    He steps back, studying me intently in a way that makes my pelvic region dance happily.

    "Where''s the tank top to go with it," He asks.

    "Oh, back in a sec¡­" I quickly duck into the dressing room again, In between the dress shirts, there''s a silky light green top, cut lower than what I''m wearing. When I put it on and the jacket over it, it makes it appear that I have nothing on underneath. Wow, it¡¯s sexy in a polished, sophisticated way.

    "You know her well," the shop owner says admiringly to Rune as I make my appearance again, "the color is perfect on her."

    "It''s their anniversary," Lorelei pipes up from over her magazine, "can you believe they''ve been together for thirteen years?"

    "Pup!" Rune barks a laugh, shaking his head as he sits down next to her again but bites it back. I say nothing since I''m in the dark as to how much Lorelei knows about his scheme.

    "It''s fun to have young, cool parents," the saleswoman tells Lorelei with a wink, which makes her giggle, but before Lorelei can respond, Rune cuts her off.

    "The pants are the right length," he says, looking at the younger woman, "But I think the sleeves need to be shortened a little."

    "Yes," she agrees, and steps forward to gently take my right sleeve in her hands, quickly folding it under about half an inch and deftly pining it in. I gaze a little longingly at her interesting mix of peach and pink hair in a braid around her head. But I don''t think Rune would be happy if I dyed my hair right before this important lunch.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "Hold on," Rune jumps up, "I forgot something." We all watch him dash to where he hung his leather tote bag near the register. He slips a tissue paper-wrapped package out and strides back toward us, "You need this," he says as he unwraps it and carefully shakes out a beautiful vintage floral scarf I recognize from Theo''s collection.

    "Is that a vintage Gucci?" the young seamstress asks reverently.

    "It is," Rune says, "How should she wear it?" He holds the scarf it up against the suit. The deep greens in the scarf match the suit perfectly, the pinks and yellows in the flower make the rich color pop.

    "You snuck this out of the barn?" I ask, not sure if I should be impressed or annoyed.

    "Yes," he admits, not sounding embarrassed at all, "I bought my mom one very similar to it when I went to the Gucci headquarters in Florence several years ago. It''s a particularly valuable piece Seashell, I thought you should keep it."

    Okay, I''m not annoyed. I¡¯m impressed.

    "Let''s try something like this," the shop owner says, taking the scarf and folding it in a large triangle. She drapes it over my shoulder, slipping it underneath the collar and broad lapel. Next, she tucks the scarf under the slender belt at the waist in both the front and back and pulls it smooth, so it falls almost to the bottom of the jacket, evenly. I''ve never seen a scarf worn like this before, but it looks fantastic.

    **

    Friday evening I''m making brine for spicy dill refrigerator pickles with both cucumbers and carrots prepped in their own jars. Rune texted a little while ago to see if I wanted to watch Howl''s Moving Castle with him and Lorelei tonight. I''d love to. That would certainly keep me off my computer and freaking myself out as I look up more proof of Julia Endo''s beauty and fame. But I declined politely.

    I need to chill and maybe talk to a girlfriend. I don''t need to have any more lustful thoughts about Rune when he just dropped so much money on me. Yes, it''s because I''m doing him a favor, and he wants me to look good for his ex, but still.

    And then there''s the news he shared about Franklin Haus being a monster, which makes me feel sick and guilty whenever I think about it. I know it¡¯s not my fault, but still. It¡¯s just so awful.

    I texted my sister, but she sent back that it wasn''t a good time. Marguerite''s out of town, Luna''s having a date night, and I''m not in touch enough with my old college friends back to call just about this.

    Finally, I sent a note to Vivienne asking if she''s around tonight, and then I found this recipe, so I keep busy and off my computer. When my phone rings with her tone, I snatch it up eagerly.

    "I''m sorry to barge in on your Friday night," I apologize.

    "No worries, Matthias is visiting family in Holland this week," Vivienne tells me, "What''s going on?"

    "I think I''ve agreed to do something for Rune that isn''t very smart," I rush out, stirring the pickle brine a little too vigorously, "How are you?" I add, awkwardly.

    "A little star struck. Myriam invited me to a fancy party on Sunday in the Hollywood Hills. She wants to introduce me to people who might give my eBook a positive blurb and give it a PR bump."

    "Wow, how cool! What are you going to wear?"

    "My light lemon linen suit, my magic color, but hold on," Vivienne says, "let''s get into your situation first. Why are you worried about what you agreed to?"

    I tell her the highlights, including running into Ian at lunch and how Rune behaved, which gives her a good laugh. Then I tell her about Rune needing me to continue to act like his girlfriend for Julia next Thursday.

    "Are you sure he isn''t finding a sneaky way to slip you into that role in real life?" Vivienne asks, "You told me he''s shy."

    "Yes, but he also told me he''s an unavailable hot mess right now," I remind her. I don''t tell her I now know now why he¡¯s a hot mess, of course, or that he¡¯s a serial womanizer because of it.

    "Oh right," she says, tapping on her computer, "Goodness, Julia¡¯s a glamour queen; what the heck are you going to wear?"

    "I know," I say glumly, "Fortunately, I''m well-armored in the suit he bought me today. And I''ll be wearing it with a matching vintage Gucci scarf Rune snuck out of Theo¡¯s collection.¡±

    "Now you''re cooking with gas!" She exclaims happily, "So, what''s the big challenge with all of this?"

    "What if someone snaps a pic of us at lunch with Julia and posts it on social media?" I say worriedly.

    "What if they do?" She asks, sounding unconcerned.

    "I''ll be roasted alive by nasty, judgmental comments," I complain.

    "Shelby, someone might have already posted one of those cute pics of the two of you from the fundraiser," she says sagely, "they might be making mean comments as we speak."

    "Crap. I hadn''t thought of that," I turn off the brine and set it aside to cool before I pour over the garlic, dill, cucumbers, carrots, and red pepper flakes I''ve arranged in four jars, two each of carrots and cucumbers.

    "Myriam and Naomi are schooling me on smart social media hygiene."

    "Is that like sleep hygiene, where you''re not supposed to bring your phone into your bedroom at night?" I ask, carefully wiping up my mess.

    "A little, it''s about setting up guidelines and parameters so you don''t drive yourself crazy. They''ve been preparing me for people saying the meanest possible things on the Internet, especially those hiding their identities."

    "What''s their advice for handling that?" I ask; I''ve rarely encountered this with my social media clients because they''re all in specialized fields. I do get a few mean comments about my art skills occasionally, but those are so silly I don''t pay them any attention.

    "Mostly, it''s to ignore it but mute it when you have control. They also want me to consider hiring someone to be my eyes and ears on social media as my platform grows."

    "That all sounds wise," I admit, "I glance at the comments Rune''s receiving since we relaunched his Instagram. He completely ignores them."

    "I think he should have someone gaging that, but it''s better if that person isn''t you. You need to focus on your art, finish your Howl''s Moving Castle coloring page, and then put together your HorseGirls calendar."

    "Yes, you''re right," I agree. I need to keep putting my own oxygen mask on first.

    "Shelby, are you game to try a new assignment I just thought up for my eBook? It''s perfect for what you''ll be doing next week."

    "Um," I stall. A deep, low gong sound reverberates and a lotus blooms in my mind''s eye. Okay, I''m listening, I think to Lord Ganesha; to Vivienne, I say, "Sure."

    "When you go with Lorelei and Rune to meet with Julia Endo, I want you to be curious. I want you to check in a lot with how you feel."

    "Just in general, or in any specific way?" I clarify.

    "Both!" she exclaims, enthused, "I want you to pay attention to how you feel about his behavior. Notice how Rune treats you in particular and how he treats other people."

    "I like how he treats Lorelei, and her friend Charlotte, and Butterscotch,¡± I admit.

    "Good! Expand that to waiters, salespeople, and, of course, Julia. Second, while you''re out with him, ask yourself how you''d feel if you were actually his girlfriend and not just his pretend one."

    "That''s not going to happen; I''m not celebrity dating material¡­"

    "But that''s not how you feel, Shelby. That''s a fear-based judgment. Set that aside for now and just be curious.¡±

 Chapter 41: Shelby saves the day

    I''m feeling quite proud of myself late Monday afternoon. I spent the weekend following Vivienne''s advice and focused on my own thing.

    Rune took Lorelei to spend the weekend with their cousins near Sequim, at the northern edge of the Olympic National Park. Marguerite was teaching over in Port Townsend. Our little neighborhood was very quiet. But the quiet did me good. My oxygen mask is firmly on.

    I finished my Howl''s Moving Castle coloring page. It''s the strongest piece I''ve ever done. Using real people as the full models has brought energy, and nuanced expression to the piece I''ve never entirely captured before. I sent it to my email newsletter list and posted it on Instagram, telling people to ping me and share when they''ve colored it. But I¡¯m doing my best not to look at my phone too often.

    Sunday, I turned my attention to Horse Girls. Leslie has had to postpone my haircut until Wednesday night. That''s fine. It''ll give me more time to think about what I want.

    I expand into the dining room. I want to see if being in a new space would give me new ideas. I even went through Theo''s record collection, asking him to help me pick the music to set the right mood. He chose Joni Mitchell''s Court and Spark, Steely Dan''s Aja, and Fleetwood Mac''s Rumors to start me off. It worked. I''ve listened to each album dozens of times. I now have twelve completed drawings and three in the process spread out on the large oval dining table.

    For two days I¡¯ve moved easily back and forth between the dining room and the office, tracking down bits and pieces of information on each woman and horse to share with Rune for writing the stories. I¡¯ve also researched the layouts of other planning calendars I like, and even mocked up all of the elements I want to include in two different fonts.

    I''m singing along to Fleetwood Mac¡¯s Second Hand News, which I''m no longer feeling like, dancing around the table, when Rune bursts through the front door.

    "Shelby! What have you done!" He exclaims, coming to a sliding halt between the living room and the dining room.

    His hair is almost standing on end from pulling on it, and his jeans and t-shirt are dust-covered. Is he wearing cowboy boots?

    "It''s nice to see you too, Ruination," I say, setting down the illustration I was deliberating over while Butterscotch yips and wiggles her greetings at him at his feet, "why are you in a panic?"

    "Don''t you look at your phone?" He asks, "The director of The Troubadour Tales and her husband will be here in an hour and a half!"

    "What? No," I say, turning down the stereo, "Don''t be silly; Mandy and her husband from the costume team are coming, not the director."

    "Seashell, you space cadet, Mandy is Mandeville Bhatt-Goldfarb," he says impatiently, naming the famous director while pacing back and forth between me and the couch, for once ignoring the dog. He''s holding up his phone as if it''s evidence, "They''re coming themselves as a surprise and want to go to an early dinner. I''ve just set a land speed record from Sequim. I can''t believe I didn''t get a speeding ticket."

    "Oh," I say, feeling a little daunted that two such well-known filmmakers are coming themselves, but something about Rune''s panic doesn''t make sense, "Why aren''t you happy about this? Aren''t you glad they want to see you?"

    "That''s not the point, Shells," he says tersely, striding past me into the kitchen, "Nothing''s open around here on Mondays except fast food." He gets out a glass, pours himself tea from the pitcher on the counter, and drinks it down in one long gulp, "Further, Nan''s house is now ugly and a mess with all of Lorelei''s stuff everywhere, and there''s no time to clean it up," he sighs, running his hands through his hair again, "I really am cursed."

    "Outside, dusty green sliming Howl," I say sharply, marching out through the kitchen and the laundry room to the porch. Rune follows and slumps his horse-smelling self into one of the wooden deck chairs, "This isn''t a disaster, Ruination," I say, sitting in the chair next to him, "We''ll just make dinner for them here."

    "You do that?" The glimmer of hope in his green eyes is too enchanting. I''m so happy he''s a smelly, sunburned mess.

    "No," I correct him, pointing back and forth at the two of us, "We will, together."

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    "But I can''t actually cook, Seashell," he starts to pull at his hair again, "except, you know, grilling stuff."

    "You can set a table," I say, getting up, "I''ll go pick up my drawings while I think of what we can serve them that I already have on hand. Are they vegetarian or vegan?"

    "They''re vegetarian," Rune tells me, following me back into the house, "but leave your Horse Girls stuff where it is."

    It''s evident from the tone of his voice that he''s done that strange, about-face, emotional pivot he does so quickly. He''s all Mr. Sunshine now, beaming as he walks around the dining room table looking at my evolving project, "Let''s eat outside; I want them to see all this."

    "It just looks like a mess right now," I huff, picking up some of his previous nervousness. Preparing a lovely dinner for important people is in my wheelhouse, showing off my art in person. Not so much.

    "No," he corrects me, "It looks like a work in progress. They have horses on their ranch in Malibu." I give him a querulous look, "Seriously, horse talk helped me land the role of Gregg Allman," he adds.

    **

    Needing time to think, I send Rune home to get sparkling water, ice, any wine he might have he deems worthy of these esteemed guests, and hopefully, ice cream.

    I look over what I have in the kitchen and think about what''s in the garden. I''ve helped entertain all kinds of important creative people at my parents'' house. My father was constantly hosting respected, if not super famous, musicians and music executives for dinner parties, and my mom had big wigs from the event planning world frequently.

    Considering our time constraints, I''ll make pasta and a salad with things from the garden. We have plenty of sweet, small tomatoes that are ripe now, as well as basil. Plus, I have a bunch of asparagus in the fridge.

    I turn the oven to 400 degrees and take out two boxes of pasta. I''ll make a version of the classic Spaghetti alla Checca, but my twist includes roasted asparagus and lemon, along with the traditional fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil. It''s simple but very tasty. For dessert, I''ll do something with the strawberries Marguerite, and I preserved in honey. I have a big jar of them in the fridge that I''ve been eating on yogurt.

    Rune races back twenty minutes or so later, dragging a wheeled cooler. It''s full of water, ice, wine, and, thank God, a mostly uneaten container of salted caramel ice cream.

    Butterscotch is on his heels, barking excitedly, thinking this is a fun new game of chase. I''ve been so focused I didn''t even realize she was gone. I show Rune where Theo and Reuben''s outdoor dishes and linens are stored in two large wicker trunks in the pantry.

    "Have at it," I say, opening one and then another with a flourish, "I''m sure someone with your wardrobe flair can successfully dress a table."

    "Sweet!" Rune says, rubbing his hands together as he eyes the two sets of brightly colored picnic dishes in one and the wide variety of table linens in the other, "The napkins are already ironed. Was Reuben that organized, or is this you again with your secret Marie Kondo skills?

    "Me," I admit a little sheepishly, "I''m not normally this bad, but I found that ironing linens was a weirdly soothing task right after Theo passed."

    He nods in understanding and squeezes my shoulder, "Will you make an arrangement for the table if I cut the flowers?"

    "Of course," I nod, "we have to have flowers."

    I''m sad Theo and Reuben won''t be here to meet the director and her husband in person, even if Theo¡¯s here in spirit. They so loved entertaining interesting people. Same for my parents, but I won''t breathe a word of this to them. I don''t want to be a part of anything getting back to Franklin Haus.

    **

    Time zips by in a flurry of activity as I roast and chop to prep everything for a pasta dish that comes together quickly at the end.

    I have to hand it to Rune; he''s following my directions well. He''s focused and efficient, running back and forth between indoors and out, the dog always at his heels, bringing me more fresh basil and salad things from the garden, and grabbing the flatware and clippers for flowers in the kitchen without getting in my way.

    This reminds me of how focused and efficient Wizard Howl is when he decides to move houses and buys Sophie''s family''s old hat shop and home for them all to live and work in. In these scenes, Sophie comes to understand that for all his faults and vanity, Howl is a very smart man and a superb wizard.

    I do my best to ignore the clock. I don''t want to get sloppy while I have a knife in my hand. As I put the fresh garlic in a saut¨¦ pan with plenty of olive oil and crushed red pepper to let it sit to start flavoring, Rune comes in again.

    "The table''s set, and here are the flowers," he tells me as he sets a vibrant mix of roses and snapdragons down on the kitchen bar; Butterscotch is growling and yapping around his feet. That''s not the game. He scoops her up to quiet her.

    "Great," I tell him, finally eyeing my phone, "Go shower so you''re ready to show them Theo''s clothes when they arrive. I''ll arrange the flowers now."

    "What are you going to wear?"

    "Wear?" I ask, looking down at the vintage Blondie t-shirt from my dad and my cut-off jeans and sneakers, "I don''t have time for that," I scowl, "I''ll change my pants and put on real shoes."

    "Ah, no," he contradicts me, his energy getting anxious again, "It''s not that the shirt isn''t cool, Seashell, but you''re getting it messy. These are two of the most successful people working in episodic TV today. Don''t you want to make a good impression with more than your food and your art?"

    "Fine," I huff in exasperation, "you go find something for me, Mr. Picky Style-Obsessed Howl, and when you''re out of the shower, you''re putting together the appetizers.¡±

    "I''m happy too," Rune says, smiling sunnily now that he''s gotten his way, squeezing my shoulder again as he darts out of the room and jogs upstairs with Butterscotch on his heels.

 Chapter 42: Rune plays lord of the manor

    I make it upstairs to change with only minutes until our <bdi>guests</bdi> are supposed to arrive. <bdi>Rune</bdi>, the cheeky monkey, has laid my outfit out on the bed as artfully as when we photographed pieces of Theo¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> <bdi>collection</bdi> for sale.

    My newest pair of jeans are <bdi>neatly</bdi> <bdi>folded</bdi> with my beloved <bdi>olive</bdi>-green suede oxfords my mom found placed at a jaunty angle, a white tank <bdi>top</bdi> is <bdi>folded</bdi> inside my new <bdi>orange</bdi> and white oxford-style button-up with its sleeves rolled up just so. He¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> even <bdi>picked</bdi> out my <bdi>lipstick</bdi> (hot fuchsia) and earrings (small gold hoops). What a <bdi>showhorse</bdi> he is.

    Wouldn¡¯t he be the groom in this case, and you the <bdi>showhorse</bdi>? <bdi>Theo</bdi> <bdi>asks</bdi>, tongue completely in cheek.

    Not funny, I think.

    I recently <bdi>bought</bdi> the <bdi>shirt</bdi> at my <bdi>favorite</bdi> resale boutique in Port Townsend on a girls¡¯ day out with Luna and Marguerite. I haven¡¯t worn it yet. I was <bdi>inspired</bdi> to buy the <bdi>lipstick</bdi> after we <bdi>picked</bdi> Vivienne¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> new website <bdi>colors</bdi>, but I haven¡¯t had the nerve to try it out.

    <bdi>Rune</bdi> yells up the <bdi>stairs</bdi>, as I¡¯m finishing up slathering on the wildly expensive and delicious rose-scented lotion my sister <bdi>bought</bdi> me, after the fastest sponge bath possible.

    You¡¯ve got this, <bdi>Theo</bdi> <bdi>encourages</bdi> as I throw my clothes on <bdi>hurriedly</bdi> with suddenly shaking hands.

    I <bdi>hope</bdi> so, I think back, <bdi>gazing</bdi> at my <bdi>reflection</bdi> in the bathroom mirror. I <bdi>carefully</bdi> outline my lips with a <bdi>matching</bdi> pencil before applying the <bdi>bold</bdi> lip <bdi>color</bdi> to make them appear fuller. I <bdi>step</bdi> back and scrutinize my <bdi>reflection</bdi>. Not bad. The <bdi>color</bdi> combo of <bdi>orange</bdi> and dark pink works well with my lighter hair and makes my <bdi>brown</bdi> eyes pop. Having a personal stylist could get addictive.

    **

    There you are, sweetheart," <bdi>Rune</bdi> says in a totally seductive <bdi>Asher</bdi> Dillion kind of voice. He¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> standing in front of the fireplace as he <bdi>neatly</bdi> opens a <bdi>bottle</bdi> of salmon-colored <bdi>champagne</bdi>. <bdi>Mandy</bdi> and <bdi>Stewart</bdi> are <bdi>seated</bdi> on either side of him.

    Oh, joy, we¡¯re back to pretending, I think to <bdi>Theo.</bdi>

    This is going to be fun, <bdi>Theo</bdi> croons.

    For whom? I ask, plastering what I <bdi>hope</bdi> is a sincere-looking smile on my face.

    As the cork pops, my <bdi>stomach</bdi> lurches. <bdi>Mandy</bdi> and <bdi>Stewart</bdi> are watching me come down the <bdi>stairs</bdi> expectantly; <bdi>Stewart</bdi> has <bdi>Butterscotch</bdi> on his lap. My knees almost buckle under the wave of intense scrutiny and energy that roils off both of them.

    <bdi>Rune</bdi> seems like he hasn¡¯t a <bdi>care</bdi> in the world as he <bdi>pours</bdi> bubbly into our <bdi>guests''</bdi> upheld <bdi>champagne</bdi> flutes. Good grief. He¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> even more into <bdi>matching</bdi> things than my mother. His <bdi>olive</bdi> V-neck t-<bdi>shirt</bdi> is a few shades darker than the vintage chairs our <bdi>guests</bdi> are <bdi>seated</bdi> in, and almost the same <bdi>color</bdi> as my shoes. Everything''<bdi>s</bdi> ready for Architectural Digest photoshoot.

    <bdi>Mandy</bdi> and <bdi>Stewart</bdi> look like they do in their photos. They¡¯re two dynamic, stylish middle-aged people at home in the world, and at home with their power.

    <bdi>Mandy</bdi> says, standing to embrace me in a one-<bdi>armed</bdi> <bdi>hug</bdi>, careful of her <bdi>champagne</bdi> <bdi>flute</bdi>. Thankfully, <bdi>Stewart</bdi> just <bdi>nods</bdi> with <bdi>Butterscotch</bdi> as his excuse. Even one-<bdi>armed</bdi> Mandy¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> <bdi>hug</bdi> is strong. Her perfume is <bdi>bold</bdi> and spicy, and when she steps back again her keen dark eyes study me intently. I feel like I¡¯ve been put under a microscope. Her black hair is cut in an asymmetrical bob, shaved over her <bdi>multi</bdi>-pierced ears.

    She¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> not sure you¡¯re good enough for <bdi>Rune</bdi>, <bdi>Theo</bdi> murmurs, she¡¯ll <bdi>learn</bdi>.

    ¡°We were beginning to think you were a figment of Ash¡¯s imagination,¡± Stewart tells me, looking something like a wise owl behind his neat round horn-rim glasses.

    What does that mean? I <bdi>glance</bdi> at <bdi>Rune</bdi> quickly, but he¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> <bdi>pointedly</bdi> not looking at me as he <bdi>pours</bdi> up both <bdi>glasses</bdi> of <bdi>champagne</bdi>.

    Compared to his wife¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> dark hair and <bdi>bold</bdi>, tall curves, Stewart¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> a <bdi>neat</bdi>, slender man who appears ageless. His light <bdi>brown</bdi> hair and mustache are cut in a way that makes him look like the 1930s are his <bdi>favorite</bdi> era. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d think he was gay.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    He¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> one of my bi-tribe; they both are, Theo advises in my head, be more open-minded.

    Duly noted, I think, chastened.

    These are <bdi>fancy</bdi> people (to use one of Rune¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> word). Thank God they¡¯re not too <bdi>fancy</bdi> right now in their glamping casual. If they¡¯d shown up in designer glamour, I¡¯m unsure how I would have handled it.

    I sit on the <bdi>couch</bdi>. <bdi>Rune</bdi> sits next to me, <bdi>handing</bdi> me my <bdi>champagne</bdi>, and then rubbing the <bdi>top</bdi> of my thigh affectionately before leaning back and putting his arm across the <bdi>couch</bdi> behind me in a <bdi>favorite</bdi> staking their claim guy move.

    Does he behave like this with the women he¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> dating, or is this from <bdi>Asher</bdi> Dillion''<bdi>s</bdi> hot boyfriend repertoire? Since I¡¯m not going to get an answer to this right now, I eye the <bdi>bottle</bdi> of <bdi>champagne</bdi> and then look <bdi>pointedly</bdi> at <bdi>Rune</bdi>. I recognize the brand, it¡¯<bdi>s</bdi> quite <bdi>fancy</bdi>. Is this something he keeps on hand as part of his seduction toolkit? My parents serve it, but only <bdi>occasionally</bdi> because of the expense.

    ¡°Vivienne sent it to us,¡± he tells me, ¡°I¡¯ve been saving it for a special occasion,¡± and then to everyone he says, ¡°a toast to old friends.¡± We all clink glasses.

    Rune starts in on the sort of easy small talk you do when trying to connect your different tribes.

    ¡°This is quite a spread your two families have here,¡± Mandy says, reaching for some of the hummus and carrots I¡¯d set out on the coffee table, ¡°it¡¯s clear why you¡¯re so fond of it, Ash.¡±

    ¡°All you¡¯re missing are the horses,¡± Stewart says as he leans forward to do the same.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got paper ones in spades,¡± Rune tells them, ¡°But my 12-year-old cousin Lorelei is hard at work trying to convince her dad to allow real ones to show up again soon.¡±

    I cringe a little inwardly. I was really hoping, somehow, we were going to skip over the subject of Horse Girls.

    ¡°Paper horses?¡± Mandy asks, with a wry smile, ¡°Is that a spin on paper tigers?¡±

    ¡°No, come take a look,¡± Rune says, taking my hand and pulling me off the couch, ¡°Shelby¡¯s a marvelous illustrator.¡±

    ¡°R¡­Ash,¡± I protest, changing his name at the last second, as I set down my champagne flute.

    ¡°You draw horses?¡± Mandy says, standing quickly, ¡°We¡¯d love to see them.¡± There¡¯s a hint of challenge in her voice. Crap.

    ¡°Tell them the story about how you came up with Horse Girls Seashell,¡± Rune says as he leads me over to the dining room table, not letting go of my hand, the brat.

    This is a brilliant opportunity, Theo encourages me, step up girlfriend.

    I swallow my stage fright and say, ¡°I was taking care of my great uncle Theo here in hospice during Covid-19,¡± I¡¯m glad of Rune¡¯s hand now, ¡°Being in horse country again inspired me. I started looking for real women and horses I could create coloring pages around, and once I found the first few, it snowballed into a collection.¡±

    ¡°This one¡¯s my favorite,¡± Rune says, picking up the illustration and story of Sybil and Star and handing them to Mandy. She studies the image carefully, and my stomach twists with dread and excitement.

    ¡°You are quite talented,¡± she says in a kinder tone, but a little surprised, as if this isn¡¯t at all what she expected. ¡°Do you know Paul Revere?¡± She asks her husband as she reads. She¡¯s Canadian, so the story won¡¯t have the same impact on her.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Stewart tells her from the other end of the table where he¡¯s looking over my drawing of Sacagawea, ¡°He¡¯s one of our founding fathers. We all learn a poem about him in school,¡± and then he smiles a little ruefully, ¡°well we did back in the day.¡±

    ¡°So, this girl rode farther to warn the British than your famous founding father. Interesting,¡± Mandy says, handing the pages back to Rune and moving to look at another one. ¡°I like that you¡¯re telling stories of trailblazing women.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be including more of their story with each image,¡± I tell her, ¡°Ash is going to coach me on that part.¡± ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d been doing more in your travels than narrating books,¡± Mandy tells him with a sharp glance. Rune colors a little under her gaze.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting some ducks in line,¡± he says, ¡°brewing some immersive multi-media storytelling ideas I¡¯d like to try out with Horse Girls. Maybe short videos, things that would play well on YouTube.¡±

    Mandy nods, as if this was the right thing to say, and continues moving around the table.

    Nice save, Theo chuckles, even if he did just think of it.

    I¡¯ll say, I think back.

    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± Mandy says, moving again to the next illustration. I motion my head and make it clear the stage is still his.

    ¡°This is Annie Oakley,¡± Rune says, dropping my hand and reaching across the table from us, ¡°an American Quaker who may be one of the most accurate sharpshooters who ever lived. The 1940s Broadway musical about her and movie isn¡¯t nearly as interesting as her remarkable true story.¡±

    ¡°Also, a household name here, or she was at one time,¡± Stewart tells Mandy, ¡°I always like it when the true story is more interesting.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± says Mandy, ¡°Do you have a proposal you can send me? And are all the subjects Americans?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I say hurriedly, ¡°they¡¯re from all over the world, like the Amazons who were real,¡± both Mandy and Stewart look a little dubious at this, but I go on, ¡°They were Scythian warriors from the Eurasian steppes.¡±

    ¡°And she can draw more as we find more international stories,¡± Rune says smoothly, ¡°we¡¯re happy to send you a proposal.¡±

    ¡°These are done all on a computer?¡± Stewart asks, looking over my illustration of Black Beauty.¡±

    ¡°I start them all by hand but polish them on my computer,¡± I tell him, ¡°so they reproduce well.¡±

    Mandy is now strolling very slowly around the rest of the table gazing down at the images, studying them, occasionally sipping her champagne.

    ¡°So, these aren¡¯t just girls and women passionate about horses,¡± she says, pausing to pick up the image of Epona, the Celtic horse goddess who was featured in the Roman pantheon, ¡°These are heroes.¡±

    ¡°Not Horse Girl Heroines?¡± Rune asks.

    Mandy tsks at him, with a slight scowl, ¡°No. Hero was originally a female name in Greek, as in the story of ancient myth Hero and Leander,¡± she tells us, ¡°I would call this Horse Girl Heroes if it were my project.¡±

    ¡°I will now,¡± I agree.

 Chapter 43: Good news!

    I bow out of going to the barn to watch Mandy and Stewart look over Theo''s collection. It would be too nerve-wracking, and my head''s spinning a little from the champagne. I need to focus on not making a disaster out of lunch.

    I''m thinking of Howl''s Moving Castle. Was this what brilliant but plain doctoral student Howell Jenkins felt like when he discovered a portal to a new world? One minute, he was in Wales with a nagging older sister; the next moment, he was in a land where magic was real and had an affinity for it. How long, I wonder, did it take for him to transform into the glamorous and supremely handsome Wizard Howl?

    In my case, there''s only storytelling magic going on, but still. The idea that Rune thinks my Horse Girl stories, no make that Horse Girl Heroes stories, would make engaging short video content, and a director of Mandy''s caliber wants to see the project pitch? Color me dazzled.

    Deep breaths, Theo instructs, stay grounded.

    I''m trying! I think, as I add the salad into the bowl with my sister''s signature olive oil, lemon, garlic, and shallot dressing, I start briskly tossing it so the salad greens are evenly coated with deliciousness. I''m happy I have something to keep me busy and not floating off into fantasyland.

    Also, it''s probably valuable for Rune to have alone time with these colleagues who''ve been so important to him. Good grief, they''re intimidating. I understand now why he was in such a panic less than two hours ago. But why do they need to think we''re a couple?

    It makes him appear more stable and responsible to be in a relationship with someone he''s known for a long time, Theo says.

    I guess that makes sense, I admit, as I put the pasta into the boiling water and turn the olive oil and garlic on low.

    While waiting for the pasta to cook, I start loading the trays so we can easily take everything outside. My phone beeps. I shouldn''t check it, but I can''t help it. It''s a notification from Venmo that I''ve just received a payment. Most of my clients pay me via bank transfer. All the vintage clothing shipments I''ve sent out have already been paid for.

    I click the app open and almost drop my phone. Stewart has just paid me for the rest of Theo''s collection. The entire collection, not just the 70s and 80s. Oh my God.

    Theo, do you see this? I say out loud in an excited whisper.

    Everything''s coming up, roses, doll-baby, he says encouragingly.

    **

    We''re about halfway through dinner before anyone brings up any Hollywood business, at least in front of me. I''ve been lauded for being a genius in the kitchen. Rune and I have been regaling Mandy and Stewart with Theo''s colorful life, and they''ve shared highlights from their vacation thus far.

    They''ve been glamping and staying in scenic cabins across the Pacific Northwest, depending on how the mood strikes as they adventure in their aqua-blue vintage V.W. camper van.

    The vacation honors finishing the third section of The Troubadour Tales. This new segment debuts this September. It focuses on Linda Ronstadt and The Eagles, who originally came together as her backup band at the famous music club.

    "With Linda wrapped, we decided to take a scenic break before we jump into pre-production mode on the early 80s," Mandy tells us, "we love going on long drives to listen to music to ideate."

    "Can you share with us who they are?" Rune asks with a smile, "As long as it doesn''t leave this patio?"

    "As long as it doesn''t leave this patio," Mandy winks at him, "Rickie Lee Jones and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but we aren''t sure of the third band yet."

    "Theo''s collection will certainly help," Stewart says, serving himself more salad. He''s already told me who will be in touch to handle the clothes pick-up. No packing and shipping for me this time; I''m happy to leave it to the pros.

    "That would make him so happy," I say, wondering why Theo''s now on radio silence.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Did your dad cover shows at The Troubadour in the 80s?" Rune asks me.

    "Your dad''s a music journalist?" Mandy asks, "What an interesting family you are." Both of their energy has shifted towards me. They''re still intense people, but I feel far less judgment.

    "He''s retired from it now, mostly ghostwriting," I tell her, "But he wrote about music for the L.A. Weekly and a few other publications in the 80s. I''m sure he must have seen bands at The Troubadour."

    Stewart asks for my dad''s contact information. He''d be thrilled to talk to them.

    "Shelby''s mom starred in Franklin Haus''s first music video," Rune tells them, "I met him at a Christmas party at their house when I was thirteen." I school my face not to wince at this. Rune''s expression is pleasant, but his leg is leaning against mine like a touchstone.

    "Really?" Mandy''s eyebrows rise, and she gives me another of her considering looks, "I thought he scouted you off T.V. like he does with all his other protegees," she looks at me for a beat, and then she turns to Rune and asks almost too casually, "So, Ash are the rumors true?"

    "What rumors?" Rune asks, paying careful attention to his pasta. Crap.

    "Are you returning to acting to star in Franklin''s T.V. version of your music video fairytale with Julia?"

    "That''s news to me," Rune says carefully. His jaw flexing as he glances between them and then at me before focusing on his pasta.

    "Oh? We read about it online in a reputable source," Stewart tells him.

    "We''re having lunch with Julia Thursday," Rune tells them, "But I don''t know why they wouldn''t go with an all-Japanese cast since it was inspired by a Japanese fairytale."

    "Broader audience appeal was the reason given," Mandy says, "people want to see you and Julia together on screen again."

    Rune scowls, "I was her love interest for one season on a young adult T.V. show; our fan base isn''t that large."

    "No one''s audience is anymore, not on T.V.," Stewart laughs, except big-budget movies with worldwide appeal, which is probably why Franklin wants a multi-ethnic cast."

    "Point taken," Rune agrees, "but I''m not interested. I''m focused on writing and producing now. Shelby and I have a short documentary to make for ReWild, a non-profit she does work for here, and I''m working on getting the rights to a book Shelby and I loved as young teens."

    I feel a thrill run through me; he can''t mean Howl''s, can he?

    "Getting your old work ethic back?" Mandy asks, her demeanor softer but keener, "Can you share about the I.P.?"

    "As long as it doesn''t leave this patio," Rune says with a genuine smile, but he''s serious, "Howl''s Moving Castle," he tells them.

    My stomach flips. It''s all I can do to keep the surprise off my face. Is he serious? Or is this just to make him look like he''s busy?

    "You want to make something from a famous and beloved Studio Ghibli animated movie?" Stewart asks, sounding skeptical, a little of his earlier hauteur returning.

    "No," Rune takes a sip of water and shakes his head.

    "No darling," Mandy leans in, "I bet he wants to do something from the original Diana Wynne Jones book, am I right?"

    "It was a book first?" Stewart asks, taking out his phone and typing, "I had no idea."

    "Exactly," Rune toasts Mandy with his glass and then me, "Shelby inspired it. She recently did a coloring page recreating the book''s cover as a live-action piece starring yours truly."

    Mandy almost chokes on her water with laughter, "Oh, I bet you loved that!" she says, looking at me, and winking.

    "He did," I admit, joining in the laughter. If I were being discussed like this, I''d be under the table with embarrassment.

    "I like playing dress up," he admits, a little sheepishly, a little pink in the cheeks.

    "We have to see this coloring page," Stewart says when he stops laughing. I nod, bringing it up on my Instagram and handing him my phone. I watch eagerly as he zooms in on it and then gives me a thumbs-up before handing it to his wife.

    "That''s him all right; you caught him perfectly, Shelby, and you make a marvelous Howl, Ash," Mandy''s laughing again and sending my image to herself. Wow.

    "What is it about this story? What do you think you can do with it?" Stewart asks, taking more pasta, but he and his wife are hyper-focused on Rune now. Oh boy.

    "Two things," Rune tells them, squeezing my knee, eager to share, "I''d like to do a full audio play of the books first and then drum up the financing for a live-action short-run T.V. series. You''ve inspired me with what can be done on television now."

    "I''m glad to hear it," Mandy says happily, "I''ve never met a young actor with Rune''s level of work ethic and curiosity about our approach," she tells me, "he was the least known of everyone we looked at to play Gregg Allman, but after going through our long casting process it was clear he was the one who would disappear the most and bring forward the soul of the musician."

    I''m squeezing Rune''s leg under the table this time and toasting him with my water glass.

    "But didn''t you want to avoid playing another pretty, seductive man?" Stewart asks, "Not that you don''t play them well."

    Mandy makes a face at her husband but looks to Rune to answer.

    "I might or might not act in it. What I love about the story is that the young woman Sophie is the main protagonist. She saves Howls just as much as he saves everyone else," He tells them, his eyes shining with enthusiasm for the story, "She discovers she has her own magic that''s almost as strong as does the wizard."

    "Isn''t she cursed to be an old woman for most of the story?" Stewart asks, not looking up from his phone, "At least she was in the movie version."

    "Yes, and I think that''s what''s so important," Rune says even more excitedly, "Wizard Howl knows she''s under a curse; he''s seen her briefly as her real self early on in the book. But he falls in love with her spirit and personality as a feisty old woman."

 Chapter 44: In which Shelby and Rune visit a cozy farm stand

    Rune never gives me a satisfactory answer on whether or not he''s serious about making something with Howl''s Moving Castle. All he''ll say is he needs to wait and see how a few things pan out first and that I need to focus on getting Horse Girls Heroes ready and learning how to write short stories for it. He''s right, I do, but still, his secretiveness is annoying.

    While Lorelei''s at her horse camp on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon, he coaches me on how to map out my notes on each woman and horse and turn them into compelling stories.

    We drive over to meet with Luna in Scandia, a little south of Poulsbo on Wednesday. The Four Corners Co-Op she and Pat are involved in launching is having a soft opening before they throw the doors open for the season on Saturday.

    The small seasonal cooperative farm stand and bakery caf¨¦ will be open four days a week, Wednesdays through Saturdays until Halloween. They''ll sell seasonal produce and flowers from local farms and whatever baked goods and heartier fair Trisha, the farmer who owns the property the stand sits on, feels up to making with her four almost grown daughters daily.

    Luna and I have parked ourselves off in the far corner of the expansive wooden awning volunteers built to block both the sun and the rain for outdoor dining and socializing. She looks tired and disheveled but content as we review social media posts I''m putting together to promote the opening.

    The day is bright and breezy and perfect, but we might get rain tomorrow for our lunch in Seattle. I''m glad I''ll be wearing a suit.

    One of the goals of this Four Corners project is that it''ll not only be a place for teens to gain work experience but also be a welcoming location for them to hang out. There''s even a special section for them under a small tent canopy and copse of Alders, complete with their own tables and chairs. Someone has set up a game of cornhole.

    "It''s really coming together," I tell her, enthusiastically gazing around at how charmingly decorated the place is, "I can''t believe this is the same place I saw just a few weeks ago."

    The dining area is populated with an assortment of vintage tables and chairs donated by many local antique dealers. Where chairs aren''t available hay bales fill in for seating. Everything wooden has been painted in bright yellows, pinks, and teals as a nod to the Scandinavian heritage of the region.

    "It''s been a lot of work, but hopefully, it''ll be worth it; the kids are all so excited," she scrubs her hands over her face and then looks over to where Rune appears to be wrapping up his impromptu photo session.

    For the past half an hour, he''s been taking pics of a group of teens wearing brightly colored Four Corners Co-Op t-shirts. They''ll all work here part-time over the summer and fall for school credit. They''re all laughing and chatting with Rune easily. They even began hamming it up for him once they got over their stage fright of meeting this handsome stranger. None appear to recognize him, but a few girls have blushed and giggled under his direction. I make a mental note to add this to the things I like about how he treats people. Most of the time he''s unfailingly polite to strangers and takes special care with young people.

    "How''d they turn out?" Luna asks as Rune comes striding up to our table with his easy long gate.

    "Take a look," he says, handing her his digital camera, "Seashell, we should do some of the video interviews here in the fall," his baseball cap is on backward in photography mode, and his green eyes are particularly bright as he gazes around the store and the patio area. I can practically see the idea wheels turning in his head.

    "These are excellent, Rune, thank you!" Luna says happily, "They''ll be perfect for the website and social media."

    "When will you need the next fundraising video?" I ask Luna, as she scrolls through the images on Rune''s camera. We haven''t received word yet if the budget for the new project is a go, but I''m going to pretend it is. Everything else (except my love life) is panning out for me right now, why not this?

    "Giving Tuesday is early in December," she tells me, "I think we''d want to have it about a month in advance."

    "Can you come back in September for us to shoot it so I have October for editing?" I ask him.

    "Of course, I''ll only be three hours away," he gives me a glance like this is a no-brainer, "but I may need a place to stay." I nod. My libido has all kinds of suggestions, which I squash quickly.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "These are fantastic, Rune; thank you!" Luna beams at him. He''s nodding and striding away, obviously intent on photographing something else.

    "Are you sure nothing is going on there?" Luna asks, her eyes sparking with mischief as she stands to go back to setting up the wooden structure that will display ready-made floral bouquets, "He needs a place to stay when his house is right next door? Hello?"

    "I''m sure," I tell her, wishing I could fill her in on all that''s going on in Rune''s life, that anything he''s doing that appears ''date-like'' is all a ruse, "he doesn''t get along very well with his cousin''s fianc¨¦e."

    After Luna returns to work and Rune finishes taking photos, he goes over storytelling tips again while we wait for our sandwiches. He''s being patient, trying to find a way for my visual brain to grasp what he''s been coaching me on.

    "Think of the narrative arc as a triangle," Rune says, writing notes in his neat, slanted hand for me along the triangle he''s drawn on a blank piece of paper in his small dark green fabric-covered notebook.

    He''s using the sample story of the British equestrian Marion Coakes and Stroller, the only pony to compete in show jumping at the Olympics. In 1968, at the Mexico City games, the pair won the silver medal for individual jumping when Marion was only twenty-one years old.

    I''m furiously scribbling notes in my bucket list notebook when they call my name from the farm stand food counter.

    "I''ll get them," I tell him, jumping up and putting the phone to my ear, "upload your images into my computer."

    As I make my way across the seating area of chatting diners, my phone rings with my sister Syd''s number.

    "Bill''s not coming to Seattle with us," she says without preamble.

    "Oh, Syd, I''m so sorry," I say, maneuvering around the line at the counter to pick up our tray, "You don''t think there''s a chance he''ll change his mind?"

    "Highly unlikely," she says dryly as I look at the sandwiches and realize they''ve given us the wrong order.

    "Hold on a sec," I say, and tell the young woman handing out orders about the mix-up. The poor thing turns bright red and promises it''ll be just a minute for her to make the right ones for us.

    "So, what''s going on?" I ask as I step into a little alcove behind a large potted tree to move away from the conversation buzz of the growing crowd. I peek around it and can make out Rune across the increasing group of diners; he''s immersed in reading something, making notes.

    "Bill''s set on buying back that other bike store," Sydney continues, "We''re splitting up the house fund so he can do it. The good news is that I now have the rest of the money for the roof."

    "That is good news, but I wish you were all coming up here like you planned."

    "Me too," she says grimly, "Anyway, Nils and I will be driving up in two weeks. I''m making a road trip vacation out of it, so it doesn''t suck quite so much."

    Since our sandwich order still isn''t ready, she catches me up on what Nils is up to. It''s another ten minutes before our correct order is finally prepared. They were smart to do a soft opening, all of the customers know this crew is still getting their game on.

    When I join Rune again, he''s still intently making notes on his phone. He starts a little when I set the tray down, he must have been far away in his mental musings.

    "I got a call from Gunnar this morning," Rune tells me as I sit down and hand him his sandwich. He''s done one of those pivots. His energy has changed from a friendly, focused teacher to a muted, almost grumpy one, "He''s coming at the beginning of August to take Lorelei camping for a couple of weeks."

    "I just got off the phone with my sister; she and Nils will be coming up not long after," I tell him, but not sharing more.

    "Lorelei will be thrilled, she''s been crushing big time on your nephew," he says, still not sounding happy as he moves his camera and notebook out of the way. I tuck my own notebook under my laptop, realizing with embarrassment that if he''d picked it up and flipped through it, he might have seen my Sexpectations homework. Ack! But it''s a silly thought; why would he have done that?

    "I bet she''s excited about the camping trip too," I say as I guess the reason for his mood change, "but you don''t sound happy about it."

    "I want to be," he admits, "I''m happy he''s taking her off by themselves for a week, but the second week, Jenna''s meeting up with them at the Hoe Rain Forest at the lodge there."

    "Lorelei''s not going to like that part," I say, taking a bite of my delicious chicken salad, it was worth the wait, "Is there something beyond Jenna''s color sense that rubs you the wrong way?"

    "You spent time with her, what do you think? He asks, opening the bag of chips we decided to split.

    "That''s answering a question with a question, Mr. Slither-outer, just like Wizard Howl," I tsk at him.

    "It''s my favorite diversion tactic," Rune smiles slyly, even though the smile doesn''t reach his eyes, "So, your thoughts on Jenna?" He nudges.

    I roll my eyes at him but say, "She was perfectly nice to me, but I don''t know," I stall, focusing on my sandwich, pondering how to say what I feel, and then finally say, "She feels a bit possessive and Hollywood-ish for him."

    "Yes, agreed on the possessive. But what does Hollywood-ish mean?" Rune asks, pausing his own bite, quirking that right eyebrow at me, "Is that how you describe me?"

    "I''ve heard her comment several times that she wishes he was still doing active sports modeling," I tell him, ignoring his second question. Two can play that game, "That he could have a great platform," I say, making air quotes with my fingers.

    "The problem with that," Rune says, already done with the first half of his sandwich and picking up the second, "is that Gunner hated modeling; he only did it as an easy way to make money to travel. He''s not vain and interested in creating stylish images like I am."

 Chapter 45: The ferry ride to Seattle

    "Let''s go order drinks in the caf¨¦!" Lorelei urges excitedly, almost as soon as we''ve walked onto the Ferry from Bainbridge to Seattle midmorning on Thursday.

    Rune nods as we follow her through the lines of cars to the metal stairs that take us up to the observation decks, but he seems distracted. His mood is still muted. I imagine he''s anxious about seeing Julia and asking his favor. He likes my haircut, though, which is a relief. Leslie chopped more than six inches off, giving me a neat bob just a few inches past my chin.

    He''s probably nervous about being recognized now that we''re going into a big city. He''s not wearing his baseball cap today but doesn''t take off his sunglasses as we step into the ferry caf¨¦ area. He''s also careful where he places his gaze, keeping his eyes on the ground before him or me or Lorelei.

    This is so different than how my mom behaves in crowds. She loves them, loves standing out with her unique manner of dress, always open to the possibility of speaking to anyone who recognizes her.

    It feels like we''ve walked into 60s. It''s too bad we don''t have our Summer of Love costumes on. Ha ha. Rune chooses one of the broad, picture window booths with no one else sitting nearby. He sits facing away from the caf¨¦ where a small crowd of tourists gathered. The booth would be at home in the diner, except that it''s so large, even as tall as we are, we could stretch out easily for a nap.

    "Can I buy our drinks by myself?" Lorelei asks, not sitting down but dancing back and forth anxiously. She''s wearing a lovely sage green pair of knit flair-legged pants and a long matching top over it. I French braided her hair into a crown on the top of her head this morning.

    "Yes," Rune tells her, reaching for his wallet, but I''ve beat him to it. I stuck some cash in my pocket for things like this. He starts to scowl at me as I hand her the money but demurs when he sees my determined look. Just because he bought me this outfit doesn''t mean I want to let him always buy everything. I insisted on paying for lunch yesterday.

    Fortunately, this early in the day, mid-week, the Ferry isn''t crowded at all. Most passengers are outside watching the water in hopes of viewing marine life or seated in the forward-facing prow section, reading newspapers or their phones.

    "When was the last time you were in Seattle?" Rune asks after Lorelei zips off. He''s looking particularly dapper in another beautiful light brown double-breasted suit. This one is tweed with a sage green stripe. His sage green shirt sets both the suit and his eyes off beautifully and makes the red in his hair pop

    "Last February, my parents came up and met me for my birthday," I tell him, enjoying his handsomeness. How would I feel if he were really my boyfriend right now? Pretty darn happy, I think, and then tell him, "They took us to the place in the Pike that makes different interesting kinds of pasta daily. It''s extremely authentic."

    "Us?" he asks.

    "Jack," I smile ruefully at him. Someone in the cafe laughs loudly, and I turn away from him, a little self-conscious. Sitting here by ourselves right now, it could almost be an actual date. How would that feel? A little odd in that we''re the most well-dressed people on the Ferry. I''ve only noticed two other men in suits. I''ve never felt so fashionable in my entire life.

    It''s all I can do to keep from pulling out my compact to check my new haircut and the bold fuchsia lipstick Rune picked out for me to wear when I met Mandy and Stewart. Leslie went through my makeup after she cut my hair and insisted I wear it with this ensemble.

    "Has Jack been in touch?" He asks, almost too casually, taking out his phone and glancing down at it.

    "No, I was worried he would text me images of Iceland but thankfully not."

    "I''m sorry that didn''t work out better, Seashell," he says, putting his glasses on his head and pinching the bridge of his nose like he''s got a headache, "he''s an idiot."

    "I appreciate that," I give him a small smile and dig through my small purse for the container of ibuprofen I always keep. I hold it up, and he nods. His fingers graze mine as he takes it from me. A shiver of delight runs up my arm.

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    "Thanks," he pops it open, shaking out two before handing it back.

    "School me on what to expect with Julia today," I say as I put the little bottle back, "Are you on good terms?"

    "Yes and no," he says, holding the pills in his fist, "We''re on much better terms than we were, but¡­." he tilts his other hand back and forth.

    "But?" I nudge, wishing I''d thought to have this conversation yesterday.

    "She can be a challenge when she knows I want something," he says with a slight frown, "I''m only agreeing to meet with her in person because I want something in return, and I have you and Lorelei with me.

    Now he''s rubbing his fingers over his upper lip, stalling, which makes me realize he shaved today. Interesting. I''d love to rub my cheek against his right now. Good grief, I''m ridiculous.

    "Spit it out, Ruination," I say, mentally shaking myself, "what are you so worried about?"

    "Julia can be blunt and nosy," he says, "all done with incredible charm, but she''ll go for the jugular if she thinks it''ll give her a leg up¡­"

    Now he''s rubbing his fingers over his mouth, not as if he''s trying to be sexy, although it is sexy, but as if he''s still trying to decide whether or not it''s wise to tell me everything he''s thinking.

    "One Coke and two Oranginas," Lorelei says, setting the drink tray down with a flourish, "can I walk around now? I want to take pics for my scrapbook."

    "Yes, but stay on this level and set the timer on your phone. Don''t be gone longer than fifteen minutes," Rune tells her as I open my Coke and take a grateful sip of carbonated sugar; my shoulders relax a little as I do.

    "Yes sir," she salutes him and saunters off at a fast walk, her drink in hand. Rune turns his focus back to me while he opens his drink and downs the pills in his hand with a swig.

    "Will Julia try to embarrass you?" I ask, "Me? Both of us?"

    "It depends on her mood. I''d like to be out in front of that.

    "How do we do that?"

    Rune glances around and then leans in, resting his hand on his chin, speaking lower, "The book you came up with is excellent. Thank you. I''m glad we have that. But it would also be lovely if she thinks we''re, you know, extremely happy."

    "As a couple?" I clarify, taking another sip of Coke to help my growing nerves.

    "Yes. Like we''re in the honeymoon phase," he says cocking that right eyebrow at me like he''s telling me a sexy secret, "Like we''ve accomplished your list."

    "My list¡­?" I blink at him, confused, and then, oh no. My face heats.

    "Ruination!" I exclaim in a terse whisper, leaning in as well, "Tell me you didn''t read my Sexpectations homework yesterday."

    "I didn''t mean to," he admits, going wide-eyed, "I thought it was more of your interesting tips about social media, but it was so fascinating I couldn''t help myself¡­"

    "Oh my God," I cut him off, putting my hand over my eyes, "just shoot me now."

    "Why?" He looks genuinely confused at my mortification when I peer at him around my fingers,

    "Why should you be ashamed of accomplishing a fantastic sex life? Who doesn''t want that?" He says this as if it''s a no-brainer, almost as if he''s jealous.

    "Because I haven''t yet!" I whisper testily before I can stop myself. Crap.

    "Oh," he says, surprised, "but it was written as if¡­"

    "I was trying out Vivienne''s whole positive affirmation technique," I sigh, taking a bigger sip of Coke. I may need some of that ibuprofen myself. I can''t believe I''ve blurted this out. He''s the last person I want to think I don''t know how to enjoy sex.

    "Ah," as the truth dawns on him, "Not even with toys¡­?" He asks. I glower at him.

    Inside my head, I hear Theo''s very faint cackle of laughter. Rune sits back, suddenly much more relaxed, happy even. Great. My embarrassment is making him feel better.

    "Why is this honeymoon-ness so important?" I ask tightly, trying to deflect the attention away from my humiliating admission, "Is this you trying to get even somehow? In which case, I''m hardly the right choice to make a beautiful and successful TV actress jealous."

    Especially when I suck at sex, I think but don''t add.

    "Oh, you''re completely perfect," he assures me, smiling smugly, "she was always jealous of anyone in my life before she came into it. Our being an item will not make her happy."

    "Wait, didn''t you tell her about me when you set this all up?" I ask, aghast.

    "No, I only told her about Lorelei coming. She would never have agreed if I told her I was bringing my new girlfriend, who happens to be my old summertime bestie."

    "Rune!" I quietly exclaim, "Won''t this make her less likely to help you? What if she causes a scene?"

    "Relax, she won''t make a scene in front of other people," he''s grinning now, "it''s a gamble, but she''ll probably think it''s well played. She''s super competitive."

    "This could go badly," I warn, feeling my stomach twist with dread.

    "It could, but it''s important to negotiate with her from a place of strength. I need her to see I''m getting my life back together after the cocktail of awful she added to; I completely mentally and physically shut down," he says darkly.

    "I''m sorry," I say, seeing the vulnerability blooming on his face. I reach over and squeeze his hand gently, "That''s understandable."

    "I mean absolutely," he says, with more emphasis, squeezing lightly back, "so please don''t be embarrassed about your list."

    "Okay¡­" I say carefully, confused. What is he getting at? Did he refuse to get out of bed? Was he committed to a mental hospital? What am I not understanding here? Just as I''m going to ask for more details, he straightens and drops my hand.

    "They have some fascinating old photos on the wall over there," Lorelei says enthusiastically, obliviously, as she arrives at the table out of breath. "I snapped some cool pics for my scrapbook."

 Chapter 46: A fancy lunch with the Empress

    "Ash! Lorelei!" Julia Endo calls as she makes her way toward us through the crowd in The Pink Door''s dining room where we''re seated in the back corner. The famous actress doesn''t appear to be walking so much as floating across the floor. Lorelei has shared that her nickname is the Empress. It¡¯s clear why. She definitely gives off an air of royalty, especially with her entourage behind her.

    Julia¡¯s wearing a gorgeous blush suit that goes perfectly with the pink tones of the restaurant''s charmingly romantic decor. She planned this, of course, or her stylist did.

    On her shoulder is a small, neat, slightly darker blush handbag. One of her own designs, I''m sure. I hate to admit it, but I studied her Instagram feed last night. She apparently spends just as much time on her line of purses and accessories as she does on acting projects.

    Rune, Lorelei, and I all stand as if we''re receiving a visiting dignitary. This means we can see the reaction of the crowd, some of whom recognize Julia with happy excitement, and others who simply admire this vision of loveliness.

    "Isn''t this a lovely surprise?" Julia says, beaming up at Rune before they air kiss each other on each cheek in European style. She shows no evidence of annoyance that I''ve been sprung on her, "It''s a party!" she exclaims as if entirely delighted.

    A team of four twenty-somethings trails her. They''re not quite so stylishly dressed but close, including a strapping young man all in black who appears to be a modern-day Samurai. He must be her bodyguard, but who are the other three? Does she really need three assistants for lunch?

    One of the young women hands her a white gift bag filled with light pink tissue paper (of course!). Then she and another sit at the table behind us, two at the table next to us. They all take out their phones and start busily texting, except for her bodyguard, who keeps scanning the room.

    Ah. I get it. What a smart setup to keep fans from getting too close and disturbing lunch. Julia hands the gift bag to Lorelei with both hands and makes a slight bow, the way I''ve seen Japanese people do in movies.

    Lorelei mimics her, bowing back, and says, "Thank you."

    "A little bird told me you''re into scrapbooking now," Julia tells Lorelei, focusing all her attention on the girl, "I thought I''d bring you some Japanese scrapbooking tools."

    "I am. Thank you!" Lorelei says excitedly, "Shelby''s even teaching me how to sketch for it."

    "Shelby," Julia draws out my name in a way that makes it sound like the most charming one in the world, "What a pleasure to finally meet you," she shakes my hand and uses her other hand to support mine as if this is indeed an important meeting.

    Finally? Okay, Rune admitted he talked about me. This should make me feel good. It doesn''t. I feel like an awkward giant beside this petite piece of graceful perfection. I''m grateful we quickly sit down.

    "What a treat!" Julia says, settling into her seat next to Lorelei, across from Rune, facing the restaurant, "Thank you all for making time for me."

    She smiles prettily as our waiter comes around with menus and asks if we''d like sparkling or still water, "Sparkling, don''t you think?" She asks us all, and of course, we nod in agreement. After all, we''ve already had the still, flat, boring tap water while waiting for her. Rune was right that she¡¯d be late.

    If it''s possible, Julia''s even more beautiful in person. She''s elegance personified in her gorgeous suit, tasteful but expensive jewelry, and her long black hair worn in a shiny, elaborately twisted braid over her shoulder. I''m so glad I have this new outfit, haircut, and fancy bright lipstick, or I''d be a pathetic country mouse. I''m not sure I fully understood what great armor the right outfit can be. No wonder Rune became a clothes horse when he got famous.

    "Can I open my gift?" Lorelei asks eagerly.

    "Why don''t you figure out what you want to eat first?" Rune suggests.

    "Oh, right!" Lorelei picks up the menu, glancing over it hurriedly.

    "I hope you don''t mind; I had my assistant order a few appetizers to start us off," Julia says as two servers set down an array of platters in front of us, "as a sushi lover, I had to try their tuna, crudo."

    "Shelby has family in Lake Como," Rune tells Julia conversationally as he reaches for a piece of crostini on one of the plates, "She speaks Italian fluently."

    This is a slight exaggeration, though I do speak it well. I''m surprised he remembers.

    "Lake Como!¡± Julia exclaims, ¡°Did you ever see George Clooney?" Her eyes are wide in a way that reminds me of what Rune does when he wants to disarm someone, "Rune, remember when we saw him at that party in the Hollywood Hills. We chickened out of saying hello," she laughs, switching to his first name easily.

    "We were way too starstruck," Rune agrees, filling his plate with more appetizers.

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    "I saw him zip by with his friends in a speedboat once," I tell her, which is actually true. Julia looks impressed. My tight stomach relaxes a smidge.

    "I''m so jealous," she says, glancing at her menu, which I''m pretty sure she studied ahead of time as well, "do you go to Italy regularly?"

    "My parents go every summer, but I haven''t been in a few years," I tell her, "My dad''s family is from Milan, but they have a house in the tiny mountain Brunate, right above Como."

    "We took a tram up there when we went, didn''t we?" She asks Rune, who nods over his appetizers.

    "It''s much nicer to take the funicolare straight up the mountain than drive the stomach-twisting car trip," I agree, using the Italian word for mountain tram. Rune squeezes my knee under the table, but I''m unsure if he''s cheering me on for language dropping or warning me to be careful.

    All things considered, lunch is going well. Julia is that consummate professional conversationalist who asks questions as much as she talks. The food is excellent. Lorelei eats over half her meatball sandwich before returning to all of her new scrapbooking swag. I''m enjoying my Summer in the Northwest Risotto with fresh seafood and seasonal vegetables.

    "Rune," Julia asks casually, "how are you? I''m not used to seeing you quite so svelte and red gold, but it works on you.

    "That''s his natural hair color," Lorelei says quickly before Rune can respond. I''m still ruminating on Julia¡¯s back-handed ¡®it works on you¡¯ compliment.

    "Yes, sweet, I know you''re twins that way," Julia smiles patiently at Lorelei, "you''re both lucky to have such distinctive coloring," she turns back to Rune, "You''re sleeping better?" She tilts her head in concern, "And those other unpleasant side effects from all the stress have cleared up?"

    Her voice sounds concerned, but there''s something behind it that seems like she''s also trying to land a dart. Rune''s comments about having a united front on the Ferry come back to me as he shifts in his seat and presses his calf against mine.

    "We''re both sleeping much better," Lorelei cuts in again with her impeccable timing, barely glancing up from her phone, "Aren''t we?"

    "We are," Rune gives Lorelei a wink, then rests his arm across the back of my chair, squeezing my far shoulder gently. I turn to him. He''s gone totally Asher Dillion. His green eyes are hooded and lazy. His gaze is so one for being alone in the bedroom a blush rises in my cheeks. He glances down at my mouth for a beat before turning back to Julia.

    Holy guacamole. I''ve never smoked, but I feel like I need a cigarette. I wish he hadn''t made me blush on purpose. I turn such an unappealing bright red.

    "How''s Ben?" Rune asks, turning back to Julia and naming her rockstar boyfriend, the one she starred in the music video that Rune directed, the one she left him for.

    "Quite well, thank you," Julia says a little too brightly, "we''re looking for a project we can work on together. He wants to branch out from music, act more, and stop touring so much. I''ve been getting a little lonely and bored working such long hours in Vancouver and Seattle on this new pilot project."

    Ah. So lonely and bored means it''s time to reach out to Rune, who is only across Puget Sound right now. The project she''s talking about is her newest possible TV series. Rune told me it was a spin-off of her top-rated show about a young Japanese American woman making it as a game designer in Silicon Valley. Rune played her wealthy tech wiz on-again-off-again boyfriend from Austin for two seasons.

    "We may have just the thing," Rune says as he texts on his phone, "If you can help me out on a project I''m working on, I think we''ve got a very promising IP for you."

    Julia opens her dainty little purse and picks up a pink iPhone, "Do you really want to be involved in such unpleasantness?" She asks after reading with a small sigh.

    "Yes, I think it''s finally time that I face it and tell my side of the story. Your support would be extremely valuable," Rune says, low but firm as he types more. Julia reads his next text. She looks up at him again, her face now schooled in a pleasant expression, but her words are serious.

    "If I say yes to this, I''ll be closing the door to the movie with Franklin, and the backlash against you could get worse," she tells him, "I know he doesn''t want that. He wants to make peace."

    Wow. She¡¯s admitting there is a backlash against Rune, and Franklin has something to apologize for.

    "Leaking to the press that I''m in talks to star in the movie version without talking to me isn''t the way to start that process," Rune tells her, "Especially since I didn''t just direct the music video, I wrote the script and our production company owns the rights."

    "That was some writer overhearing us talk at a party, not Franklin''s doing," Julia winces a little, then waves her hand dismissively, "It''s just at the talking stage, but yes, we''d love to have you onboard."

    "I''m not going back to acting right now," he tells her, "Shelby and I have other projects we''re focused on producing."

    "Rune, our fans are getting so excited about this possible project. You know they''ve been asking for it for years. For me personally, it''s still an uphill slog to get Hollywood to let Asian actresses star in movies."

    "All the more reason to seriously develop your own projects beyond handbags," Rune says in a lecturing tone, setting down his fork from the Cassarecce alla Genovese, long twists of pasta with green beans, roasted potatoes, pesto, and pine nuts.

    "Rune, this movie could be brilliant if you were on the creative team. Franklin is still a powerful producer," Julia leans forward, her voice sweetly encouraging, "Why don''t fly down to L.A. and set up a meeting with him? Tell him everything you need to say face to face."

    Rune leans back, a mulish expression on his face but she continues doggedly, "You were both going through a terrible time during that filming," she continues, her voice now soothing, "Covid was such a nightmare, and then your mother''s abrupt passing after she was doing so well. And Franklin had such a dreadful time with that director. She was an absolute disaster that he admits he was drinking heavily at the time."

    Something about how Julia says this last bit reminds me of how my mother responded to my challenges with Pamela. It''s off-putting. It doesn¡¯t place responsibility on the one who did the harm. I put my fork down. My pasta''s no longer appetizing.

    "Isn''t one of the 12 steps to take accountability for your own bad behavior?" Rune asks Julia pointedly. Good for him, but oh boy, here we go. Under the table, Rune presses his full leg against mine as if seeking solidarity. I squeeze his knee encouragingly. "AA isn''t for him," Julia wrinkles her perfect nose in distaste, "he went to a private program."

    "I''m not going to call him Julia, I''m not flying to L.A." Rune tells her, "I hope he¡¯s working with you on an actual film after he strung us along about Sh¨­gun for years when he never had the rights to the book. If he wants to apologize, he can email me, and I''ll consider whether or not I''ll have actual conversation with him."

 Chapter 47: Vivienne has her game on

    "Rune," Julia says, sitting back and looking at him under her lashes as she takes a dainty bit of her pasta, "Sh¨­gun was all his partner''s fault. Franklin thought he had the rights to the book. He''s still one of the most talented producers in Hollywood."

    "Is he?" Rune asks tiredly, and Julia''s eyebrows shoot up in shock. Boy, Franklin really has her singing the tune he wants.

    "Of course he is," she says as if she''s shocked he can question this. "How cynical you''re getting in your old age," Julia laughs her musical laugh again. What''s so special about this book that I should take such a risk when Franklin says he''s about ready to go into pre-production."

    "Julia, Franklin might not be doing much of anything for a while when this comes out," Rune says, his voice serious.

    Julia chews on her lower lip for a second, the most authentic thing I''ve seen her do the whole lunch.

    "It''s a book I found out about on Wattpad," I say, "It''s been indie-published, but a couple of reputable publishers are showing interest."

    "So, I can snap it up before them?" She asks us both.

    "Possible. The author would be happy to talk to you," I tell her, which is true. I checked. "It''s a retelling of Jane Austen''s Persuasion, but it''s set in Palos Verdes."

    "It''s perfect for you," Rune concurs.

    Julia is all ears as Rune and I tell her the story serendipitously about a Japanese American woman whose once-wealthy family has fallen on hard times.

    "Are you joining our production team?" Julia asks when we wind down. It''s clear that lunch is almost over.

    "She might be," Rune hedges, and I try not to show my surprise, "But Shelby''s quite busy just at the moment on her own projects."

    "You''re a producer?" her opinion of me visually elevates.

    "I''m an illustrator," I tell her. Her interested expression tones down a notch.

    "Shelby''s illustrating a day planner with famous Horse Girls Heroes from history and drawing Rune for Howl''s Magic Castle," Lorelei tells Julia, apparently bored with her phone games and new gifts for now, "can I show her?"

    "Of course," Rune speaks up before I can.

    "You''re drawing Rune as a character from a famous animated Japanese film?" Julia asks, her tone makes it clear she thinks it''s in poor taste.

    "No," I say, and her eyes narrow. I continue quickly, "The film is amazing, but it''s based on the 1986 book by the British author Diana Wynne Jones."

    Julia gives Rune a glance as if this can''t be true. I understand. Hayao Miyazaki, the director of the animated Howl''s, is a living legend for his incredible body of work.

    "My mom shared the book with Shelby and me one summer, and it became a mutual favorite," Rune adds as Lorelei hands Julia her phone. Julia raises her eyebrows higher as her fingers scroll. She must be looking at my drawing of Rune as Howl.

    "My illustrations are based on the book as if it was made as a live-action film," I add.

    "Howl''s more of an anti-hero in the book," Rune tells Julia, "Snarkier and funnier."

    "How appropriate," Julia glances up at him quickly, with a wry twist to her lovely lips, "Shelby, you''ve captured him well," she tells me, and it feels like an authentic compliment.

    I can see that she''s scrolling through more of my Instagram. The last piece I posted was one of the last Horse Girl drawings I''ve been working on. It''s Aisholpan Nurgaiv, the first female equestrian eagle hunter from Mongolia, whom I learned about from the inspiring 2016 documentary film The Eagle Huntress.

    "I saw this film," Julia says, reading my post, "it was amazing."

    "It was," I agree.

    "Do you know about the Yabusame female horse archers?" She asks, talking of the traditional martial art competition of shooting arrows at targets from horseback while at a full gallop.

    "Yes. I plan on drawing one for this project," I say, thinking the universe does work in mysterious ways. I may have passed a test, a small one anyway.

    "Will you send me a picture of it when you do? I have a cousin who competes," she says, handing Lorelei back her phone. Of course, I agree; I''m not an idiot.

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    One of Julia''s assistants catches her eye. We''ve been here for well over an hour.

    "Did you walk onto the Ferry," Julia asks, "can we drop you someplace on our way?"

    "We''re good," Rune tells her.

    "We''re off to pick out a new model horse; I have thirty-five of them now," Lorelei says, scooting off the couch after Julia.

    "That''s quite a feat, well done," Julia tells her with a graceful bow, "Shelby, it was such a pleasure. I''ll be eternally grateful if you find anything else right for me."

    "We''ll keep you posted," I say; why not while we''re pretending this fantasy of my having a famous boyfriend and a great sex life? Vivienne will be so proud of me.

    As Julia and her team leave to the admiring and lingering gazes of the guests, Lorelei says to Rune quietly, "I''m going to check out the photographer situation."

    "Good call," he smiles, and she scoots off.

    "What''s Lorelei doing?" I ask as she weaves her way out of the dining room.

    "Checking for paparazzi," Rune tells me, "In case any linger after Julia''s left."

    "Do you think they followed her here?" My dread rises again.

    "More likely, someone from her team tipped them off. Can I try your pasta?" Rune asks. I nod, and we sit again.

    "They''re still there," Lorelei returns a few minutes later, a little breathlessly, standing beside him, eager to be off to look for horses. I am, too.

    "Ask if we can go out the back," Rune tells her, "And then find us a parallel route to get to the toy store."

    "Will do," Lorelei agrees and zips off again. Since Rune is finishing my lunch, I pick at the appetizer plate. When our waiter comes over, followed by Lorelei, he agrees that we can use the back exit, but when Rune tries to pay the bill, he tells him Julia has already paid for it.

    "That''s nice of her," I say as we follow the waiter out.

    "It''s the least she could do," Rune says dryly.

    **

    "Sensuality coach Vivienne Adesina is here to help us make our summers even hotter with her free eBook Sexpectations," the pretty but generically blonde host says in the opening of Vivienne''s T.V. interview.

    "That''s the plan," Vivienne laughs her rich, infectious laugh. She appears entirely at home, seated with her two hosts at the big, wide interview table.

    Marguerite and I are sitting in the dining room Thursday afternoon, a week after my trip to Seattle, to meet Julia, taking a break from prepping green beans for our next canning tutorial with Luna this evening. We''re watching Vivienne''s T.V. interview, which she just sent me the link to.

    The week has melted by in a flurry of activity. Between getting everything ready for the launch of Vivienne''s e-book yesterday (complete with glowing testimonials from three influencers), creating social media posts for myself, ReWild, and Rune, and keeping up with the profusion of produce in the garden I''ve been running hard. It''s lovely to sit for a few minutes and watch Vivienne do her thing in celebration.

    "Wow," Marguerite says, "This is her first T.V. interview? I wish I had her confidence!"

    "Me too," I agree. Viv is picture-perfect in her favorite light lemon suit, which matches her eBook cover''s highlight colors and, of course, the website.

    "This is quite a thought-provoking little book, Vivienne," the older handsome-in-a-square-jaw-way male host says, holding up an iPad with the eBook cover.

    "It is!" I agree with the television. I can''t help myself. I clap, thrilled to see my own artwork on T.V.

    "I''ve got to ask Vivienne, why do you consider yourself a sensuality coach instead of a sex coach?" the male host continues, "School us on the difference."

    "School us all!" Marguerite exclaims, toasting the T.V. with her iced tea.

    "Excellent question, Ron. I''m happy to share," Vivienne leans towards the two interviewers like she''s telling a secret, "There''s a personal foundation we need to be clear about to have a truly pleasurable love life. Most of us skip this step because, in our modern society, social media, advertising, movies, peer pressure, books, magazines, you name it, encourage us to be rather mindless and jump into bed with someone before we know ourselves well enough to have a really present pleasurable time during sex."

    "Oh!" The female host exclaims with a small laugh, "This hits way too close to home for me. But isn''t it true that sex is just easier for men to enjoy than it is for most women?"

    Fascinatingly, the female host is more interestingly attractive to me now that she''s being authentic. Or maybe it''s because we now have something in common?

    "Let''s give specifics to that generalization, Jillian," Vivienne says kindly to the female host, "I believe what you''re referring to is not that act of being intimate in general, but sexual intercourse."

    "Right," host Jillian nods, looking both uncomfortable and relieved that Vivienne''s going there. I''m right there with her.

    "Studies show that over 80% of women don''t orgasm from intercourse alone; they need additional stimulation, but for many women, that''s an intimidatingly difficult conversation to have with someone you don''t know very well," Vivienne tells them.

    "Wow, it''s that high?" Host Ron asks, his tone and expression both querulous, "Even in our modern ''find everything on the Internet'' era?"

    "Sadly, yes. The data''s all in the back of my e-book," Vivienne says as if she, too, is shocked it''s still that bad. "But Ron, men don''t get off scot-free in all of this," she continues. "if they don''t understand their real needs and feelings¡­" Viv hunches her shoulders and shakes her head in warning, "It''s my belief men wouldn''t need nearly so much Viagra if they were in touch with their full array of emotions and expectations. Something to think about as one gets older."

    "Ouch for men, but something to be aware of!" Marguerite laughs, "Especially in my age bracket."

    I join in, but something about Vivienne''s words is nagging at me. Rune''s face flashed into my mind as we sat facing each other on the ferry booth last week when he said: I was totally shut down.

    Is this what he was trying to tell me? It can''t be. He''s been a mad, breaking-hearts fiend.

    Are you sure? Theo asks, Maybe you should ask him about it instead of relying on the internet.

    But then I''d have to admit I''ve been snooping, I think to Theo, and that would be mortifying.

    "I called the book Sexpectations because we''re all walking around with a jumble of ideas about ourselves and our lovers that we might not be conscious of," Vivienne''s voice breaks into my musing.

    Boy isn''t that the truth, Theo muses in my head.

    "And discovering their own sexpectations?" Ron winks, now back to being an old hand at promoting guests in his confident, flirty way.

    "Exactly," Vivienne winks back, "I like to start at the beginning so my clients can clear away assumptions and become curious about what actually works for them."

 Chapter 48: Shelby feels envys sting

    "If she can write as well as she speaks, Vivienne''s going to have a bestseller on her hands," Marguerite tells me as we resume to our prep work, "Is she always that dynamic?"

    "Always." I tell her, "I wish I had her ease in front of the camera," I say, back to chopping garlic.

    Starting tomorrow, a big heat wave is coming. It''s supposed to get into the 90s for most of the week, which is rare for this region but not as rare as it used to be. The scariest thing about it is when the winds come too, and fire risk increases exponentially.

    "You and me both," Marguerite says, as she continues to snap and remove the outer string from the beans, "I''m comfortable teaching a room full of people. Turn a camera on me, and I freeze. Both of the organizations I teach for want me to do some video promos for fall classes. I''m flattered but panicked. How are you coming on ideas on video promos for Horse Girl Heroes?"

    "Same. Terrified, but I know they can be valuable for telling the story for crowdsourcing. Rune said he''d help me. Maybe he''d coach both of us before he takes off for the rest of the summer?" I say, starting to put the ingredients for some slow-cooked beans in the crock pot for dinner tonight.

    "I''d love that; let''s ask him at dinner," Marguerite says, chopping up a large bunch of beans for the pot, "Rune said lunch with Julia went well. He told me you were a total champ and saved the day with a book Julia''s interested in."

    We''re having a little neighborhood dinner party tonight to thank Luna for teaching us to can. Rune''s picking up a flat of peaches today to make more ice cream for it.

    "I think he''s being a little too generous, but yes, she seemed interested in it," I laugh, starting to chop onions, "And the author of You, Again, was thrilled with the possibility of Julia Endo buying the rights to her book. Fingers crossed it all works out."

    Of course, I don''t say anything about Rune being in the middle of pitching a Narcissus podcast, or the nightmare of what he''s been dealing with regarding Franklin Haus, or that he''s been having me play pretend girlfriend while seeing apparently someone else, even though he''s a self-proclaimed hot mess.

    My summer has gone from being heartbreaking to full of drama and mystery. And still no real romance for me. But at least I have good friends to hang out with. I''m learning all kinds of things about storytelling I never knew, though nothing yet in person this week. Rune and I haven''t seen much of each other in person since our adventure in Seattle. He''s been busy working on the podcast with Santiago''s team and probably flirting with the mysterious, too-busy Daphne.

    I know I''m not celebrity girlfriend material, but I''ve realized it''s been fun pretending to be. This shocked me. I find Rune occasionally annoying and high-handed, but I love having my old friend back. Even when we''re not connecting in person, we''re connecting via text and emails about his social media and the incredible response I''ve been getting for my Howl''s Moving Castle coloring page. People love it. I''ve never had so many downloads from an email newsletter or Instagram. I wish it were all my drawing talent but a large part is the bump of celebrity. People are thrilled to see Asher Dillion in a movie role again, even if it is just pretend.

    **

    "Your mother and I are moving back to Santa Monica as soon as your sister and Nils are off," my dad tells me. We''re chatting on the phone as I take Butterscotch for a long walk before Luna arrives.

    "I bet Mom''s thrilled," I say as the dog and I walk across the grass field towards the trees. Little by little, she''s getting better at going farther off the property.

    "She is. She''s looking forward to being much more of a social butterfly again. She and Pamela are as thick as thieves again strategizing on making the One More Midnight with You anniversary bigger than ever."

    "Dad, please tell me you''re not paying Pamela Lyons to coach Mom on her social media," I plead.

    "Not yet, but I''m not sure how much longer I can hold out," he admits, "They''re both quite put out you couldn''t convince Asher Dillion to be Pamela''s client and then he went ahead and relaunched his Instagram successfully anyway."

    I come close to blurting out the truth but bite my tongue. I''ve learned that as much as I love my dad, his primary allegiance is always to my mother. They''re married, so I guess it needs to be, but still. It hurts when he doesn''t back me up.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    "Dad, Pamela has become a social media coach for hard-partying reality show stars," I tell him as Butterscotch, and I enter the trees, "there''s nothing that Pamela is better at on social media than what you, Syd, and I can help her with."

    "I hear you, but unfortunately, you''re wrong there sweetheart," my dad says, sounding sad, "Pamela is still very close to Franklin Haus, something none of the rest of us can offer.

    **

    Crap, I think after we hang up. Why can''t Mom let her old friend go?

    Because at one time he was her Rune, Theo says, and she wants it to be true again.

    Was Franklin truly her friend, though? I ask, looking up at the tall straight, peaceful tree canopy above me, enjoying the birdsong, or was it more that she was his beautiful, convincing beard?

    Initially, I think it was both, Theo says, they were glued at the hip in High School and even when he was in college. Later on, when fame hit, it became the latter.

    How can we convince her he''s not worth it? I ask as Butterscotch stalls and whines. We''ve hit her max for the day, and she''s tugging me to take her home.

    No one has ever been able to convince your mother of anything, Theo advises, I wouldn''t waste my time.

    **

    Lorelei is the center of much of our dinner conversation, which I''m glad for. It keeps my mind off my conversations with my dad and Theo. I''d love nothing more than to gossip with Rune about how dreadful Pamela is. Plus, I''d like to find out why he dislikes her so much, but I know in my gut this isn''t a healthy way to spend my time.

    It''s a perfect night. We''re eating out on the back deck in the still-bright evening, celebrating our canning success. Thanks to Luna''s patience and excellent as a teacher, Marguerite and I finally feel confident we have the steps down correctly and won''t cause botulism.

    Rune did a beautiful job of grilling salmon on an oak plank for dinner. We''re enjoying it with the crock pot string beans and a cucumber, tomato, dill, and feta salad I tossed together at the last minute. The promised peach ice cream is still to come.

    Lorelei''s keeping us entertained with her adventures at horse camp this week, and the previous weekend she spent with her cousins near Sequim learning about all about their new horse packing operation.

    "It''s so much more fun to learn things while doing," she sighs, pushing the last bit of salmon around on her plate. She finally eats the bite when she catches Rune watching her with a look that says she won''t get any ice cream if she doesn''t finish it.

    "I couldn''t agree with you more," Tom, Luna''s husband, tells her, "I hated being stuck in a classroom. That''s why I love being on the Forest Magic outdoor school advisory board. It might be a good fit for you."

    "Kids go to school outdoors here?" Lorelei asks, eyes wide, "Don''t they get wet and freeze?" It''s clear she''s both shocked and intrigued.

    "I thought you were from hearty Norwegian stock," Luna teases her, "Aren''t they the ones who say, ''there''s no bad weather, only bad clothing'' or something like that?"

    "Probably, but we''re a few generations out from the homeland and a bit pampered and soft," Rune laughs, eating the rest of Lorelei''s green salad.

    "Dad wouldn''t like you saying that," Lorelei shakes her finger at him teasingly, "he''s pretty tough."

    "True. So why don''t we look into it, Pup, if you''re curious?" Rune asks.

    "Yes please," Lorelei nods enthusiastically, "I would like to learn more about nature. Shelby''s teaching me how to draw flowers and stuff for my scrapbook, and we''ve researched each one I draw."

    "I''m sure Luna and Tom would like to see what you''re putting together," Rune tells her as he picks up their plates and stands, "Why don''t you run over and get your scrapbook while I serve the ice cream."

    "Would you really like to?" Lorelei asks Luna, "I''m not very good at drawing yet," she admits ruefully, "But I''ve taken some good photos."

    "You''re making fantastic progress," I tell her enthusiastically, "each drawing is better than the last."

    "We''d love to see your book," Luna encourages, "run like a rabbit and bring it back."

    **

    "Rune, we need you to teach us to be fearless in front of a video camera before you take off for Whidbey Island," Marguerite tells him as he''s dishing up the ice cream in the kitchen while she organizes the bowls on a tray. Whidbey''s where Raymond Santiago has a summer house, he''s invited Rune to come and say on while they work on the podcast in August.

    "Sounds good," he tells her, "I need to go to Seattle overnight again next week to hang out with my friend Daphne."

    The plate I''m loading into the dishwasher slips awkwardly out of my hand with a clunk but, fortunately, doesn''t break. I glance up to see Rune''s eyes on me. He has a questioning glance as if he finds my clumsiness confusing.

    "Shelby, can you be ready to do a short video for one of the Horse Girl Heroes stories? Do you think you understand the basic story arc well enough now?" he asks, and then can''t help himself, and licks the ice cream scoop, "Ladies, I''ve outdone myself, this ice cream is magic."

    "Yep," I nod to him shortly, looking immediately back at the dishes, miserable with anger, envy, and lust.

    I''ve got to get a grip, literally. Rune will never be more than my pretend boyfriend, and that role''s probably over. I''ve finished my Sexpectations homework too, so there''s no reason to keep using him to ideate my perfect lover either.

    I keep telling myself it''s much better to have him back as a friend and collaborator (which is fantastic) than a romantic relationship which would quickly fizzle and ruin the rest -- if it ever got started. Unfortunately, my grumpy heart and libido don''t want to listen.

 Chapter 49: Its too darn hot

    I''m pulling into the grocery store parking lot in Kingston Friday morning when my cell rings with a call from Vivienne.

    "How was the party?" I ask as I get a few reusable shopping bags out of the back of the car. Vivienne was such a hit at the first party the publicist Myriam took her to that last night she brought her along to an even fancier one.

    "Ever have the best day of your life and the worst day altogether?" Vivienne asks, "I sat next to Tyler Paul at dinner last night; get this, he knew who I was."

    "What!" I exclaim as I hurry across the hot pavement in the oppressive heat; Tyler Paul is one of Hollywood''s hottest actors/producers right now, "Tell me everything!"

    "Shelby, I''ve been to some nice parties in my life in private, but this was unreal," she laughs delightedly, "It was one of those mansions up in the Hollywood Hills overlooking everything. It took about fifteen minutes to get from the front door to the back yard."

    "Wow," I say, impressed, happy to be in the pleasant temperature of the store now. I quickly head to the freezer section for popsicles. Rune''s bringing Lorelei over soon to stay the night, and I realized I didn''t have any cold treats, "How in the world did you end up sitting next to Tyler Paul?"

    "I have no idea," she tells me excitedly, "but someone in his production company had shown him my blog on Medium. We had the most amazing conversation."

    "Sweet!" I fist bump. A few other shoppers give me curious glances. I smile cheerfully at them as I stride past, dancing a little to the catching song playing on the store''s music system.

    "It gets better. Tyler said he''s interested in having me come in for a meeting soon to talk to his team about consulting on his newest project, a limited romantic comedy series with a lot of real-life twists."

    "No way!" I exclaim, "Viv, this is amazing!"

    "Right? I can''t stop pinching myself," she tells me, "The only bummer is that my partner Mattheus called last night with good news for him but not so good for me. He''s accepted a position at Harvard. He''ll be moving to Boston in a couple of weeks. I have to figure out whether or not I can afford to live part-time in both places or if I need to live there and rent my condo out here."

    "Oh, Viv, this is big news. I''m happy for him but sad for you."

    "Me too," she sighs, "but Matty''s been eyeing this position for a long time. Keep your fingers crossed I can afford to bi-coastal."

    "Absolutely, somehow, it''ll work out," I tell her, hoping this is true, as I peruse the plethora of frozen treat options.

    "So, how''s life with Shelby?" Vivienne asks as I pick out two boxes of my favorite fruit popsicles and then, impulsively add a box of drumsticks.

    "I''m so happy it''s Friday," I tell her, heading over to the produce section for a watermelon, "I''ve become so used to the cooler temperatures in the Western Pacific Northwest that a week of over ninety degrees with no air conditioning has been rough."

    "Oh, wow, I bet," she laments, "how''s Horse Girls coming along and life with your summertime bestie?"

    "Horse Girls is coming along well; I finally feel like I can pull off a small successful crowdsourcing for it in September," I say, trying to decide which watermelon appears to be the best. I buy most of my fruit at the Farmer''s Market, but I want to have watermelon on hand today for Lorelei, "The other, to be honest, has been tough."

    "What''s going on?" Viv prods.

    "Viv, I hate the petty, mean, helpless feeling parked in my brain recently," I say quietly, looking around the produce section to see if anyone''s paying attention to me. They aren''t. No one else is here, "I''m so jealous of Rune going to Seattle this weekend to stay with his ''friend'' Daphne," I find a nice-looking specimen and heave the watermelon up out of the pile and into my shopping cart.

    "Oh, sweetheart, I''m sorry, that sucks," she laments with me.

    "It does," I agree, "I hate admitting it. Do you have any of your magic advice to help me deal with it?"

    "Not magic, no," she tells me sadly, "but I will say it''s a wise idea to just sit with the uncomfortable emotions when you can, acknowledge them, and allow them to just be."

    "Ugh, that sounds unfun," I huff.

    "It is, but it''s better than repressing your emotions. That leads to all kinds of bad news. When you let your body feel these uncomfortable emotions, they tend to pass much quicker," she tells me, then asks, "Is there any chance this Daphne person is only a friend?"

    "I promise to try your advice," I tell her, "But I doubt she''s just a friend. Why would Rune need to stay with her overnight if she is? And he''s staying for two!"

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "You have a point," Viv admits, "Whatever you do, though, it''s probably best to stay off the internet about her."

    "I''m proud of myself on that point," I say, "I''m not digging into any more gossip about him, or who he''s dating. He was hurt when he realized I''d read about his relationship with Julia Endo."

    "Interesting," Vivienne comments, "Listen, Shelby, I think what you and Rune are rediscovering this summer is really special."

    "It is," I agree, "I''m so happy he let me draw him for my coloring page, and his help with Horse Girls is helping make it a reality."

    "So do your best to keep your eye on that prize sweetheart," Viv says, "Real love is when you want the best for the other person, not just your own longings."

    I ponder this on the drive home. In the comfort of the air-conditioned car, I pass a myriad of small farms, horse properties, and several houses surrounded by quite a bit of acreage. All with grass as brown and dry as mine is, and brown and dry as my fragile heart.

    I''m in love with Rune. Whew. There it is. But I don''t want to mess up this precious friendship. So even though I''m jealous right now, underneath that, I do want the best for him. He''s been through such a bad time and deserves happiness. Maybe that''s Daphne. So I guess I have to learn to live with it, and this horrible feeling will dissipate sooner or later.

    **

    "Our task this afternoon," I tell Lorelei as we look at my grandmother''s classic Marguerite Henry horse books spread on the dining room table, "is to pick which four books I should feature in the corners of the new coloring page I''m working on. Then, if you''re game, you can help me storyboard some ideas for the video. That''s the homework Rune''s given me for this weekend."

    "He''s good at giving assignments," she tells me dryly, raising one eyebrow just like he does, "but fortunately, they''re using something fun."

    Lorelei''s spending Friday night with me and Saturday night with Marguerite. Rune dropped her off a few minutes ago before taking off for the Kingston ferry. He was dressed in cool business casual and looked nervous, excited, and devilishly handsome.

    "As long as we can have popsicle breaks and we''re talking about horses, I''m game," Lorelei breaks into my longing with a winning smile, sucking on one of the juice bars I was smart enough to stock up on, "Can you show me the coloring page?"

    I pick up my drawing pad, flip to the sketch I''m working on, and hand it to her. She carefully puts her juice bar on its wrapper on the table before taking it from me.

    "Who''s this? Did you make this all up?" She asks, looking at my pencil sketch of a woman sitting at a typewriting desk, with a book open and a pony looking over her shoulder, nosing the keys.

    "No. That''s the author Marguerite Henry herself, with one of her most famous subjects, Misty of Chincoteague," I tell her, waking up my laptop and pulling up the photo I was drawing from, showing it to her, "it must have been a publicity photo for the book."

    "The same as this one!" Lorelei says happily, picking up my grandmother''s hardback copy of Misty, the paper wrap cover illustration showing a sweet palomino pinto pony, and starting to flip through, "Can I read it tonight?"

    "Of course, it''s a fantastic story. But it''s very old-fashioned," I tell her.

    "That''s okay; I like old-fashioned. Where''s Chincoteague?" Lorelei asks, "Is it here in the United States?"

    "Yes, it''s an island off the East Coast. Let''s look," I tell her, opening up Google Maps to search. The map program shows us a tiny island in Virginia among a group of them just off of a long peninsula.

    "Wow, it''s sort of like this area," Lorelei says while intently studying the map, "It''s a different shape, but we have a lot of islands up here too."

    "We sure do," I say, "have you ever been to any of them besides Bainbridge?"

    "Only Whidbey," she tells me, picking back up her popsicle and sitting at the table, "My dad has worked on a couple of houses there. But he''s promised we''ll go adventuring to other islands."

    "I bet you''re excited he''ll be here soon," I say, closing my laptop again, "your upcoming camping trip sounds fun."

    "It will be," Lorelei agrees, "at least until Jenna shows up," she gives me a cringy glance before looking over my sketch, carefully holding her popsicle away from it. "Have you read all of these books?"

    "I have. My grandmother let me and Rune read them when we spent summers here."

    "Which one''s your favorite?"

    "I liked Misty a lot, but my very favorite is King of the Wind," I tell her, picking up that book and handing it to her, "I used to be into racehorses as a kid, and this is the story of one of the forefathers of one of the most famous races horses of all time, Man O'' War. I wanted to adopt a thoroughbred off the track when I was young."

    "Then King of the Wind needs to be one of the books you draw for your illustration," Lorelei says firmly, flipping through the book, "It looks exciting. I think I''ll read this one first."

    **

    With many popsicle and watermelon breaks in between, Lorelei and I are making decent progress on my video storyboard.

    "Let''s send pics to Rune," Lorelei says when we hit a point where we''re not sure how to move forward.

    "Should we bother him? Isn''t he working this afternoon?" I counter.

    "Yes, which means he''ll turn his phone off, so it won''t annoy him. He won''t see it until later, but I know he''s going to want to know about our progress," she says, already getting her phone out of her brightly colored tote bag.

    "Okay, snap away," I tell her, feeling a little mollified she thinks he''ll be so interested.

    While she''s taking photos with her phone, I scrutinize the four large pages of drawing paper on which I''ve drawn a series of identical rectangle squares for the hundredth time. The first three and a half pages feature one moment of rough sketch after another of what I imagine will happen in the video. To make it easier for myself to be on camera, I''m breaking up the storyboard into short sections with me talking, mixed in with graphics, my art, text, and I''m thinking of looking up stock video clips of women and horses to give the video more movement.

    But yes, I''m stuck. When Lorelei finishes we go outside to water the veggies and flowers and let Butterscotch stretch her legs and have a bathroom break.

    My phone beeps while I''m picking tomatoes and spinach for our dinner salad and Lorelei''s playing with the dog.

    Rune: It''s looking great!

    Me: Thanks. Lorelei''s a big help.

    Rune: I''ve shared the animation you made for Vivienne with Daphne. She loves it. We both wonder if you could bring some animation into this Horse Girls video?

    Me: I''ll see what I can do. Thanks!

    We. Bleh. I swallow uncomfortably. I hate to admit it, but it''s a great idea.

 Chapter 50: Oh damn! In love again!

    "The camera isn''t going to bite Marguerite. I promise," Rune tells her from behind his video camera as I come out of the laundry room carrying a tray of snacks.

    It''s late Thursday afternoon. Rune''s back from taking Lorelei off to stay with her friend Charlotte before Gunner arrives tomorrow evening to take her on their father-daughter camping trip.

    We''re on the back porch again, enjoying a blissfully lovely, much cooler day. It couldn''t be better out here to create the videos. Rune has Marguerite set up in the corner of the deck under the Katsura tree. It''s lovely leafy green surrounds her as the background.

    "We''re not all perfectly portioned photogenic creatures the camera loves Mr. Borstad," Marguerite tells him in her best stern teacher voice, rolling her shoulders as if she''s getting ready for a boxing match, "Make sure to find my good side."

    "I don''t have perfectly proportioned features," Rune scowls, "My face is too long, my jaw is too sloped, my eyes are too close together, and my mouth''s too big."

    "What planet does he live on?" Marguerite asks me, eyebrows raise in disbelief.

    "Certainly not the one I''m on," I concur. I refill each of their ice teas and then set out the hummus and tzatziki dip I made this morning, along with carrots, pita, and some excellent green olives from the Farmer''s Market.

    Rune''s camera takes both stills and video, so he''s taking headshots for us, too. He thinks it''s time Marguerite had something better on her website than a faculty photo against a brick wall (I agree). He wants me to change out my illustrated logo on my Instagram with a personal photo. Ugh. But I can''t argue since I''m pushing him to use more images of himself on that platform.

    "Ladies, the secret to getting great photos is to stop being afraid of the camera," Rune says patiently as he sets his camera up on the tripod, "I had my mom''s camera on me from infancy. They don''t intimidate me," he leans over the camera and adjusts the focus, "Come on Marguerite, you''re a powerhouse in the classroom. Your students adore you. Focus. Flirt with me, pretend I''m Brad Pitt."

    "I prefer Robert Downey Jr., thank you," Marguerite says archly, and then finally gives him a bit of a smile, "You''re beautiful, but you''re just not him."

    "No, I''m not," Rune admits, with a sigh, snapping away, "I think they broke that mold."

    Marguerite starts to relax and have fun. I''m deliciously languid. It''s nice sitting here listening to Rune and Marguerite banter, the light breeze rustling the trees, the hum of bees, and the ever-present varied array of birdsong.

    The cooler weather this week meant I could go out for my long walks again. I did that this morning to be in the best head space for this. I''m even in a better place about Rune. Yes. I''m in love with him. I can''t pretend otherwise. But Vivienne was right as usual; when I allowed myself to be with my anxiousness and jealousy over the past week, it dissipated quite a bit, at least for now.

    I hope my relaxed state survives my turn in front of the camera. I''ve got the notes for what I want to say on index cards. I keep glancing at them (a trick my sister Syd taught me from her days of being in Toastmasters), but I think I''ve got everything down. I''ve been practicing for days.

    The marvelous, diffused light from the Katsura is making Marguerite look great. Where Rune stands it''s more dappled, glinting and shimmering on his red-gold hair and scruff. He''s wearing a white t-shirt today (V-neck, of course), showing off new color on beautifully muscled arms.

    I pick up my cell phone and move to the seat that allows me to see him in profile. I take a few shots and then a short video, too. I like capturing him like this. I love watching how intent, focused, and how in his element he is when he''s creating.

    "We need something fresh for your Instagram," I tell him when he glances at me. Rune only quirks that eyebrow, which I take as permission.

    I''ve been careful to keep Marguerite out of the video, so that shouldn''t be a problem either, but I''ll save it to post later. I post my favorite of the still shots of him to his feed for now.

    I add hashtags and then check his profile stats while I listen to Marguerite say her promotional piece for the camera about her memoir class. His followers, likes, and comments have been growing at a good steady pace. I hear Rune ask Marguerite to say her promotion a few different times in a few different ways, as I scroll through his comments. For each take, he asks for a slight change in energy and emphasis.

    "Earth to Seashell," Rune says, bringing me back, "You''re up."

    "Yes, right," I answer, taking a sip of iced tea to bolster myself, "I''m ready."

    And I am ready, as ready as I know how to be, for this sort of thing. I''m even wearing my striped, orange button-down that he likes and the hot fuchsia lipstick, all per his request. Marguerite and I change places.

    "Marguerite, you weren''t named after Marguerite Henry by chance, were you?" Rune asks her as he adjusts the tripod, and I get settled.

    "No, I was named after my great-grandmother," she tells him, picking up a carrot stick and dipping it into the hummus, "I never met anyone else with such an old-fashioned name growing up, but I felt better as a kid when I found out I shared it with a famous children''s author."

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    "Did you finish Henry''s coloring page?" Rune asks me, snapping pics even though I haven''t quite decided how to sit.

    "I did," I tell him, my years of dancing and riding reminding me to straighten my spine and relax my shoulders, "Lorelei helped me choose the covers I drew for the border.

    "Excellent, drop your chin," he tells me, leaning forward to look through the camera again, "Now smile at me like I''m your favorite person in the world," he says in a particularly seductive Asher Dillion voice.

    Now''s your chance, sweetheart, Theo says in my head.

    Could it hurt? To do this just for a photo? When Rune himself is asking me to?

    Okay, I''ll do it just this once. I hold up my index finger, asking for a moment, as I close my eyes. I think about how happy I am to have Rune in my life again and what it would be like if he were taking this photo as my beloved boyfriend.

    I open my eyes and give the camera a smile that tells him I adore him.

    Rune clears his throat, "That''s perfect, Shells, you nailed it," he stands up straight and runs his hand through his perpetually sexy bedhead, "Marguerite''s goal with her video was to tell a short story of why creative writing is such a superpower to the one student who most needed to hear it," he tells me, "What did you decide your goal is for this video?"

    I''m prepared. Rune asked us this question via email a few days ago, "To share why horses are a superpower for girls," I tell him, holding my arms up in victory like a cheerleader.

    "Perfect. Can you think of a well-known interviewer to you''d like to tell this story to?" Rune asks. I glance around him at Marguerite. She is as surprised as I am by this question.

    "Oh," I say, buying time, but then realize I do know someone, "How about Entertainment Now''s host, Carrie Larson?"

    "She''s super cool," Rune says, sounding impressed, "Does she ride?"

    "She rode at the same stable I used to in Topanga Canyon," I tell him, "We took lessons together when we were teens. I would run into her occasionally when I started taking lessons there again in my late twenties."

    "Did she remember you?" Marguerite asks, as she scoops more hummus onto a carrot, "Could you send her a sample copy of Horse Girl Heroes?"

    "Yeah, surprisingly, she did," I tell them both, "but I would have no idea how to get in touch with her."

    "Naomi will; she''ll know who her publicist is," Rune says, "and you should definitely send sample pages from the coloring book to your old stable."

    **

    "Doing the video was much less painful than I imagined," I tell Rune as we cart our dinner dishes into the kitchen. We sent Marguerite home already since she''d did all of the legwork bringing us a delicious roasted chicken with artichokes, orzo and lemon for the three of us to share for dinner.

    "You did really well," he tells me encouragingly, looking very tired now in the harsher overhead light of the kitchen, "After we get this cleaned up, I want to see the latest version of the draft video with the animations."

    I''m about to tell him he can look at it tomorrow, he should go home, and leave the rest of the cleanup for me when my phone rings with Vivienne''s tone.

    "Hey, Viv, did you get a call from Tyler Paul''s team?" I ask, which is the news we''ve been waiting for.

    "Hey, Viv," Rune calls out, bringing the scrap bin in from the laundry room.

    "Hey, favorite people, I did," she says, sounding strange like she''s got a bad cold.

    "Are you okay?" I ask her as Rune stops and looks at me, his face showing as much concern as I feel.

    "No, actually, I''m not," Viv says with a sniff. I realize she doesn''t have a cold; she''s crying. I tell Rune that I''ll be right back and go upstairs to my room to talk to her.

    "Vivienne, what''s happened?" I ask as I walk into my bedroom.

    "I''m sorry to be such a sad sap, but boy, it''s been a day. Do you want the good news first or the bad news?" She asks shakily. She''s never sounded like this before.

    "Which do you feel like sharing first," I ask, closing the sliding French doors to my outdoor deck. The wind has picked up, whipping the Katsura''s limbs around in a frantic dance. At the end of the property line, the top branches of the fir trees are even swaying.

    "Matthias has decided he doesn''t want to be the partner of someone who''s getting famous for being a sensuality coach," she tells me.

    "Wait, what?" I ask, sitting down at the foot of my bed, sure I can''t have heard her correctly.

    "He doesn''t want me to move to Boston with him if I''m going to keep doing this work."

    "Oh, Viv, I''m so sorry," I say, stunned. They''ve been together for a decade at least, probably longer.

    "I guess the TV interview, and the parties with celebrities were the straws that broke the camel''s back," she sighs, "Apparently, it''s been brewing for a while."

    "But he knew this was your dream work. You''ve been coaching people for years on the side before you made it your full-time gig."

    "Yes. He was fine with it as long as it was on the down low, but now, as a new Harvard professor, it makes him uncomfortable that it''s so public. I have to honor that."

    "You''re not going to give up sensuality coaching, are you?" I ask, shocked.

    "No. So we''re no longer a couple," she says, sounding like she might start to cry again.

    "I''m so sorry," I say, feeling I might cry too. She and Matthias always seemed like such a fantastic success story; they were so happy and into each other. Wow. "What''s the good news?"

    "Tyler Paul wants me to meet with his creative team next week and meet with their writing team and the new cast," she tells me.

    "No way," I cheer, "Viv, this is awesome!"

    "It is," she says, but much more subdued than usual.

    "What are you going to do now?"

    "Matthias is still back East. I''m going to pack up all of his over the weekend, so he doesn''t have to fly back and do it himself. Thank God the condo and all of the furniture is mine."

    "That''s awfully kind of you, I don''t know I''d be that helpful," I retort, "I think I''d be in bed eating chocolate."

    "It''s actually self-preservation," she admits, "I don''t want to see him right now, knowing how he feels. And yes, I can have good, long, angry, ugly cries while I eat chocolate and junk food while I do it."

    "Excellent!" I cheer her on. "Call me if you need encouragement along those lines. I''ll go out and get some junk food to eat with you in solidarity."

    **

    The house is too quiet as I exit my bedroom and head for the stairs. Rune must have given up on me and gone home. I''m about to text him as I walk down the stairs when I realize he''s sitting on the living room couch.

    "Hey," I say softly as I take him in. He''s slouched down with Butterscotch on his lap, his hands in her fur, his eyes closed.

    "Hey," he says without opening his eyes, "I just need a little cat nap before going over your storyboard."

    "Okay," I tell him, "Come on, Butterscotch. It''s time for your potty break before bed.

    The dog gives me the stink eye but follows. When I return, rather than waking, Rune removed his boots and curled up. He''s out. His face is soft and even sweeter in sleep. I''d like nothing better than slipping onto the wide, comfortable couch beside him, pressing myself against his warmth. Instead, I cover him with a pretty but soft blanket I keep on the couch now to give the room more color and keep me warm when I''m reading in front of the fire, and head upstairs alone.

 Chapter 51: Good-bye for now

    "What''s your mom going to say about you fraternizing so much with the Borstad boys," Gunnar winks at me as he passes Rune the joint they''re sharing, "I''m sure our bad habits are starting to rub off on you."

    Pot is Gunnar''s preferred method of dealing with his ADHD brain (though he never smokes in front of Lorelei but relies on gummies). Friday night, we''re sprawled in a circle on the canvas chairs on the Borstad back deck as we did as kids, around a small stone fire pit Gunnar built. Our long legs are almost touching. Lorelei went to bed hours ago. She was glued to her father''s side all evening but finally couldn''t stay awake any longer.

    "My lips are sealed," I say after another sip of beer, "My mother has no idea of the depth of the infiltration. She just knows Rune escorted me to that fundraiser in June to make Jack jealous. Her only comment was that it was good that Rune was so in the closet." I don''t mention my mother and Pamela trying to strong arm me into convincing Rune to be Pamela''s client. That''s something I wish I could forget.

    Gunnar chokes on his beer, pounding his chest with his fist as he laughs and coughs, "Jack''s a self-important asshat," he says, "I''m glad Ruination taught him a lesson."

    "You know who that information comes from," Rune tells him, with a smirk as he takes back the joint again.

    The cousins do bear a strong resemblance. I can understand Jack thinking they were brothers. Gunnar''s jaw is squarer than Rune''s under his short-cropped beard (I remember Rune''s disparaging remark about his own jaw recently), his lips aren''t nearly as full but have a similar shape, and his hair is the wheat-colored Rune''s used to be dyed. He always wears it long enough to be scraped back in a short ponytail.

    "Sure, it''s one of Franklin''s many fables," Gunnar says darkly, shaking his head, "I should have clocked that monster when I had the chance."

    "I wish," Rune scowls, exhaling a cloud, "Gunn, you forgot we''re beautiful; Shell''s mom calls us the Beautiful Borstad Boys," he says, offering me the joint. I pass on it. One hit of whatever was in it was more than enough for me.

    "Too right," Gunnar agrees and they click their beer bottles.

    "Oh God, did Syd tell you about that?" I groan, feeling my happy, tipsy feelings dissipate.

    "Rune, you forgot blue collar," Gunnar tells him, "We''re the Beautiful Blue Collar Borstad Boys," he says with a flourish, saluting us both with his beer bottle. It''s interesting to be reminded that Gunnar is the more gregarious and outgoing of the two.

    "My mom can be such a snob," I lament.

    "That''s one way to say it," Gunnar laughs after his next toke, "I might use stronger language."

    "Okay, go ahead and say it," I encourage him. "Express your true feelings."

    "Your mother, dear Shelby, and I say this with the utmost love in my heart for you as my best neighbor ever," Gunnar says as if he''s performing in a Shakespearean play, pointing the joint at me for emphasis, "Is a class one bitch."

    "Here, here," Rune toasts him with his bottle, which makes me giggle and sigh. I wish I could say the same thing out loud, but I''d feel too disloyal.

    Gunnar''s been regaling us with his and Jenna''s adventures from Maui tonight since everything was focused on Lorelei earlier. He did better than he thought he would in the race, and the house he just finished the upgrades on is stunning. We''ve been admiring pics on his phone.

    While we catch up, I''ve been daydreaming about what kind of coloring page I would draw featuring Gunnar and Rune as Nordic gods. Gunnar would be Thor, of course, with his blond hair, glacial blue eyes, and more robust physique than Rune. Rune could be Frey, the twin of the better-known Freyja, the goddess of love. But what actress looks enough like Rune to be his twin?

    "Shelby, you need to sign up for one of the DNA sites," Gunnar says apropos of nothing, "and finally put to rest the question of whether or not we''re cousins."

    This time, it''s Rune who almost chokes on his beer.

    "What?" I ask, shaken out of my daydream.

    "Come on; you remember that story from Nan, don''t you? That the Borstads and Halvorsens are related?" Gunnar asks, "I got Ancestry for Jenna last month for her birthday, and there was a buy one get one free deal, so I signed up too. Wouldn''t it be cool to be able to prove it? I''d pay to see the look on your mother''s face if it is."

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "We''re not supposedly close cousins, are we?" Rune asks, raising his eyebrows at me as he takes another swig of beer. Gunnar takes in our worried expression and starts to laugh at us both.

    "It''s not so close that it would harm your gene pool," Gunnar''s eyes twinkle as he strokes a hand over his beard, similar to the way Rune does, "In case you want to reverse that little operation we had. I think our great-great-grandmothers were sisters. That''s why the Borstad''s were willing to sell your house and a section of the farm to your family during the depression."

    "I always wondered about that," Rune admits, returning the joint to Gunnar.

    "Don''t worry, you two can still get married here in the yard like Rune planned when he was eight," Gunnar assures us.

    "I don''t remember any marriage proposal," I say, narrowing my eyes at Gunnar and glancing at Rune, who''s looking uncomfortable. Well, even if it was true then it''s not the reality now.

    "Oh, was that a secret I was supposed to keep?" Gunnar teases, "he had it all figured out, including the flowers in your bouquet."

    "You crossed your heart," Rune comments dryly, "that''s the last time I tell you anything important," Gunnar snorts at this and takes another drag.

    Tongues are getting too loose now. I''m afraid of what I might blurt out if I keep sitting here drinking.

    "All right, you smart, enviously successful beauties," I tell them as I stand and stretch, "it''s way past my bedtime. Have a wonderful time with Lorelei Gunnar," I pat his shoulder briefly, "Rune, good luck with Raymond Santiago on Whidbey working on your podcast; we''ll see you back here in a few weeks for your b-day," I tell him, proud of my casualness.

    Rune also stands and follows me off the deck out into the night. I stop midway between our houses and look up, feeling my head spin a touch. Our two porch lights do little to dim the cacophony of stars brilliant above us in their blanket of black.

    "Do you remember that last summer when your mom took us out into one of the empty horse pastures for a campout and taught us about the constellations?" I ask, awed by the reality of so many twinkles representing so many suns. There''s no way we''re the only life in the universe.

    "Of course," Rune says, gazing up as well, "Even Syd and Gunnar came along, though it might have only been so they could climb into the same sleeping bag and have sex after everyone else was asleep."

    "They weren''t doing that, were they?" I ask, surprised. I knew they made out occasionally, but, um, wow.

    "Seashell, I used to surprise them in the barn loft all the time in every manner of undress," he starts to laugh, "I''ll forever be grateful to your sister for demonstrating how much women can enjoy having a man go down on them."

    "You spied on them?" I exclaim, aghast.

    "I didn''t mean to," he''s laughing so hard now, he has to speak in gasps in between, "You were off at a riding lesson or something without me. I wanted to sulk and read," he''s bent over now, holding his stomach, it takes a minute before he can get out, "I was almost all the way up the ladder when I realized what I was witnessing. They were being very quiet."

    "I can''t believe Syd didn''t kill you there and then!" I gasp, trying not to join him in laughing, but it''s hard.

    "She doesn''t know," he says, shaking his head as if this will help calm him down. By this time, I''m laughing so hard that tears run down my face. "Gunnar saw me but just motioned for me to scram."

    "You''d better never tell her," I tell Rune, "Or she will kill you."

    "I''m sure," he agrees.

    Our laughs finally die down, and we continue to my back porch. I turn back to him on the front step.

    "What kind of cake do you want for your birthday?" I ask, "I''ll make it." I like being the same height. He''d be even easier to kiss this way, but I''m not going there.

    "Really?" He beams at me sunnily, and my heart leaps happily.

    "Can you make white cake with berries and custard, like they do at Sweet Lady Jane''s in LA? If that''s not too hard?" he asks, naming a well-known bakery we both liked but never visited together. This is one of their most famous cakes.

    "Yes," I tell him, surprised he doesn''t want chocolate Texas cake, "No problem."

    "Keep me posted on how Horse Girls is coming along," he says, stepping backward through the wet grass, "don''t be a stranger."

    "Will do," I tell him and wave. I make myself not linger. I remember that night in the horse field again as I slip quietly through the laundry room so I don''t bother Butterscotch in her sleeping crate.

    Gunnar wants to wait until they return from their camping trip for Jenna to give Lorelei the dog. The hope is it''ll create more of a bond between the two women in his life. Fingers crossed, it works.

    For years after that magical summer night, I always looked for Orion''s belt and the Big and Little Dippers in the night sky whenever it was dark enough to see stars. Rune and I had our sleeping bags so close together that our hands would have touched if either of us dared to reach out. But neither of us did.

    My pleasant but melancholy buzz is first replaced by regret and mortification. How could my mother be so snide and judgmental about Gunner and Rune?

    Her excuse, why she warned Syd and me away from them between our summertime vacations, was that they were wasting themselves by not having ambitious college plans as we did. Rune always wanted to be an actor, and Gunnar was set to follow his father into carpentry.

    Then I remember something that makes me stop dead in the living room as I''m about to go upstairs. Now I feel worse. Mom called Gunnar and Rune that nickname before we were old enough to give college much thought. Why?

    The boys have always been competition in her eyes, Theo tells me sadly, if your mother''s not the center of attention, she feels invisible.

 Chapter 52: Jack is back!

    "The board is so excited to have you create another video in September, Shelby," Luna says, as we''re demolishing the delicious piece of cherry pie we''re splitting at the farm stand late on a Thursday afternoon in mid-August.

    I wonder if Isabel, the farmer who owns Four Corners, will share her pie crust recipe with me. A perfect pie crust like this is something I''ve never mastered. It must be the butter. The crust tastes almost like a shortbread cookie.

    "There''s just one challenge," Luna says in a tone that tells me she wishes she didn''t have to tell me.

    "Oh?" I ask feeling a bubble of dread.

    "Amy would prefer Jack not be on the project this time," Luna sits back and takes another sip of her iced tea, "She knows it wouldn''t be cool to officially make the request, but she called last night and asked if I would talk to you about it."

    "But why would she want that? Jack did such an amazing job," I say mystified, though secretly I''m a bit relieved.

    "He hasn''t been in touch?" Luna asks, her dark eyes curious as she pushes the plate closer to me, indicating she''s finished with the pie. No problem. Cherry pie is one of my favorite things ever.

    "No, thank God," I say and mean it, taking another bite.

    "He and Amy broke up," Luna tells me, "He up and left suddenly, telling her he had to get back to Seattle to prepare for the fall semester."

    "Wow, I had no idea," I say. A month ago, I''d have been excited about this prospect; now, I feel almost nothing except a little dread. Interesting.

    "He left her in a lurch, scrambling to find a photographer for an event," Luna tells me, "I''m surprised he hasn''t reached out to tell you his side of the story. Shelby, it probably wasn''t my place, but I admitted to Amy that you and Jack were dating when he took up with her."

    "Oh, boy," I wince, the sense of dread growing as the tsunami from my dream flashes in my mind.

    "She sounded completely mortified," Luna says, "swore she had no idea."

    "You don''t believe her?" I ask, wondering at the tentative look on Luna''s face.

    "I want to," Luna sighs, fiddling with the end of her long braid, "the last thing I want is to be suspicious of someone on our board, especially someone who''s so gifted at raising money from her rich friends," she smiles wryly.

    "I can understand that," I say, drinking the last of my tea, "Anyway, I don''t think it''s a problem to have Rune fill in. He''s been clear he wants to work on it with me." Which means he''ll be hanging out at my house in September. Yay.

    "Perfect. I thought so, but I wanted to double-check," Luna says, "Amy loved the photos Rune took of the kids here for our last email newsletter. She hopes you''ll bring him to a party she''s hosting next weekend when she returns."

    "He won''t be back in town yet," I tell her, feeling relieved, "He''s now in Victorica to work with his production team on a screenplay."

    "No rest for the wicked," Luna smiles and scoots her chair back, "Maybe that''s better."

    "Maybe it is," I echo as we walk out of the crowded outdoor dining to our cars.

    I''m happy that Four Corners is becoming popular, but I hate that Amy could put Rune in her sights next. I''m still getting used to the idea of Daphne, whoever she is.

    I''ve had my head down working on projects for clients and *Horse Girls* for the past two weeks while our little neighborhood has been almost deserted. Even Marguerite has been gone most of the time. I''ve been trying to understand the ins and outs of successful crowdsourcing campaigns. Rune connected me with Liz on his production team, but she''s been less than forthcoming with the helpful advice he told me she''d give and I don''t want to complain to him.

    Today''s the first time I''ve gone out to do more than grocery shop since everyone else took off. Syd and Nils will be here in a couple of weeks to stay before moving to Seattle, and we''ll be throwing Rune''s birthday party at the end of the month.

    Since we have the new roof paid for, I decided to splurge a little on the house. Before meeting up with Luna for a late lunch, I went shopping. After weeks of bright blue skies, the weather''s turning. A severe storm''s coming in with rain for days, so I thought I''d get my errands done while the sun''s still shining.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    **

    I''m out on the porch with Butterscotch, working on freshening up the two long wooden planter boxes, listening to Doja Cat in my earbuds, trying to distract myself with dance music and color.

    Unfortunately, I''m feeling as gray as the clouds rolling in as I add new potting soil into the boxes. When I got home, I made the mistake of looking at Rune''s Instagram. I finally posted the short video of him working with Marguerite this morning. I wanted to see how it was doing in views and likes. It''s doing really well; of course, people love video. That''s not the problem.

    The problem is Julia Endo. Julia posted an image tagging Rune''s account, so of course, like an idiot, I looked. I wish I hadn''t. It''s two images with the text reading only, "It feels like old times," with a heart emoji.

    In the first image, taken last night, Julia, Rune, their production partner Liz, and her husband are dining out at a charming-looking restaurant and having a merry time. In the next photo, from several years ago, Julia and Rune are at the same restaurant, their arms wrapped around each other, making kissy faces to the camera, and sitting so close that she might as well be on his lap.

    In last night''s photo, Julia''s so close to Rune that their cheeks are almost touching. I keep pulling the image up, hoping I can get to a place where an awful stab of jealousy doesn''t poke me when I glance at it. Nope. It''s like a sore tooth you keep worrying with your tongue. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

    I try to focus on the striking colors in the plants I selected. They''re a stunning array of variegated coleus, and petunias. I decided on a theme of hot pinks and greens, inspired by a few brightly colored hand-made Scandinavian folk-art pillows I bought. I''ve been drooling over this local artist''s work for months and bought three of them today.

    I''ve finally settled on how I want to arrange the plants when Butterscotch woofs and scrambles off the porch. Jack''s dusty SUV is pulling up the gravel drive slowly.

    "Hey Alpine," he calls casually as he gets out, "need some help?" His beard''s growing back. He looks terrific, but my dread level only increases.

    "No, thanks," I tell him lightly as I stand, taking off my gloves and smacking them together to remove most of the dirt, "Are you coming from a hike?"

    "I am," he says, stooping to pet the dog wiggling around his feet. "I thought I''d stop by and say hello and see how you''re doing."

    "I''m well," I smile, hoping it looks genuine, "I''m launching my *Horse Girl Heroes* crowdfunding in September."

    "Are you going to invite me and regale me with how it''s coming along?" he asks, his voice warm, continuing with the charm. He''s almost as dusty as his truck, wearing his favorite hiking shorts and t-shirt.

    "Sure," I say, feeling a tiny sense of pride. He''s at least pretending he''s interested as I move towards the front door, "Where''s Amy?" I ask, playing dumb.

    "A wedding in the Hamptons," he tells me flatly as he follows.

    "Not your thing?" I ask as we head into the kitchen. I reach for a glass in the cupboard for iced tea and then remember our last encounter and his preference for coffee.

    "Iced tea''s great." He says, catching my hesitation, and adds, "It turns out I''m not well suited for life in the fast lane of the rich and famous or being micromanaged," he sighs as he says this, giving me a self-deprecating smile that would have made my heart leap with hope a few weeks ago.

    "Oh?" I say as I put ice in both glasses.

    "Alpine," he says, as I hand him his tea, "I just spent several days hiking alone. I gained a lot of clarity. I''m here to say I''m sorry. I got my head turned around by Amy''s interest and wealth. You didn''t deserve my behavior."

    "Thank you," I say and mean it, as I lean my hip against the kitchen counter. "I appreciate that."

    "Are you crazy busy right now?" He asks as I motion for him to follow me into the office.

    "Why?" I ask, even though I have a sense of what might be coming.

    "Why don''t you come home with me to Edmonds for a long weekend. You can bring your work with you."

    "Right now?" I ask, pulling out the two office chairs to show him the planner. Yes. I''ve let go of the idea of Rune as a lover (even though I''m still jealous, unfortunately), but I realize I''m genuinely not interested in picking back up with Jack.

    "Yeah, why not? There''s a big storm coming in," he says, sitting down and looking at the darkening clouds out the window. "Show me all you''ve got going on here, and then we''ll catch a ferry before it gets super crowded. You hosted me here often enough; it''s time for me to return the favor, don''t you think?"

    "That''s kind of you," I say carefully, opening the manilla folder of my illustrations and stories.

    "Oof," he winces, not sitting down, "You''re damning me with faint praise. Why do I have the feeling a ''thank you but no thank'' you is coming?"

    "I would''ve given almost anything for this invite from you before the fundraiser," I admit frankly, glancing at him quickly and then back at my art, "But things have changed."

    "You can''t already be that serious about Asher Dillion, can you?" Jack asks, incredulous, "I''m impetuous, but you''re not. That''s not the life for you, Alpine. Christ, he''s got a paparazzi hunting him outside your private drive right now."

    "What? You''re kidding!" I say, jumping up and jogging to the front door, and then I remember it won''t do any good. You can''t view the entrance to our drive from here; I''d need to be at Marguerite''s house.

    "Nope. I thought the guy''s car was broken down," Jack tells me, following, "I stopped to check if he needed a lift or something, and he said no, he''s just birdwatching. Next to him on the car seat is a very expensive camera with a gigantic telephoto lens."

    "It probably is just a birdwatcher," I say, hoping this is true, but nonetheless, I''ll text Rune about it, I think, taking my phone out of my pocket.

    "I doubt Big Valley Road is a haven for birdwatching at this time of the year," Jack says dryly.

    "You have a point," I wince, texting Rune, "Thanks for telling me."

    My phone beeps, but it''s not from Rune; it''s from Lorelei. I stick my phone back in my shorts pocket, realizing I should finish this conversation with Jack before I open the latest photo she''s sent me. She seems to be having a wonderful time.

    "It''s paparazzi, Alpine, trust me. He had that pasty doesn''t get any exercise look. Bird watchers are a heartier sort," Jack says, "So I can''t convince you to come back to Edmonds with me?"

    "Thanks, but no, I''ve got to keep my focus on *Horse Girls* right now."

    "So, are you dating Asher Dillion?" He presses.

    "His name is Rune," I sigh, "and he''s my dear friend, and we''re starting some projects together. End of story."

    I don''t say anything about the new fundraising video. I''m not in the mood to get into it. And I want to confirm everything with Rune first just to be sure.

    "Okay, so you''re being smart." Jack squeezes my shoulder as he walks past me out the door.

    So, if I''m not going with him to Edmonds, he''s not interested in my project. I''m actually relieved. He pauses on the porch, "We''re still friends, right Alpine?"

    "Of course," I give him a more genuine smile this time because we are work friends, colleagues, that''s it. And you know what? I''m going to let Amy tell him he''s not on this project.

    After I see Jack out, my phone beeps again with another text from Lorelei. Instead of photos, it''s her second text message. She wants me to call her urgently.

    "Are you okay?" I ask as she picks up immediately.

    ¡°No!¡± she exclaims, ¡°Everything¡¯s horrible! Can you come and get me? I can¡¯t get a hold of Rune.¡±

 Chapter 53: Shelby and Rune to Loreleis rescue

    "Slow down, Lorelei, first things first. Are you or anyone else hurt? Should we be calling an ambulance?"

    "No one''s hurt," she says, sounding like she''s trying to hold back tears, "but Daddy went off on a short mountain biking trip yesterday with some friends and won''t be back until tonight. I can''t reach him on his cell, and I can''t get Rune either."

    "Is Jenna being mean to you?" I ask, thinking I shouldn''t jump in if it''s just a personality clash, but I jog up the stairs with Butterscotch on my heels in case I need to pack and pick her up.

    "No, not really. She''s been nicer than normal, she even promised to take me shopping for books in Port Angeles today. But now I know why. She and her friend Kim have been talking to strange people with cameras about a reality show. They''ve been in the lodge for over an hour. I tried calling my cousin Lori, but she''s dealing with an emergency at her neighbor''s farm, so she can''t come."

    "Okay, sweetheart, don''t worry," I say, my stomach clenched uncomfortably as I grab a duffle bag out of my closet, "I''m on my way. Where are you?"

    "The Escape at Lake Crescent," she says and reads me the address in Port Angeles, "I''m in my cabin watching movies."

    "I thought you were staying at the Lodge," I say.

    "Jenna didn''t like it, it was too old-fashioned," she hiccups, "This place is brand new, and fancier, with an indoor pool and stuff, Rune always told us to say no to any reality shows because they''re not real, but when I tried to tell Jenna that at breakfast, she didn''t believe me and told me this was how we could afford a horse and my expensive outdoor school."

    She''s crying full out now, "It''s okay, Lorelei," I say soothingly, slipping out of my shorts and pulling on my best pair of fleece-lined leggings, "I won''t be there for over an hour. Is that okay?"

    "Yes, if you''re coming, I''ll be fine. I''ll watch Howl''s again until you get here," she tells me, "I can see the parking lot from the window. But a paparazzi just arrived about fifteen minutes ago, so that can''t be good."

    "No, that can''t," I agree, moving into the bathroom and throwing my toothbrush and other toiletries into my duffle bag, "Did you text your dad and Rune a message about that?"

    "Yes, of course," she sniffs.

    "If your dad comes home or Jenna returns to the cabin, tell them you want to go home since the weather''s supposed to be bad for the next few days, okay?

    **

    I probably shouldn''t be doing this, I think, as I grab a warm pair of socks and then another as I glance at the weather report. I probably shouldn''t be butting in. But how can I leave Lorelei feeling so miserable and with paparazzi there? Why the hell have they shown up?

    Is Gunnar famous enough to send paparazzi? To Port Angeles? Almost in Canada? I could be paranoid, but somehow, this feels like a trap for Rune.

    The temperature is expected to drop significantly. This storm is supposed to dump some serious rain and maybe even hail. I pull on my duck boots and throw the extra socks, panties, and flannel jeans into the duffle before changing into a long-sleeve t-shirt and pulling on my warmest hoodies.

    I don''t want to be stuck without my stuff if the wind is so bad they close the bridge. Running down the stairs into my office, I pick up my laptop, battery charger, and the case. I''m probably overreacting, but it''s better to be safe than sorry.

    Butterscotch will have to come; Marguerite''s still away. I throw a container with food, treats, her leash, and dishes in a canvas tote and lock up the house.

    I text both Gunnar and Rune and leave voice messages. If one or the other calls me back before I start the car, I can change course, I think, as I slip on Butterscotch''s harness and grab my heavier rain jacket. Neither calls me back.

    **

    I''m on the Hood Canal Floating Bridge heading West towards the Olympic Peninsula, ten minutes from home, when Rune''s call comes across on my Bluetooth.

    "Hey! Where are you?"

    "Just crossing the bridge," I tell him. I''m pretty sure he''s going to ask me to turn around.

    "Perfect, can you pick me up at the ferry terminal in Port Angeles?" He asks instead.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Of course. But you''re not bringing your car?" I ask, surprised.

    "I can walk on now or wait with my car for two hours. There''s a lot of traffic; people want to get home before the storm gets bad."

    "So, you don''t think I''m overreacting?" I ask.

    "I hope we''re both overreacting," he says, "I hope we''ll laugh over a pizza about it in a couple of hours. But I don''t think that''ll be the case, not with a paparazzi in the parking lot.

    "Do you think someone set Jenna up?"

    "Yes, but we''ll talk about it when I see you. I''m going to jump off and keep trying to reach Gunnar," he says, adding, "Seashell, thanks for this."

    "No worries," I tell him as we sign off, my heart lifting the dread a little from his appreciation, but not much. What the hell is going on?

    Since I''ll arrive faster in Port Angeles than Rune, I stop for gas in Sequim. Weirdly, my anxiety is making me hungry. But looking at the time, I realize it''s closer to dinner than I had imagined. Time melted away as I was working on the planters.

    I zoom down the convenience store aisles and grab several packages of peanut butter and crackers, peanut M&M''s, a full-sized bag of Ruffles, and a few Cokes. These are the things that look appetizing in my current mental state. We might need emergency snacks, too. Honestly, though a pizza does sound delicious right now.

    It had already started to rain before Butterscotch, and I left home. Now it''s coming down even harder. The wind is up. It''s beginning to whip the trees around as I pull to the back of the gas station and find a grassy spot for Butterscotch to do her business. She''s not too happy about my wanting her to get out in the wet.

    "You might be in the car for a while," I advise her, "be smart."

    My teeth are chattering from nerves and cold by the time we''re back in the car again, and I''ve got Butterscotch safely strapped in. I''m grateful I threw my down vest in at the last minute. I slip out of my wet rain jacket and pull the vest on instead. I need some music and some sugar and caffeine. I pull up Dua Lipa''s album Future Nostalgia on iTunes hit play while I take a big swig of Coke. Love Again comes up first with its catchy tagline on being surprised to be falling in love again.

    "Very funny, Theo," I say out loud, bopping my head to the song''s addictive disco beat as I pull out of the gas station parking lot and eat a handful of M&M''s.

    Any time, doll, he laughs back.

    **

    When I pull into Port Angeles waterfront area, Rune''s ferry is still a few minutes out. Fortunately, I snag street parking within the eye line of the terminal just as someone else is leaving. I move Butterscotch to the backseat, which she doesn''t appreciate, and put her stuff and my duffle in the trunk.

    With still more time to kill, I open my compact. I look at harried as I feel. Eeek. Chances are I''ll probably sit in the car while Rune handles everything at the cabins. But just in case, why not kill time by being a little more put together?

    Yes, I am thinking of the gorgeous and elegantly put together Julia Endo. I''m in love here by myself, I know, but I need to represent Girl Friday''s well. Yet again, I appreciate my new chic haircut. I run a brush through it, then clean up my smudged eyeliner and mascara I put on for lunch with Luna with a spare Q-tip. By the time I''m applying a dab of lip color, Rune''s texting that he''s walking out of the terminal.

    My heart lifts when I see him jogging towards us in his Carhartt jacket and black baseball cap. His lush mouth is pressed in an unhappy line.

    "Want me to drive, and you can navigate?" he asks as he throws his duffle bag in the backseat next to the excited barking dog.

    "Yes," I say, relieved, getting out quickly to change places with him. I''m a good driver, but the wind is so strong now it''s driving the rain horizontally and it''s making me nervous.

    "Two of my three favorite girls," Rune twists around to croon at Butterscotch, tossing the black cap he was wearing into the back seat next to her and reaching to rub her head. I''m relieved he can be chipper, all things considered.

    "Marguerite''s away teaching," I explain, watching him adjust the seat and mirrors, telling myself not to make too much of being one of his favorite girls.

    "Lorelei will be thrilled to see her; that''ll help," he grins at me. He looks almost as tired as in June when he first arrived. The only difference is that his eyes aren''t bloodshot.

    This is my first time seeing him in anything but perfectly matched apparel. The black running pants and brown sweatshirt under his jacket have seen better days. More red-blonde scruff is on his jaw and upper lip than I''ve seen him wear, his hair''s flat from his cap, and he''s the most beautiful thing I''ve ever seen. I''ve never wanted to kiss a man so badly in my whole life.

    "Did you talk to Lorelei?" I ask to distract myself, taking another drink of Coke as he drives us back towards the highway.

    "I did, she''s been so smart, but she''s pretty freaked out," he says.

    "Snack?" I ask after I tell him to take the 101 West towards Lake Cresent.

    "What are my options, Ms. Disaster Preparedness?" he asks with a quirk of his swoon-worthy lips. I feel a tiny sense of pride at this title as I tell him what I''ve got. Girl Friday''s rule.

    "Ruffles, absolutely," he says, and then motions to the drink between us, "Can I have a sip?" he gestures to the Coke.

    "Of course, but don''t you want your own? Unfortunately, they didn''t have Orangina."

    "No, I just need a taste."

    We crunch on the chips, not talking as he drives us back to the highway.

    "So, what do you think is going on?" I ask finally, breaking the silence while I study the way to the cabins on Google Maps.

    "I think Franklin''s trying to get at me through my family, I think he found out about the podcast somehow," he tells me as we speed along the forest-lined highway and the wind-shield wipers beat rhythmically. Obviously, I''ve turned off the music.

    "I think that too. I guess we''re equally paranoid," I say.

    "It''s nice not to be alone in this," he says, keeping his eyes on the road, "thank you."

    "I''m so sorry my family party is the reason you met Franklin," I''ve said this before, but I feel it bears repeating, maybe again and again.

    "Shells, we''ve been over this; it''s not your family''s fault," he says, patting my leg reassuringly, "And you know what? Your mom may be as much a victim of Franklin as any of us."

    He''s not wrong, Theo says in my head. I hear him, but I can''t think about that right now.

 Chapter 54: A nasty surprise

    It''s gotten so dark from the storm I need to pay close attention to the map and the street signs as we turn from the highway toward Lake Crescent. The lake itself is choppy and slate-colored with the rain and the wind. At some points, as we''re driving along, the water''s edge is so close to the road that it feels like I could jump out of the car into it. Not that I''d want to.

    When we pull into the mostly empty gravel parking lot for the lodge, two men are sitting in two different black SUVs, like Lorelei told us. As soon as they see us, they take out gigantic cameras. Crap.

    I''ve been keeping in touch with Lorelei via texts since I picked up Rune. When he parks in front of her cabin, I see her small, pale, worried face as she move back curtains and beams a quick smile and a wave at us.

    "Don''t look at the photographers, Shells," Rune warns, putting a hand on my arm before he reaches into the back for his hat, "Even if they come right up to the window. Make sure Butterscotch is okay in case this takes a while in the lodge. If the photographers approach you and start saying anything, don''t comment. I''ll go get Lorelei and be right back."

    I nod and keep myself from glancing at the photographers while I move Rune''s duffle bag into the trunk and deal with the dog. I unhook Butterscotch but keep her in the backseat, glad I gave her a potty break earlier. I dig out her water dish, pour her some from a container I keep in the back, and set the dish on the floor so she can drink if needed.

    By the time I''ve moved his bag to the trunk, Rune is back and putting Lorelei''s bags in on top of the others. Lorelei''s running around the car to hug me tightly and then to open the back seat and greet an ecstatic Butterscotch quickly.

    Neither photographer approaches the car or says anything, but as soon as we start walking towards the lodge, their rapid footsteps crunch on the gravel behind us, and cameras click. I wish I''d brought hats for Lorelei and me. My heart''s pounding in my ears with adrenaline from the craziness of this situation.

    Instinctually, we have Lorelei between us, holding firmly onto her hands. Rune positioned himself closest to the photographers, shielding Lorelei and me as much as possible with his body. They keep their distance and don''t follow us as we walk up the stairs into the main building. I have such tunnel vision right now. I almost trip on the last step, and my face heats with embarrassment and frustration.

    The main lodge is impressive and ironic, considering it''s built to mimic the rustic wood and stone parkitecture of the historic lodges at and around the national parks. But I guess it''s new and looks luxurious, and that''s what mattered to Jenna.

    The lobby is spacious and modern but still smells jarringly of fresh paint. It continues the historic lodge theme with exposed beams and a massive river rock fireplace that''s now blazing. But there''s no one enjoying it. There''s no guests I can here at here at all. This feels very strange for high season. Is it so new no one knows about it yet? At the front desk, Rune asks the lone clerk which room Jenna Mercurio has booked for her meeting, and then we''re striding down the correct hall.

    None of the conference rooms appear occupied except almost at end with the door ajar. Several feet away from our target door, I can hear an the too familiar gravelly voice of my hated old boss. I stop abruptly, horrified.

    "Rune," I whisper urgently, "that''s Pamela Lyon''s voice."

    A stormy, even more determined expression comes over his face. He holds his finger to his lips, and the three of us creep closer, just outside of the door. Unfortunately, there''s no window into the conference room so we can only hear what''s going on.

    "I don''t understand why you can''t film Kim and me playing a game in front of the lodge fire and do other b-roll stuff," I hear Jenna say, sounding sulky, "Why do you want to film Lorelei too when her father hasn''t signed the release yet? He''ll be here by this evening. We weren''t supposed to film anything until tomorrow anyway."

    "This is a family-oriented show, Jenna; we need Lorelei," I hear Pamela say, in a patient tone she uses with challenging clients, "This storm is really going to set us back. Time is money, and I need you to be more of a team player."

    "Exactly," a charming male voice chimes in, "This is only for a test. If we''ve got something interesting, her father can sign the release when he shows up. We''re just eager to get some footage."

    Rune motions for us to stay where we are. He takes out his phone and holds it up like he''s filming before he walks into the room, leaving the door open.

    "Hello," Rune says, sounding casually cheerful, "it sounds like I got here just at the right time."

    "What are you doing? Why are you filming this private meeting," the charming man says in a much less charming voice, "turn that thing off."

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    "Why are you harassing my family, Pamela?" Rune asks, his voice calm but serious.

    "They''re not harassing us," I hear Jenna retort hotly, "this isn''t about you."

    "You''re paranoid, turn that off," Pamela instructs sharply.

    "Then why are there paparazzi in the parking lot?" Rune counters.

    "Dallas, grab his phone," Pamela instructs, "We don''t need this." There''s a grunt and a scuffle. Rune appears jogging backward out the door with his phone still in his hand. He grabs Lorelei, scoots her behind him, and reaches to do the same for me.

    When the man trying to snatch Rune''s phone sees us, he drops his hand and darts back into the conference room, saying tightly, "Pamela, it''s time to go."

    Less than a minute later he, Pamela, and a third man with a large video camera exit the room and almost run us over in their eagerness to leave. Dallas tries again to snatch Rune''s phone, but Rune is faster. Lorelei and I follow and step out of the way in unison as if it''s a choreographed move.

    "This is a whole new level of dirty work, Pamela," Rune calls angrily as she and the two men walk briskly away to the exit in the opposite direction as the front parking lot. Pamela turns and starts to say something but glances at Rune''s phone, shakes her head, and follows the men out.

    Rune shuts off his phone, slips it into his pocket, and runs his hand over Lorelei''s bright hair, "Let''s tell Jenna you''re coming with us."

    "Yes, please," she says, her eyes still wide from all that happened. I''m sure mine must be as well. What the hell is going on?

    "Jenna," Rune says as we follow him into the small, plain conference room complete with a long table, chairs, and a whiteboard, "Apparently, you didn''t hear my lecture about staying away from reality shows," he says, shutting the door.

    Inside, Jenna is sitting at the table next to a younger woman who looks very mousy in comparison to her. Both appear as thunderstruck as I feel.

    "Why did you have to be so rude? This wasn''t about you," Jenna asks Rune, now looking angry and close to tears, "This was a wonderful opportunity."

    "Of course it was about Rune. The paparazzi are here in case he showed up," Lorelei says hotly, "Daddy never has photographers snapping pics of him unless he''s competing at an event, or it''s a fan but they want selfies with him."

    Jenna looks surprised by this. What planet is she on? Next to Jenna, the other woman seems to wish the ground would open and swallow her. She has a bookish look, with large black glasses and shadows under her eyes, as if she''s stayed up too late too often reading. Her dark blonde hair is scraped back in a messy ponytail, and she''s huddled in on herself in jeans and a jacket that''s not quite warm enough for the weather.

    Jenna, in comparison, is the sort of woman I think of as professionally good-looking. The sort that actually is ready for a reality TV crew to follow her around. Now, as always, her face is carefully made up, her long nails a deep scarlet which matches the piping in her top-of-the-line charcoal warm up suit. Her dark mahogany hair is worn back in a sleek ponytail.

    "Look, both of you," Rune says tiredly, leaning back against the wall and scrubbing his hand over his hair, "unless you''re making it yourself or know your production partners and their track record really well, reality TV is all about creating as much drama as possible to the detriment of the people starring in it."

    "That''s not what we pitched at all," Jenna says stubbornly, as if she hasn''t heard him. I doubt she did.

    "It doesn''t matter," Rune starts.

    "That''s not what we agreed to," the younger woman says defensively, holding up a green project folder as if it''s some kind of proof.

    "So, you''ve worked with this particular production company before?" Rune asks as he sits and pulls Lorelei down into the chair next to him, retaking her hand. I sit next to her.

    "No," the younger woman turns a bit pink under his intense gaze, "but I''ve been producing digital content for women''s magazines for the past few years. This is a legitimate company. I checked them out."

    "I''m sure they''re legit," Rune says more patiently, "that doesn''t mean they were going to stick to your pitch in editing the actual show. How did you meet them? How well do you know them?"

    "They reached out to me through Instagram when we were in Hawaii." Jenna says, "They connected after I posted some pics of Gunnar and I in training and said we were heading to the Pacific Northwest soon. I asked Kim to check them out."

    "Do you have a copy of the contracts you signed with you?" Rune asks.

    Jenna and Kim glance at each other. Both shake their heads.

    "They were going to have their legal team send them to us," Kim says, "they told me it was standard procedure."

    "Just shoot me now," Rune says, dropping his head into his hands, "How could you be such naive idiots?"

    Jenna is crying now, but I''m unsure if it''s from embarrassment or disappointment.

    "Do either of you have the production company''s business card? I want to take a picture of it and send it to my lawyers," Rune asks shortly.

    Kim opens the green project folder and removes the card clipped to the top. Rune snaps a pic of it and slides it back to her.

    "I''m stunned my cousin went along with this," Rune says, standing. Jenna looks stony, "You did tell him about this, didn''t you?" He asks.

    "I wanted it to be a surprise," she says, not looking him in the face, "a fun way to help pay for our new life up here." There''s something that rings a little false about this. Gunnar makes a very good living. He told me he only decided to move when he was sure he no longer needed his LA clients.

    Rune shakes his head, starts to say something, stops, and finally says, "Shelby and I are taking Lorelei with us back to Port Angeles. If the bridge is still open, we''ll take her home; if not, I''ll be in touch about where we''re staying."

    "You can stay here," Kim pipes up, looking as if she might not want to be left alone with Jenna right now, but Jenna glowers at her, "it''s not officially open yet," Kim says more quietly.

    "Thanks, but I have something else in mind," and then he adds, as he moves to the door, shepherding Lorelei in front of him, and then turns and says, "If you''re so keen on this idea, why don''t the two of you come up with your own show? It''s about the only way you won''t get royally screwed. Start small by posting it on YouTube and see how it goes."

    "I''m an accountant becoming an interior designer," Jenna snaps, wiping her tears with her fingers, "even I know it takes money and skills we don''t have."

    "You can learn," Rune says shortly. I think he''s going to say more, but then he shakes his head again, and we walk out.

 Chapter 55: Lord Ganesha & some serendipity

    "Well, that was fun," Rune says once we''re all in the car. He''s texting rapidly. I''m sure it''s to Gunnar.

    "Fun!" I huff, wiping the rain off my face my hood couldn''t protect me from.

    "Fun!" Lorelei exclaims in the middle of her joyous reunion with Butterscotch in the backseat.

    We both start to laugh when we see the sarcastic expression on Rune''s face. He joins in. We''re wet and frazzled but safe for now. The photographers and their black SUVs have miraculously disappeared; Pamela probably told them to scram.

    "Hungry Pup?" Rune asks, starting the car and turning up the heat.

    "Starved," Lorelei says as I twist around and show her how to buckle Butterscotch into her seat belt, "can we have Thai food?"

    "I thought you''d want pizza," Rune clarifies, once we''re all settled, and he drives out of the parking lot. Thank God he''s happy to be behind the wheel. Between what just happened and the weather, I far prefer to play navigator.

    "Jenna was going on and on about all the things she was giving up by moving here yesterday after Dad took off on his bike ride, complaining there wouldn''t be any place to have good Thai food."

    "As you wish," Rune tells her and winks at me, "Shells, can you find the best Thai restaurant in Port Angeles for our rescued princess?"

    "Absolutely," I say, happy to have this task to focus on. No one can ever top Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride, but Rune''s not a bad second choice.

    "I appreciate the rescue, but I''m not a princess," Lorelei informs him tartly, "I''m an equestrian."

    "My bad," Rune tells her in the rearview.

    "And a fierce one," I say, thinking of how she snapped back at Jenna. We all laugh again as I find options, and Rune gets us back on the highway.

    By the time we''ve decided where to go, and we''re well on our way back to Port Angeles my heart rate finally starts to slow down. But I''m still filled with adrenaline from this crazy day. Why the hell was Pamela there? And why wasn''t Rune surprised? I have a million questions for him, but none are appropriate in front of Lorelei.

    Thank goodness the restaurant is hard to miss in this weather. The former house is a vivid grass green, with a sign that glows brightly yellow in the storm-dark day. When Rune pulls up close to the front, it''s raining so hard we can barely hear each other. I almost shout to tell Lorelei to give the dog a treat from her canvas tote, and then we all make a mad dash for the restaurant''s protective awning.

    A frisson of excitement and dread runs through me as I catch sight of an image hand-painted right next to the front door. It''s an Indian elephant in bright jewel colors sitting on its hind legs, waving and winking. Lord Ganesha? In case I have any doubt, a light pink lotus blossom blooms in my mind''s eye along with that reverberating gong. Here we go again.

    "I hope you''re here to help," Rune tells the painting as he opens the door for Lorelei and me.

    "Why were you talking to a sign?" Lorelei asks him as we removed our wet jackets and hang them on a rack in the lobby.

    "Serendipity, synchronicity, or both, I hope," he says as the hostess appears, "I''ll tell you in a minute."

    We''re led to a plush booth in a corner of the almost deserted restaurant. Only two other groups of diners have braved the bad weather for an early dinner.

    "Wow," Lorelei says after she''s been seated between the two of us, "This is the sort of place I imagine you go on a date," she looks around and then at us on either side of her with raised eyebrows and a mischievous look.

    She has a point; the inside d¨¦cor is dominated by red and pink, including red and pink silk rose petals scattered across our tabletop underneath the glass top. The lighting is dim, cozy, and romantic. It''s a bit much, considering. I wish I''d looked at images of the inside before picking, but it was the best rated.

    "Maybe you should tell your dad to bring Jenna here," Rune recommends.

    Lorelei scowls at him, "I don''t want to think about Jenna; tell me about the connection between the painting of an elephant, serendipity, and synchronicity."

    "What are you ordering?" Rune evades his eyes on the long, elaborate menu before him.

    "Pad Thai with tofu," she tells him quickly.

    "Seashell? All set?" Rune asks.

    "Yes," I tell him, "I''m looking forward to a big bowl of the spicy lemongrass soup, Tom Yum Goong.

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    "I''ll have that too," Rune says, collecting our menus, which brings our server over to take our order.

    "Now, do tell," I say to him, once our order has been completed, which makes Lorelei giggle.

    "Just like Wizard Howl, yes, do tell Rune!" She echoes me, and we fist bump.

    "Lord Ganesha," Rune says to Lorelei, holding up his left wrist with the mala beads and silver charm, "I''ve shared with you already is the Hindu god who removes obstacles. Serendipity and synchronicity are when it seems like the universe is sending you signals that things are lining up in your favor."

    "The painting was of Lord Ganesha?" she clarifies, and Rune nods.

    "I like that," Lorelei says, but then her face becomes serious, "You knew the lady with the harsh voice. Is she one of the people who spread awful rumors about you on the Internet?"

    "You don''t look them up, do you, Pup?" Rune''s expression is worried. I feel a bit guilty. But I''ve only looked things up on Instagram lately.

    "No, but a frenemy at school told me some things," Lorelei admits. Rune''s lips flatten and move to the side unhappily at this.

    "I''m sorry about that," he tells her, "Yes, Shelby and I both know Pamela Lyons. I''m pretty sure she''s one of the nasty rumors people," his gaze catches mine for a moment. I bite my tongue to keep from asking for more details and focus on my soup.

    "I''m glad you chased her away, Jenna''s an idiot," Lorelei says hotly.

    "Language, Pup," Rune says gently, "I know you''re mad at Jenna right now, but we shouldn''t call people idiots."

    "But there''s no way Daddy was going to agree to be on a reality show!" she retorts.

    "No," Rune agrees, as his phone beeps, "I need to go take care of a couple of other things, ladies. Can you catch up for a bit without me?

    **

    While Lorelei and I warm our hands on our cups of tea, she fills me in on more of her adventures. She shares in vivid detail how much fun she and her dad had until Jenna and Kim arrived. Then she gives me a laundry list of complaints against Jenna, though she''s careful not to call her an idiot again.

    "Her assistant Kim isn''t so bad," Lorelei says, a bit begrudgingly.

    "Since when does Jenna have an assistant?" I ask; not sure how I''m surprised by anything right now, but I am.

    "She''s not really an assistant," Lorelei confides, wrinkling her nose, "She''s a friend of Jenna''s family who needed a job, and Jenna paid her to help drive Jenna''s car up here."

    "But why is she still here?" I ask, confused.

    "Jenna wants her help on more house stuff, and I guess this reality show idea that Jenna wanted to surprise us all with."

    "I''ve got good news and bad news," Rune tells us, sliding in next to Lorelei again right after our delicious-smelling dinner arrives at the table.

    "Tell us the bad news first," Lorelei says, stirring her noodles and making the steam, "get it over with."

    "The Hood Canal Bridge is closed. The winds are too high right now."

    "For how long?" I ask as I dish Rune and I up bowls of soup from the heated metal container in the middle of the table. The soup looks amazing, full of mushrooms and cilantro and other good things.

    "Hard to say," Rune says, holding up his phone, "to play it safe, I booked a place for us tonight."

    I''m happy I''m such a prepared Girl Scout and brought supplies.

    "Darn," Lorelei pouts, "I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and seeing my horses."

    "It looks like a cool place, Pup," Rune tells her, "A friend of mine has stayed there and really liked it. It''s on the smaller lake, Lake Sutherland."

    I try not to frown as I stir my hot, fragrant soup. I wonder if Daphne is this particular friend. Or has Julia already made him forget about his new Seattle squeeze?

    "Is it a cabin not right next to a parking lot?" Lorelei asks, cutting into my jealous thoughts.

    "Are you sure you''re not a princess?" Rune asks, tugging lightly on her braid. She frowns at him.

    "I just know what I like," she says stubbornly, "we were supposed to stay in a cabin in the rainforest until Jenna changed everything."

    "I''m sorry about that, Pup," Rune says, "I think this place might help make up for it."

    "So is the fact that you knew this cabin was here and it''s available is serendipity?" Lorelei asks, looking very self-satisfied.

    "I hope so," Rune smiles at her.

    "Can I see pics?" Lorelei asks, reaching for his phone.

    "I like the idea of a surprise," he tells her, moving his phone out of reach.

    "So why couldn''t your cousin Stacy come for you?" I ask Lorelei, even though I too would love to see where we''re going.

    "Oh! It''s so sad," Lorelei exclaims, "Her neighbor died! They realized something was wrong because the vet came for an appointment this morning, and no one answered his knock."

    "Oh wow," Rune says, pausing mid-bite, "this isn''t the elderly woman across the road who runs the horse rescue operation, is it?"

    ¡°Yes, Mrs. Williamsen. Her family already told Stacy they want to sell the land. Stacy and Michael will need to find new homes for all of the horses," Lorelei somehow manages to look sad and hopeful simultaneously, "Maybe we can take some!"

    "There''s a lot of work that needs to be done before our place would be safe for horses," Rune tells her, "The horses probably need new homes before we could make that happen."

    "How many horses does she have?" I ask, feeling my heart clutch.

    "Twenty! Stacey and Micheal don''t have room for that many. Shelby, do you think you could draw a coloring page to tell the story of these horses? Could that help them?"

    "It''s worth a try. I''d be happy to," I tell her.

    "I wasn''t paranoid about the production company," Rune says as soon as Lorelei runs off to the bathroom and hands me his phone, "Raymond''s assistant already found this out?"

    Carolyn Watson: This production company is owned by Franklin Haus Enterprises.

    "Crap!" I exclaim and then cover my mouth, "What does this mean?"

    "Franklin found out about the podcast somehow," Rune says darkly, taking back his phone, "I''m sure this is just one of the extreme steps he''ll take to try and discredit me and any of us participating."

    "By having Pamela go after Jenna and intrigue her with a reality show idea?" I''m stunned. This is crazy and horrible.

    "He''s a seriously twisted individual," Rune says, as he tucks into the remains of Lorelei''s Pad Thai, "He loves to hire photographers to snoop and feed images and outrageous stories to online outlets to get back at people on his hit list. Pamela is involved in all that somehow. I have a feeling the reality show scam was another level of that."

    "So that text I sent you about the photographer out on the main road at home was one of Franklins?"

    "Almost certainly," Rune nods.

    "That''s so creepy," I shudder. I can''t believe my mother looks up to people who do this sort of thing. But of course, I''m sure they hide it from her.

    "You have no idea. Someone would probably be following us now if we hadn''t surprised Pamela face to face, and the weather''s wasn''t so bad."

 Chapter 56: A dream cabin & Shelbys dare

    Before heading to the cabin, we stop at the local indie grocery store for snacks and breakfast. After days of Jenna¡¯s over-the-top healthy eating, Lorelei has a long list of requirements.

    While Rune browses the wine selection, I push the cart as she insists on loading up with pre-cut watermelon, cereal, English muffins, onion dip to go with the chips we already have in the car, a gourmet pizza, and gummy bears.

    When I give Rune a questioning look as he adds three bottles of red wine to the small quickly filling cart, he laughs.

    ¡°It won¡¯t go to waste; someone will take the rest home,¡± he tells me, ¡°I¡¯m just glad she¡¯s eating.¡±

    ¡°Are we inviting guests over for a party?¡± I ask, indicating at the wine.

    ¡°It¡¯s locally produced, I want to try it,¡± he tells me, ¡°And Gunnar might show up with Jenna. We¡¯ll need it.¡±

    I can¡¯t argue with that. I could use a glass myself right now. I¡¯d love to have something help remove the anxious edge that¡¯s creeping in now that the adrenaline has died down. I keep thinking that photographer''s might be hiding around each new aisle, which is ridiculous.

    The trip to the cabin takes us off the Olympic Highway to the road that runs along the North side of the lake. Trying to see the street signs through the heavy rain isn¡¯t easy. We make a few false turns before finding the right almost hidden turn, which leads to a long private gravel drive that takes us down towards the water.

    ¡°Oh!¡± Lorelei exclaims from the backseat as we pull up to the back of the cabin, ¡°Oh, Rune, it¡¯s perfect!¡± She¡¯s so excited she¡¯s tapping the back of Rune¡¯s seat rhythmically like a set of drums.

    It is very cool, a cross between a rustic wood cabin and a traditional shingled craftsman, all dark wood with bright teal blue trim along the edge of the roof and the windows.

    Lorelei has unhooked Butterscotch, and they¡¯re out the door in the rain, running up the steps to the back porch and gesturing frantically to us to hurry up. Rune and I grab the groceries and rush after her.

    Inside is equally charming. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling are all wood. It has an open floor plan downstairs, dominated by a river rock fireplace on one wall, and huge windows on another. The walls are hung with bright bold prints of indigenous-inspired art of the region.

    Lorelei and Butterscotch make a beeline for the window lined front of the cabin. She opens the French doors and steps onto the deck under the awning. I follow her and take in the expansive deck filled with wrought iron furniture missing its cushions. Beyond that is the dark choppy lake framed by the tree filled hills behind it. It''s a spectacular view.

    ¡°Can we light a fire?¡± She pivots around, pointing to the cord of wood standing at the ready on the fireplace hearth.

    ¡°Sure, but help us unload the car first,¡± Rune tells her. His phone beeps as we¡¯re lugging in our duffels. When he checks it, he motions to us that he¡¯ll be a moment before disappearing into one of the two downstairs bedrooms.

    ¡°Drat!¡± Lorelei scowls, ¡°he could be on the phone forever if it¡¯s his lawyers."

    ¡°We¡¯ll make our own fun,¡± I tell her, ¡°And he can catch up.¡± This cheers her. As soon as we put the groceries away, we start to explore.

    ¡°I¡¯m sleeping up here,¡± Lorelei announces when we climb up the stairs and peer into a small bedroom with a lake view, complete with its own tiny deck, ¡°can Butterscotch join me?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I tell her, maybe the transfer of ownership should happen tomorrow. It might be an excellent way to smooth things over with Jenna. I¡¯ll talk to Rune about it when Lorelei goes to bed. There¡¯s another small bedroom across the way with a shared bath and a nice deep bathtub.

    I¡¯ll probably sleep up here, I think.

    I doubt it, Theo quips in my head, which I ignore.

    Back downstairs again, I start the fire while Lorelei looks through the cabinet under the wall-mounted wide-screen TV. She discovers a stash of classic games, including Monopoly and even Chutes and Ladders.

    ¡°What the heck is this?¡± She asks, pulling out a dark square wood board with a bunch of plastic bags holding marbles sitting on top of it.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s Chinese checkers,¡± I tell her, examining the board full of little round divots in the shape of a six-pointed star.

    ¡°How do you play?¡± she asks enthusiastically.

    We¡¯re halfway through our first game, with Lorelei soundly beating me when Rune finally appears.

    ¡°Is it happy hour yet?¡± he asks, looking frazzled. He heads toward the kitchen, picking up one of the two bottles of red wine he¡¯d bought and opening it.

    ¡°Definitely,¡± I tell him, getting up to stretch, ¡°how about a watermelon break?¡± I ask them both.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°Okay. But you¡¯re just delaying the inevitable,¡± Lorelie tells me, ¡°You know I¡¯m going to win again.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s merciless,¡± Rune says when I join him in the kitchen and remove the watermelon from the fridge.

    ¡°So I¡¯m learning," I say, tracking down a cutting board and knife, ¡°how was your phone call?¡±

    ¡°Not fun, but important,¡± he says quietly, finding glasses in the cupboard and pouring one for each of us, ¡°I have another call in an hour, but it should be shorter.¡±

    The rest of the rain-soaked early evening is filled with a mixture of games and then movie watching. Lorelei wins all the games, but not as easily when Rune gets off a call long enough to play.

    Rune¡¯s ¡°as you wish¡± comment inspired me to track down The Princess Bride. Shockingly, Lorelei has only seen the classic film once with her Granty when she was little and doesn¡¯t remember it much. Lorelei, Butterscotch, and I happily snuggle on the comfortable denim-covered couch to watch. I''m struck by how much Rune resembles Carey Elwes, but even more Scott Treadman. I wonder if Franklin ever tried to get the British actor''s attention.

    Once Rune¡¯s off his phone calls, he can¡¯t seem to settle. He keeps jumping up and prowling around, often standing and staring out at the lake and the rain as if he can will it to stop if he just glares at it long enough. We ignore him. The movie is too engaging.

    Usually, Lorelei goes to bed at nine o¡¯clock, but about three quarters of the way through, I realize she hasn¡¯t commented in a while. She¡¯s passed out with Butterscotch on her lap like a furry mini quilt.

    ¡°Time for bed, Pup,¡± Rune tells her after I get up and let him know she¡¯s asleep. He rubs her shoulder gently. She grimaces and mumbles something as he helps her up, guiding her upstairs with Butterscotch on their heels. Good. When he returns downstairs, I¡¯ve shut off the TV and cleaned up our dishes.

    ¡°I wish I could go for a run,¡± he says, sounding exasperated, coming into the kitchen, pouring another glass of wine, and topping up mine.

    ¡°What do you do in Victoria when it¡¯s too cold or wet to go outside, grumpy Howl?¡± I ask as I sit on the couch again.

    ¡°The apartment complex has a gym,¡± he pouts, "That''s a missing here."

    I know he¡¯s had a rough day, but this is a bit much, ¡°Then we¡¯ll have to be inventive, so you don¡¯t ooze green slime all over this beautiful cabin,¡± I tell him sternly, getting my laptop case out of my duffle bag by the front door and bringing it back into the living room.

    ¡°Why am I sure this involves dancing of some sort?¡± He asks as if it¡¯s a dirty word.

    ¡°It certainly will for me,¡± I say, sitting in front of my computer and pulling up my favorite shamanic music session. ¡°You can do jumping jacks, or sit-ups, or whatever cardio thing you need to do to move out of this angsty funk you¡¯re in right now,¡± I tell him, and hit play, adjusting the sound so we can hear it, but it won¡¯t wake up Lorelei.

    ¡°I don¡¯t dance, Seashell,¡± he grumbles at me, but he¡¯s leaning forward, arms resting on knees as if he¡¯s a wary but curious animal with its ears pricked forward, ¡°this sounds like witchy forest voodoo music.¡±

    ¡°You used to dance as a kid, and somehow you managed to play Gregg Allman going on a date to a disco with Cher,¡± I say, standing back up and moving far enough away so that I can start to sway and move my arms to warm up freely. This is the same music I used to dance my way into making Uncle Theo¡¯s bedroom my own. Hopefully, it can do some good here too.

    ¡°That was different; it was all choreographed,¡± he¡¯s almost pouting again as he says this, but I notice he¡¯s watching me intently. If he were a cat, he¡¯d be flicking his tail in indecision, but intrigued.

    ¡°So¡¯s this. It¡¯s an easy routine I made up,¡± I say as new percussion elements and atmospheric whistles join the rhythmic beat of the music. ¡°Come on, I dare you. It¡¯s easier than those Backstreet Boys routines I made you learn with me.¡±

    Rune gives me a grimace and prowls off to the kitchen. I know I¡¯m probably getting myself in trouble here, that the wine I¡¯ve been sipping slowly has gone to my head a bit and made me bold, but I don¡¯t care. We both need to move.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he¡¯s back, setting two glasses of water on the coffee table alongside our wines. ¡°What exactly does this dare entail? I don¡¯t want to get hexed with one of your evil glances tonight.¡±

    ¡°You have to dance,¡± I say, as I keep moving, but not breaking eye contact, ¡°until you at least glow, if not break a sweat. You¡¯ll feel better.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d better feel better,¡± he growls.

    He stands behind me a few feet away and shadows my movement as if we¡¯re in a dance class that I¡¯m teaching. I can hear him swear as he has a few awkward moments now and then, but I¡¯m simplifying the movements so they''re easy to follow. When I glance around at him after several minutes, he¡¯s following along well.

    Once I¡¯ve repeated the whole routine about ten times, I turn around again to see him doing the steps easily with his eyes closed. He''s starting to get into it. Good.

    ¡°I suppose you picked the sexiest witch music on purpose,¡± he says, opening one eye at me, ¡°to distract me.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I turn back around before he can see the heat rising in my cheeks, ¡°It was one of my first assignments from Vivienne. You had to find the music that best helps you dance back into your body.¡±

    ¡°We certainly can¡¯t disappoint Vivienne,¡± he snorts, ¡°she¡¯s more terrifying than you are.¡±

    The music changes slightly, the beat speeding up and taking on a bit more Middle Eastern flavor. I pull off my hoodie and toss it onto the couch, noticing that Rune''s sweatshirt is already there.

    As with almost any time I¡¯m dancing, eventually I forget about who else is in the room and let the music take over. The crazy tension begins slipping away as my muscles limber up. I start to feel easy and loose and agile. I stop strictly doing the routine and add whatever feels right.

    ¡°No fair!¡± Rune exclaims behind me, ¡°You¡¯re not following the choreography.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s time for freestyle,¡± I laugh, facing him now, taking another sip of my wine, ¡°show me your Gregg Allman moves.¡±

    We¡¯re both starting to glow, but he hasn¡¯t called me on it yet.

    ¡°Keep those Doja Cat hips a safe distance from me, or I might go Magic Mike on you,¡± he warns. An erotic thrill ripples up my spine. I wonder if he could really do that. Channing Tatum is one hot dancer.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t even started doing any Doja Cat hips,¡± I tell him, laughing more, and give him a sample. Rune stops and shakes his head.

    ¡°Uncle,¡± he puts his hands up in surrender, ¡°I¡¯m definitely glowing,¡± he fans his shirt away from his body giving me a glimpse of his lovely torso, and twisting around me towards the couch. He flops back on it, picks up his water glass for a long drink, and then the same from his wine glass.

    ¡°Better?¡± I ask, turning off the music, my heart beating so hard it¡¯s rocking my body.

    ¡°I do,¡± he admits, his energy relaxed and happy now. He picks up the wine bottle again, and starts to pour more into my glass.

    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I say, moving quickly to put my hand over it. I¡¯m slightly buzzed right now and need to keep it from increasing into very buzzed.

    ¡°Oh?¡± He puts the bottle down, his eyes wide with eager curiosity, ¡°What happens if you drink more? Do you get sick or bold?¡±

 Chapter 57: Rune ups the dare

    "I get boldly unwise," I admit, and lay down on the floor to twist one way and then the other and hear my back pop into better alignment.

    "Meaning you''ll climb up and do your Doja Cat moves on the coffee table?" Rune asks, looking both sly and hopeful. Oh God, he''s not flirting with me, is he?

    "Meaning, Mr. Unavailable Hot Mess," I say pointedly, my eyes landing on his for only a second before focusing on unplugging my computer and wrapping up the cord, "If I drink much more, I''d climb onto your lap, and do my Doja Cat moves on you."

    I''m expecting him to laugh, but he doesn''t.

    When I glance at him this time, his energy has morphed again. He''s leaning back on the couch. One hand is holding his glass of wine between the v of his long legs, the other''s draped across the back. The gaze he''s giving me is so sultry I almost flinch with the intensity of it.

    Asher Dillion is in the room. I glance down at myself. I''m surprised my clothes haven''t melted off.

    "Isn''t it my turn to dare you?" Rune asks in a voice like rich, dark honey.

    "What have you got in mind?" I ask, trying to sound cool, even though I''m pretty sure steam is starting to rise off me.

    "I''ve never really been unavailable for you, Seashell," he says as if I should know this. If I snapped a pic of him right now, we''d double his Instagram following overnight. But WTF? What does he mean? He''s contradicting himself.

    "Liar," I narrow my eyes at him in disbelief, "that''s exactly what you told me at the fundraiser."

    "Yes, well, you were still in love with Jack," he says as if this makes perfect sense, swirling his wine and taking another drink.

    I narrow my eyes at him more. What is he playing at? It''s all I can do to keep my body from leaping on him. What''s being offered is probably just for tonight or whenever he''s in town. It would be a delicious crumb, but still a crumb.

    And could I even be fully present the way I''ve been fantasizing about knowing that? No. I don''t think I could. What would Vivienne say, I wonder frantically? How can I channel some of her grace?

    Be honest, Theo says so quietly I can barely hear him. But he''s right.

    "As gratified as my ego is to learn all this," I tell Rune finally, reluctantly turning my eyes from his hypnotic gaze and slowly and carefully putting my laptop back into its case, "It wouldn''t be able to take being a pit stop on your way to Julia in Victoria or Daphne in Seattle."

    I stand and pick up my computer resolutely. I''ll grab my duffle bag by the door and take it upstairs to sleep in the room across from Lorelei.

    But Rune, the cat, is now standing right in front of me.

    "I sent Julia home," he tells me, gently but firmly taking my computer and cord and putting them back on the coffee table behind me, "I''m officially leaving the production company. I''m happy to tell you all about it, but later."

    "What?" I ask dumbly, sure I haven''t heard him correctly, as he leads me to the couch.

    "And Daphne, you goose, is my retired children''s theatre teacher," he says, not releasing my hand as he slips feline-like back into his sexy slouch, "so I think you owe me some crazy sexy hip moves. That would absolutely help me forget the rest of this dreadful day."

    "Daphne''s your children''s theater teacher?" I say, still not quite sure I''m hearing him correctly, resisting the tug of his hand.

    "From Pasadena, when I was a kid, I thought you''d remember her," he''s taking hold of my other hand now, lacing his fingers with mine.

    "Wait, didn''t you call her Ms. Traviani back then?"

    "Oh, maybe I did," he smiles impishly up at me, Chesire cat-like, "Come on, Seashell, fair''s fair. I danced with you."

    "Fine," I sigh, pretending to be annoyed to buy myself a little time to get my wits about me. I''m still not at all clear about what''s on offer here, but I can''t resist, "I hope my Doja Cat moves won''t disappoint," I say, bracing my arms on the back of the couch on either side of his head as I do my best to straddle him with some semblance of grace.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "An impossibility," his eyes are half-mast, his smile a little too satisfied as he runs one elegant hand up my spine to cradle the back of my head, the other down to press my pelvis more firmly against his.

    I decide the best way to wipe that somewhat arrogant smile off his face is to kiss it. I press my lips to his and gently swivel my hips against the firm ridge in his pants. Rune gives a soft gasp of a laugh as he slides his fingers into my hair, tilting my head back so he can place a series of kisses along the underside of my jaw.

    "God, I''ve waited a long time to do this," he whispers against my ear and licks my earlobe before gently tugging on it with his teeth.

    I lean back a little and run my fingertips over the surprisingly soft red-gold scruff on his jaw, then outline his beautiful full lips while I stare into his eyes. They''re as dark as a forest. Our kisses on the beach at the midsummer fundraiser were kids'' stuff compared to what we''re doing now. These are hungry and passionate, and it''s all I can do not to start pulling our clothes off right here. Instead, I work my hips more. And soon he''s cradling my rear end in his hands and bucking his hips up to meet mine. I press my full body against his, and run my fingers through the silk of his hair, tugging on it gently.

    "Shells," Rune gasps a laugh again, tilting us sideways and twisting so I land on my back with him over me, "let''s save some of this for the dare."

    "What?" I exclaim at him in shock, "Wasn''t this the dare?"

    "No, this was the warm-up," he says as he stands, as if this is a no-brainer, and pulls me to my feet. "Let''s go take a shower and resume this in bed."

    "Wait, what exactly is this dare?" I ask, tugging on his hand to slow him down as he walks towards the coat rack by the front door.

    "You haven''t guessed?" He asks with a glitteringly mischievous look in his as he picks up my duffle bag in his free hand. I shake my head. "It''s to tackle one of the items from your bucket list," he says as he continues toward the master bedroom.

    Oh no, "I take it you don''t mean to help me buy sex toys on the internet."

    "I''m happy to throw that in as a bonus if you like, but I''m interested in the making orgasms happen part."

    "I didn''t bring condoms, and I haven''t been tested, you know, since Jack¡­" I bather as we enter the impressive master bedroom with views of the dark, stormy lake.

    "Fortunately, my hope springs eternal," he winks at me, setting my bag down on the foot of the bed, "you''re not the only scout here."

    "You can take the first shower," I say, trying to let go of his hand so I can sit down on the bed and try to get my wits about. I want this so badly, but I am so bowled over right now. Is he going to insist we keep the lights on? Of course, he is.

    "You''re not getting shy on me now, are you?" Rune asks, gently squeezing my hand, which is getting hot and sweaty.

    "No," I insist outwardly, yes, I agree inwardly, and stammer, "I know it sounds sexy and romantic, but one person is always left out in the cold and¡­"

    "You didn''t check out this shower?" he asks, eyes in his curious mode, leading me toward the bathroom.

    "It''s not top-of-mind importance for a twelve-year-old," I tell him as we enter a huge and well-appointed master bath. It''s all white porcelain and shiny modern silver fixtures, set off by an elegant dark-gray slate floor, wood walls, and a large jacuzzi tub. It looks like something from Pinterest dream bathroom board, but I don''t see a shower.

    "I''m pretty sure we''ll both fit," Rune says. It turns out that the tub isn''t against the back wall. A massive multi-head shower is hidden behind it, complete with its own view.

    "Wow," is all I can manage.

    "I''m not even going to feel guilty about the water usage right now," Rune says, pulling off his t-shirt in that smooth one-hand-over-the-head way men can do before opening the shower''s clear glass door and stepping in to peruse the controls.

    "Can you figure it out?" I ask, feeling a little giddy from taking in light, warm, pale gold, broad-shouldered, narrow torso upper half. If this is skinny, Rune, I''m glad. I''m not sure I could handle his pumping iron version just yet.

    "Absolutely," he tells me, turning a few nobs. Water starts coming out of the heads in earnest, followed quickly by steam. "Need help?" Rune asks as he slips out of his pants, noticing I''m still fully dressed. Of course, he wears a cool shape of boxer briefs in an elegantly understated navy. Of course.

    "No," I swallow and start fumbling with my leggings, remembering that my bra and underwear don''t match. I have a feeling Rune is a connoisseur of lingerie. If this thing happening right now goes anywhere, I will have to invest in new underwear, I think as I pull my t-shirt off awkwardly. I''m happy he''s paying attention to the water temp and pressure again.

    "See if this is right for you," he says, stepping back out of the shower.

    Steam is now filling up the bathroom. The shower is so oversized I can step inside and reach over to put my hand under the closest head without getting more than my hand wet.

    "Perfect," I tell him, deciding to be super brave, and slip off my bra and panties with what I hope is bravado. I toss them at him as I step under the water. He laughs, and in a nanosecond, he''s inside, closing the door.

    The water feels so delicious. It''s coming at us from overhead and slightly sideways. We both find a spot and just stand there getting drenched in heat for at least two minutes. Getting self-conscious again, I check out the soap and shampoo offerings in an alcove at shoulder level in the slate wall of the shower.

    "Camomile or the local lavender?" I turn around and ask Rune, who''s still in immersion mode.

    "You pick," he briefly opens one eye at me and then goes back to communing with the water.

    "You really don''t care?" I ask, handing him a bar of lavender soap to see if he''ll object.

    "Seashell," he says, as he lathers up the bar and reaches for me, "we''re going to smell like each other soon, it doesn''t matter."

 Chapter 58: This bliss, this bliss

somehow gone over your head.

    Oh. "Haven''t you noticed how I painted myself into almost every corner of your life? I was doing my best not to leave any space for Jack to come back."

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

 Chapter 59: Romance interrupted

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    is lying?" I ask so hotly. Jenna and Kim both flinch, "That''s exactly what people said to the women whose careers were being destroyed by Harvey Weinstein

    that funny, but we all need something to laugh about.

 60: Runes awful nightmare

    The bed''s shaking. For a moment, staring out into the darkness with the delicious electric blanket heat of Rune behind me, I think we''re having an earthquake. But I realize it''s Rune. He''s dreaming, and it must be a nightmare.

    I untangle from him carefully and sit up. The rain has stopped. Through the bright moonlight streaming through the window, I see Rune moving like he''s struggling, muttering angrily at the same time. At first, I can''t make out what he''s saying, but as I listen, snippets become clear.

    "Get off me," he keeps repeating through clenched teeth as he jerks and grapples with some unseen foe.

    Oh God, is this about Franklin? I reach over and gently touch his shoulder, but he''s so wrapped up with the drama playing out in his head that he doesn''t wake.

    "Rune," I say, shaking him firmly, "It''s Shelby, you''re having a nightmare."

    It takes me three times before he finally hears me, sitting up and looking around wildly.

    "Shit!" he jumps up and runs to the bathroom. I hear the door slam for the toilet alcove and then violent retching. I turn on the lamp on my side of the bed. As Rune continues to heave up everything in his stomach, I run into the bathroom, turn on that light, and fill the glass next to the sink with water. I run back into the bedroom, find his toothbrush and toothpaste in his toiletry bag, and bring those into the bathroom as he''s coming out, looking pale and haunted.

    "Thanks," he murmurs as he takes the glass. I watch him rinse out his mouth and spit it into the sink before putting a little toothpaste on his toothbrush with shaky hands. This breaks my heart.

    I will myself not to cry as I go back into the bedroom and sit on the bed to wait for him. I don''t want to kill Franklin Haus, but I''d like to make him very, very sorry.

    "Do you need anything?" I ask when Rune comes in a few minutes later, sets the water on his nightstand, and flops back onto the bed beside me.

    "No," he sighs raggedly, "thanks for waking me up," he''s holding his hands over his eyes, "that was the worst dream yet."

    I flip off the light and lay down facing him, running my hand over his chest, "Want to tell me about it?"

    "Are you sure you want to know?" he asks, dropping his hands and staring at the ceiling.

    "Yes," I say, scooting closer to him and linking the fingers of my free hand with his. Rune puts our clasped hands on his chest. His heart is still pounding from the adrenaline, making our hands shake.

    "It''s a variation of the same nightmare I''ve had ever since I got word my mom''s medication had stopped working, that she was declining rapidly," he tells me, speaking quietly, his voice rough, "I''d asked permission to leave the set, to go home to be with her, but Franklin and the director weren''t giving it."

    "What?" I ask, astonished.

    "Yeah, they wanted me to work another day while they found a flight. I refused," he says, picking up the glass of water again, drinking, and setting it down, "It felt like a weird power thing."

    He''s rubbing his fingers back and forth across his mouth much more agitatedly than usual. He''s quiet for a long time.

    "It''s okay, Rune, whatever you need to say," I tell him, I lay my head down on my pillow so I''m not staring straight at him.

    "That whole day was such a fucking nightmare. Both Uncle Hank and Julia were trying to find me a flight, while Franklin''s admin team was warning me not to leave. I fell asleep at two am, after finally getting to talk to my mom and begging her to hold on until I got there. She''d been totally out of it with the pain. It had taken the hospital hours to get the right combination of medication so she could even be coherent. I wanted to leave immediately, but she didn''t want me to make the drive at night without sleep."

    He sniffs a few times, and then his chest shakes, and he''s crying in earnest. I scoot closer and press against his side, holding him, being as present as I can for his grief.

    "I had my alarm set for 5:30," he finally continues, "so I could get a few hours of sleep before driving home because I knew whatever Franklin said, I did not trust his team to do anything after the disorganized mess of the film shoot."

    "Where were you?"

    "In the Utah desert, near the Nevada border. Instead of waking up to my alarm, I woke up to Franklin going down on me," and as he says this, he starts to sob and curls into me.

    I rotate onto my back and take his head on my chest, wrapping my arms around him, telling him it''s all right as I caress his hair. We stay like that for a good long while, until he cries himself out.

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    "I''m getting you wet and snotty," he apologizes in a shaky voice.

    "Don''t worry about it," I reach behind me, pull the hand towel off my pillow, and hand it to him.

    "Thanks," he wipes his face and my damp t-shirt before laying his head back down on me, "I hit him so hard once I came fully awake I knocked him off the bed. I almost broke his fucking jaw. I wish I had."

    "How did he get into your hotel room?"

    "It wasn''t a hotel. It was a rental in the condo complex where they had us all staying for the shoot. Somehow, Franklin got a spare key."

    "He truly is evil," I say, flabbergasted.

    "I certainly believe that now," Rune gives a shuddery sigh. "The worst is Franklin didn''t leave. He stood there lecturing me, telling me if I wanted to go home, not ruin my career, and have a real shot at starring in Shogun, I''d better stop playing naive and start showing some real appreciation."

    "God, what a monster," I kiss Rune''s brow and wipe away the tears I can feel with my fingertips.

    "Oh, it gets better," Rune wipes his eyes on the towel again, "He actually unbuckled his belt and started unzipping his pants as he told me all this as if he expected me to blow him in response. Somehow, I managed to push him out the door without killing him. Ten minutes later, I was in my car driving home for California."

    **

    The next day at two in the afternoon, Butterscotch and I are driving back across the Hood River Canal Bridge under a completely clear sky. But signs of the storm are present. The bridge has Jetsam and Flotsam strewn about, which haven''t been cleaned up yet. I smile as I reach over to pat the dog''s head. I''m so tired I ache, but I don''t care. I''m blissed out, enjoying the gorgeous panoramic view of the forested Olympic peninsula in the rearview behind me and the Kitsap one in front.

    It always amazes me how the water is usually smooth on the South side of the canal and so choppy on the North, moving into the greater Puget Sound. That mix perfectly reflects my mood. Mostly, I''m giddily content, but my heart is broken by how dreadfully Franklin has behaved towards Rune. I''m trying my best not to dwell on it. But it''s hard.

    We spent the first part of the day having a large late breakfast of blueberry pancakes at Lorelei''s insistence and then tracking down a new battery for Gunnar''s old truck. Once the guys got the truck running again, I dropped Rune back off at the Ferry, and Gunnar and Lorelei headed off to their cousin''s horse farm for the rest of their vacation to help with the horses.

    I''d love to be there too, but I don''t know them well enough to invite myself along. Plus, I want to be alone with my wild array of emotions, and I can help best by drawing a coloring page for the cause. Gunnar promised to give me the details as soon as possible.

    Since I''ll throw myself in bed for a nap as soon as I get home, I call Vivienne to see if I can catch her now. She texted me last night that she wanted to connect today, but I didn''t notice it until this morning.

    "Girlfriend, I need some help taking my own advice!" Vivienne says without preamble when I dial her up on my Bluetooth.

    "Whoa, what''s going on?" I ask, surprised because Vivienne sounds genuinely rattled.

    "I''m not quite sure what to do," she admits but doesn''t continue.

    "About¡­?" I nudge. This is so not like her.

    "Tyler Perry," she sighs and laughs. She sounds as giddy as I feel.

    "Are you working on his new series?" I ask excitedly, "Did the meeting go well?"

    "I am. I mean, yes, I did for two days," Viv says, sounding uncharacteristically unorganized, "my part''s all done for now."

    "How did it go?"

    "The filming was so much fun. The actors and the writing team said they really appreciated my input. And Tyler seemed interested in what I had to say. So yeah, it was great."

    "So, what''s the problem?" I''m baffled, "Aren''t these all amazing things?"

    "He asked me out on a date."

    "Sweet!" I squeak. "When are you going?"

    "I''m not sure I am," Viv says, sounding serious now, "that''s what I need to talk about."

    "Wait, why in the world wouldn''t you go?" I ask, turning South off the 3 onto Big Valley Road. Beside me, Butterscotch looks excitedly out the window as if she knows we''re getting close to home.

    "Because first, I don''t know that I''m ready to go on a date. It feels like it should be too soon. And I don''t know what kind of date it is," Vivienne says.

    "He didn''t tell you if it''s for lunch, dinner, or something else?" I ask.

    "No, he did! It''s for dinner on Saturday night, but I don''t know¡­"

    "But isn''t he one of your dreamboat favorites?" I say, using one of Vivienne''s favorite terms, "Isn''t he the dreamboat favorite?"

    "Exactly," she nods, "he''s a lot of women''s dreamboat favorite, just like your charming Rune."

    "Yes," I say happily, "and I have a lot to catch you up on that. Does it seem too soon?"

    "No, that''s what''s weird," she admits, "It feels exciting but good."

    "So¡­" I am so confused.

    "I don''t want to bust my fantasy of him being this gorgeous, talented, and amazing person by going out with him," she says in a rush, "only to find out he just wants to fuck the black sensuality coach to check off a box of some fantasy bucket list of his."

    Whoa. Vivienne''s frank, but I''ve never heard her sound like this.

    "I hear you," I say because I can understand that wouldn''t be any fun, "is that the vibe he gave you?"

    "No. In person, he''s very down to earth. I mean, he''s charming, but he''s a lot quieter than you''d imagine since he can be so outlandishly funny."

    "Maybe he just really likes you, Viv, isn''t that a possibility?"

    "Oh, he definitely likes me," she laughs, "he sent me a dozen hot pink roses along with the invite; they''re my favorite color of roses too."

    "Wow, who does that?" I ask, amazed, because this is something I''ve only seen done in rom-com movies. No man has every given me flowers.

    "Exactly. Don''t you think it''s a bit much?"

    "Have you experienced a lot of that?" I ask, "Men who are over the top in the beginning but just want sex with someone exotic."

    "More than I can say," she says dryly, "not as a sensuality coach because I wasn''t single. But as a successful black marketing chick in the Hollywood realm? Yeah, it happened all the time. Not with flowers, but certainly invites to top restaurants, and even weekends away. Being together with Matthias for so long, I sort of forgot about it."

    "Do you want me to ask Rune what he knows, if anything, about Tyler?" I ask, "Find out if he''s got a reputation as a player?"

    "Yes, please!" Vivienne says appreciatively, "And now I want to stop chewing on it. Tell me all the news about you, and your handsome next-door neighbor."

    "Oh boy, Viv," I say with a self-conscious laugh, "have I got updates for you!"

 Chapter 61: Franklin strikes back

so I''m free to enjoy Rune''s birthday weekend.

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 Chapter 62: Cold, wet, and miserable

    As I scroll, I continue pacing back and forth, looking at the images and becoming increasingly nauseated. Crap. Photographers have been stalking us for a while. There''s Rune and me sitting at our table at the fundraising party with his arm draped over the back of my chair; next, Rune, Lorelei, and I are walking through Pioneer Square hand in hand with her. We look like a happy little family. I can see how people would think she''s, our daughter. She looks like the blend of the two of us. Why didn''t I notice that before?

    The following photos make me even more ill. It''s Syd and Nils on their vacation. Oh my God, a photographer is following them on their vacation. Franklin is a monster, an absolute monster.

    And then there''s a much older photo. Syd and Rune at a fancy party, looking happy and fabulous. Oh no, oh no. I hadn''t fully registered Mom saying that Franklin will tell gossip sites that Rune is Nils''s real father.

    I''m sobbing now. I stumble and run out of the storage room, through the barn, into the rain to throw up my lunch. My phone keeps beeping from my pocket as I heave. Again and again, I retch, bent over double by the side of the barn in the wet, tall grass.

    Beside me, Butterscotch whimpers her concern.

    After several minutes, I see a green garden hose coiled up near me and turn it on to rinse out my mouth a few times before I turn my hot, wet face to the rain to cool it off. Bad idea. The rest of my body is freezing, now all of me is.

    I stagger back into the barn and the storage unit with the dog on my heels and sit on the dark orange vintage sofa. What a cluster fuck. Butterscotch jumps up next to me, whining and trying to lick my face. I scoop her soft, damp, warm little body up and hug it to me for a moment, listening to my phone continue to beep.

    After several minutes, I realize I need to warn Rune, Gunnar, and Syd. I try calling Rune, but he doesn''t pick up. Crap. My hands are shaking so badly it takes me forever to create a coherent message. I do the same to Gunnar and Syd and then slip my phone back into my pocket, exhausted.

    I''m crying again. My family is being stalked by a monster, and Rune is my nephew''s father. My phone keeps beeping. It''s not anyone I want to talk to; it''s my dad. He''ll be much saner, but he almost always sides with my mom. I can''t remember a time when he''s stood up to one of her rages. I never fight back either; only Sydney does.

    Well, not anymore. I''m done. Mom may never talk to me again, but if she does, watch out. I slink down on the couch until I''m curled around Butterscotch in a fetal-like position. Fuck her for wanting to appease Franklin the shithead. I can''t ask Rune to stop the podcast. Franklin deserves to have his shameful, terrible behavior exposed. But the idea of losing my family over it because of my mother''s worship of Franklin (who doesn''t know how to love anyone, I''m sure) is equally bad.

    How has Rune dealt with this kind of animosity and cruelty focused on him? My thoughts keep spinning as I sit there in the growing cold and damp. Syd and Rune and Nils. God. I pull out my phone one more time, open my photo gallery, and find an image of my dear, sweet, fabulous nephew. How had I not noticed Nils has Rune''s mouth? No. He has his nose and his mouth. Worse and worse. Crap!

    My brain can barely take in the awfulness. I understand why Syd and Rune didn''t tell me they ever got together. I do. But oh, how it hurts. I have no energy to move away from Butterscotch''s silky warmth. I''m so tired from grief and misery. All I want to do is close my eyes. So, I do. I can''t bear my thoughts, so I focus on Butterscotch''s small, soft heat and slow my breathing.

    We''ve been huddled like this for twenty minutes or maybe twenty years when the dog''s head lifts. She barks once before launching out of my arms and out of the storeroom door.

    Distantly, I hear someone calling my name. Their voice is deeper than Marguerite''s. Have Gunnar and Lorelei come back early? I should go and tell them where I am, but I really don''t want to move.

    "Shelby!" Rune''s suddenly here, on his knees in front of the couch, as Butterscotch leaps back onto my lap, "What are you doing out here?"

    "Franklin''s trying to stop the podcast by blackmailing my mom," I stutter through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering, reaching toward my pocket for my phone, but I''m so cold I can''t manage it.

    "I got your phone message," he tells me grimly, taking my phone and slipping it into the front pocket of his wet puffer jacket. He''s as handsome as ever but appears almost as ragged and tired as I feel, "Let''s get you inside and warmed up before discussing this."

    "No¡­no," I stutter miserably, "Why didn''t you tell me you''re Nils''s father? Is he why you got a vasectomy?" I hiccup and start crying again.

    "Seashell," he sits next to me and takes my very cold face in his very warm hands, wiping at my tears with his thumbs, "I''m not Nils''s father," he says firmly.

    "But he''s got your mouth," I wail miserably.

    "Shhh," he soothes, pulling me close, cradling my head against his shoulder, "Shells, I swear your sister and I never got together; Nils has to be Gunnar''s child."

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    "Oh," I sniff, and hiccup again, realizing this makes much better sense.

    "How old is Nils?" he asks.

    "Thirteen," I tell him, pulling up my hoodie to wipe my nose on.

    "Then he was probably conceived around the time Gunnar and Syd filmed that perfume commercial together; this photo of Syd and I on the red carpet has cut Gunnar out of it," Rune sits up, "Let''s go get you warmed up. Why are you even out here?"

    "I was looking for picture frames, I finished the drawing for the rescue horses," I tell him as he gets up and looks around a little longingly at the Theo''s assortment of vintage things.

    "Can you stand up?" he asks, turning back to me.

    "I think so," I tell him and wince as I unfold myself realizing one of my legs is almost entirely asleep, "Have I been sitting in here for hours?"

    "No, I was already on my way here," he tells me, pulling my hood up, "The weather''s getting worse. I didn''t want to risk getting stuck in Victoria for my birthday," he says as he guides me slowly and patiently.

    The rain is coming down much harder now. Out of the barn I can see wind whipping the trees and bushes into a frenzy. By the time we walk up the porch stairs and into the house, I''m moving better, but I''m soaked. We''re all three soaked.

    When I move to sit on the couch, Rune gently turns my shoulders towards the stairs, "Let''s get you in the bathtub. You''ll warm up quicker."

    "Oof," I grimace, looking up the long flight. I''d rather curl up by the fire.

    "I don''t think I can carry you up the stairs," Rune says, "but I can put you over my shoulder¡­"

    "No!" I protest, pulling myself together as much as possible, and insist, "I can do it."

    I start up the staircase with Rune right behind me as if he''s afraid I might tumble backward. When he''s sure I''m steady enough, he slips around me up the landing into the master bedroom. I hear him turning on the taps for the tub.

    When I join him, I creak down onto the toilet seat and attempt to untie my shoes, but my hands are still too clumsy with cold. I can''t even toe them off I''m so uncoordinated right now.

    "Here," Rune says, turning around and slipping each sneaker off easily. He doesn''t look at me as he does this, instead turning quickly back to the filling tub.

    Oh no. He''s friending me. I''m being moved into the platonic zone again. I may be almost physically numb, but I can feel his emotional distance.

    "Have you got it from here?" he asks kindly, which hurts even more.

    I nod. Standing up, he runs a hand over my head gently like he does to Lorelei. He''s definitely friending me. I bite my lip to keep the tears from falling again.

    "I should go make some calls. I''ve got your phone. Do you mind if I forward the images your mom sent to some people?" he asks.

    "Of course not," I say, looking at the floor instead of him, now biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. He dashes off, closing the door gently behind him.

    More tears run down my still-cold face as I struggle awkwardly out of my clothes. I''m glad he''s not here to witness it. That part of our relationship might all be over now, I think, hissing against the shock of the hot water as I sink down in the tub.

    Don''t jump to conclusions, Theo advises, he''s feeling incredibly guilty right now.

    "What does he have to feel guilty for?" I say softly, followed by a loud hiccup.

    For involving you and your family in this mess with Franklin, Theo says.

    It''s not his fault Franklin''s insane, I think angrily, turning up the hot water more.

    I also add a generous amount of my favorite Italian honey-scented bubble bath under the running water. I use it sparingly because I receive it once a year for Christmas from a very sweet Italian cousin. And then, for good measure, because life really sucks right now, I also add a generous dollop of my favorite rose bubble bath as well.

    Good. It''s better to be angry than sad right now, Theo says, You both need to be strategic.

    How can we do that? I ask, sinking into the deliciously fragrant water and resting my head on the back of the tub.

    Figure out how to beat Franklin at his own game.

    How in the world could we do that? I ask.

    Theo doesn''t answer. It''s probably some rule of heaven, or whatever parallel universe he''s in right now, that he can only nudge but not spell it out answers for me.

    What can Rune and I do against Franklin, Pamela, and his well-funded and organized smear efforts? We can''t be like them. We have to follow the law. Rune seems comfortably well off, but he doesn''t have Franklin''s level of wealth to buy photographers and stuff.

    The heat works wonders on my body, but my mind is still fretting. My heart hurts every time I remember Rune not looking at me while he pulled off my shoes. I slip my body down so I can submerge my head in the water, feeling my ears burn.

    But now I have Vivienne''s calm, lovely, wise voice in my head telling me not to jump to conclusions: Rune is probably totally freaking out right now, but he''s here. Excellent point.

    I''ve just about got my courage screwed up to get out of the tub and talk to Rune when the lights overhead flicker. Oh no. They stay on for a moment, and I relax and start getting out of the tub again when they stutter again and go out.

    I hold my breath for a moment, hoping, but they don''t come back on. Crap. It''s still light enough outside to see, but darkness is coming fast. Rune pounds up the stairs at a run, and Butterscotch barks after him, thinking it''s a game.

    "Where are all your flashlights and candles and stuff in case the power doesn''t come back on?" he asks through the door.

    "There''s a flashlight under my bed," I tell him as I reach for a towel, "and several flashlights and candles in the pantry in the laundry room."

    I hear him find the flashlight for me, set it by the door, and then drawers open. What''s he doing? I wonder as I dry off. A few moments later, he''s running back downstairs again.

    You can do this, I tell myself, buying a little more time by reaching for my fancy rose-scented lotion my sister gave me. Usually, I put the less expensive stuff on my legs and body and keep this really nice stuff for my arms and neck, but I''ll indulge today. Why not? Smelling great will give me courage.

    My oldest, ugliest, bulkiest pair of gray sweats, a thick pair of socks, and my newest, prettiest panties greet me from the floor when I open the bathroom door. I''ve never even worn these panties before. They are a sexy light pink pair of almost sheer boy shorts with darker pink flowers in strategic places that I bought online as a special splurge when I thought Jack would be my date for the fundraiser.

    This is a mixed message I have no idea how to read. It feels like these sweats would insult his fashion sense. But are the panties a sign of hope? At any rate, he was being thoughtful, so I go ahead and put them all on and brace myself for a tough conversation.

 Chapter 63: No power, no problem - shortened and updated!

    Rune is moving the fire screen back into place as I come downstairs. As soon as he stands, Butterscotch plops herself in front of the brick hearth, wagging her tail in delight at the cracking heat. A bunch of pillar candles are lit on the mantle, the coffee table, and a bottle of red wine is open. If I didn''t know better, I''d think this was all for a romantic evening on a dark, stormy night. Crap.

    "Were you able to send the photos to everyone you wanted before the power went out?" I ask, trying not to look and sound as miserable as I feel. I perch on the edge of the couch and pick up my new bright pink horse pillow to hold as an emotional shield.

    "Yes, enough for the podcast team and my dad to know what''s going on," he sits next to me on the couch, but not close; I''ve definitely been friended, "Feeling any warmer?"

    I notice he doesn''t ask if I feel any better, because of course now he''s going to make me feel worse. Crap crap crap.

    "Yes, thanks," I nod, trying to keep the dread over what he''s about to say off my face, but probably failing miserably.

    "Want one?" he motions to the wine bottle and empty glass, "I splurged on it for my birthday, but I figured we need it more now."

    "Excellent idea, please," I say, wanting to toss away my pillow and climb onto his lap, but ask instead, "How are you doing?"

    "I''m livid, disgusted," he pours my glass half full of the deep red and hands it to me, then picks up his glass and takes a long drink. He seems to steel himself before looking straight at me, his jade green eyes sad and serious, "Seashell, I''m so sorry about all of this. I thought there would be time before the podcast aired to give you the choice of whether or not you wanted to be so involved in my life."

    This is not at all what I expected him to say.

    "I''m your friend," I say earnestly, "You can''t honestly think I''d desert you, can you?"

    "Plenty of people did last time," he tells me, taking another sip of wine before setting down the glass carefully. He glances down at the pillow I''m holding and then back at me again, "Is that all we are? Friends?" His gaze is as guarded as I''ve been trying to make my heart.

    "Oh," I set down the pillow. I''m still too chicken to take one of his hands, which is what I really want to do, "What do you want us to be?" I ask.

    This makes Rune bark a laugh and scrub his hands over his face. He groans but relaxes back against the couch. The tension in the room eases a notch. He still doesn''t put his arm across the back of the sofa, though. Darn.

    "Way to use my own tactic of answering a question with a question," he smiles ruefully, but his face gets quickly serious again, "What I want and what''s smart for you are two different things."

    "What do you mean?" I ask, finally sipping my wine. Oh boy it''s a good one. I appreciate the warmth as it goes down my throat.

    "Things are going to be extremely ugly for a while Shells," he says earnestly, "Really ugly. The closer our relationship is, the worse it will be for you and your family. Obviously, Franklin doesn''t care at all about his long relationship with your mom."

    "I''m not sure how much uglier it can be than my mom threatening to disown me if you don''t somehow magically stop the podcast," I tell him, drinking deeply again for courage.

    "What!" Rune''s eyes are wide, "You''re being a little dramatic, right?"

    "I wish," I sigh and take another sip of wine, "that''s why I was frozen in a fetal position on the storage room couch. She''s threatening my whole family will disown me if we don''t stop the podcast."

    "I can''t stop it for blackmail Seashell," he says sadly.

    "I know you can''t," I say firmly, "I don''t want you to. I don''t think Syd will want you to either," I say, thinking about what Theo told me while I was sitting in the bathtub. An idea starting to brew.

    "But things will likely get brutal in the gossip media before the podcast airs," he warns, "Who knows what other wild stories he''ll have Pamela spin for him. The ones they''ve come up with already are pretty devastating."

    "So, Pamela''s his PR henchman? Is that why you dislike her so much?"

    "Yes," he fills his glass again, but I shake my head when he gestures with the bottle towards me, "I did a little digging of my own. A journalist friend found out that it''s Pamela who has a bunch of people who work feeding gossip stories to sites for him. She''s probably doing it right now about all this, if she hasn''t already."

    "You don''t think he''ll honor the timeframe he gave my mom?" I ask, shocked. But why should I be? Franklin''s crazy.

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    "I hope they will. That would give us a little time to be prepared, but I doubt it," Rune says, running his hands back and forth on his thighs. I wish he was running his hands back and forth on me, but it''s obvious he''s still wary.

    "Hungry?" I ask, my tiny idea is getting firmer, but it''s not fully formed. I also shouldn''t drink more wine until I''ve eaten something, "Want a sandwich?"

    "Sure," Rune agrees, as I jump up grabbing a flashlight. He picks up two pillar candles and follows me into the kitchen.

    I peer through the dark fridge with the light, take out a jar of pickles and mayo, hand them to him, and then search for the mustard, sliced cheddar, and smoked turkey. I almost trip over Butterscotch, sitting hopefully at my feet in the dark, waiting for a dropped treat since I''ve been good about not giving her scraps.

    I''m going to tell him about you, I think to Theo as I set up the flashlight so I can see what I''m doing, Are you cool with that?

    Go for it, I hear from Theo very faintly.

    As I take out the loaf of bread and we start making sandwiches I think about the best approach to this tricky subject.

    "Did you make these pickles?" Rune asks, breaking into my musings, sounding impressed.

    "I did," I say, getting out a knife and cutting board and handing him both, "I wanted to try out the recipe before we make up a batch to can."

    "Is there anything you can''t make?" He laughs a little and bumps me with his lightly with my hip, "I''ve been dreaming about my birthday cake already."

    "Remains to be seen," I say, smiling gamely, relieved the energy between us is starting to normalize and bump him back, "I hope we have power by then."

    "That''s what generators are for, I know Gunnar has one if you don''t," Rune says.

    "We do," I assure him, "Gunnar insisted we get a new one during Covid."

    We work side by side in easy, companionably silence for a while, needing to pay more attention to what we''re doing because of the low light. I''m reminded of how well we worked together for the impromptu lunch for the director and her husband. I just hope Rune won''t decide he needs to exit stage left when I tell him about Theo.

    "Remember at the fundraiser you mentioned that Gregg Allman follows you around; what did you mean?" I ask finally, deciding this is my way in, grabbing an unopened bag of tortilla chips and a box of cookies as he finishes the sandwiches. We''re definitely going to need more carbs for all of today''s drama and stress.

    "Oh," Rune''s laugh is self-conscious as he follows me back into the living room, setting down our plates as I set down the treats, "you''ll think I''m nuts if I tell you."

    "I won''t," I assure him, making sure the dog doesn''t jump up on the couch, "I probably have a crazier story."

    "Really? Do tell!" He sits down next to me on the couch, much closer this time, and takes a big bite of his sandwich.

    "No Wizard Howl," I wag my finger as I sit cross-legged to face him and put my sandwich plate on my lap, "I asked first."

    "Okay," he agrees, taking a deep breath, "Don''t say I didn''t warn you."

    "Trust me, I won''t," I shake my head.

    "My mom had a thing for both Daryl Hall of Hall and Oates and Gregg Allman, which I guess explains my handsome blond dad."

    "I thought he was a lawyer," I say, confused, not following.

    "He is, but he used to sing and play the guitar. They met at music camp as teens, and then again at a reunion, and here I am. But that''s another story," he laughs again, "Anyway, she always said both Hall and Allman were underrated as singers and musicians because they were both so attractive."

    "Huh," I say, wondering if my dad has the same opinion. Probably not.

    "And she always told me to keep my head down, continue to at the craft of acting, keep auditioning for theatre and more interesting roles, and not just T.V. and movie boyfriends because sooner or later, I was going to succeed in landing a part that would allow me to show off all I could do."

    "Sound advice."

    "Yes, it was. Franklin thought theater was a waste of time in L.A., but that''s where Mandy and Stewart saw me. I was in a play at the Mark Taper Forum, and right after that, a bizarre thing happened. I started to dream about Gregg Allman."

    "Seriously?" I ask, biting into my sandwich finally and enjoying the crispness of the pickle. We definitely should can some.

    "It gets weirder," he warns, "I started catching glimpses of him when Julia and I would be at events or running errands."

    "What!" I put my sandwich down again, fascinated.

    "I''ve never told anyone that bit except you," he admits, looking self-conscious, "Not even my mom. It was always just flashes. I''d never fully see him, only a glimpse of his profile and that long, straight blond hair. In the dreams, we''d have fascinating conversations about songs and what inspired him to write them; sometimes, I''d realize I was him. I''d look down at my hands playing an organ, and I didn''t play the organ, yet."

    "That''s amazing," I say, feeling braver with each admission. Rune''s definitely as strange as I am.

    "And then my agent calls and says Mandy was doing a section in The Troubadour Tales on Cher and Allman''s romance and they wanted to meet me because they saw me at the theater.

    "That''s some crazy good synchronicity," I tell him. Before I can lose my nerve, I blurt out, "Theo talks to me in my head."

    "Wait, what?" Rune puts down the chip he was about to eat, "Like you channel him or something?"

    "Yes!" I exclaim, happy he knows the concept and doesn''t seem put off about it, "Exactly. He thinks we should beat Franklin and Pamela at their own game."

    "How does he propose we do that?" Rune gives me a dubious glance eating his chip, and taking more.

    "I haven''t figured that part out yet; he only gave me the suggestion the bathtub just now, not the tactics."

    "Does he talk to you all the time?" Rune asks, his eyebrows almost at his hairline, as looks around the dim living, "Is he here right now?"

    "No, not all the time. It''s usually only when I''m alone," I assure him, "He doesn''t give me answers, but he does give me ideas. The only thing he''s insisted on so far was that I ask you to be my fake date for the fundraiser."

    "Really? You wouldn''t have done that on your own?" He looks a bit hurt.

    "I was still too mad at you," I admit.

    And then I realize something my mother said that needs to be cleared up if I''m going to be brave enough to face this social media storm I''m about to head into with this beautiful man.

    "Rune, are you sure this thing between us isn''t just some sort of short emotional vacation you need?" I ask, "Aren''t you going to get bored? And tired of the rain? When I''m not drawing, I like to hike and contemplate growing a food forest and pollinator gardens¡­ you''re used to going to fundraisers, premiers, and exciting stuff all the time."

 Chapter 64: Now where were we?

    ¡°Seashell,¡± Rune leans in, his eyes light with mischief as if he¡¯s going to tell me an exciting secret, ¡°I was born here. I lived here until I was seven. I¡¯ve spent Christmas, and time here every summer until I was 19. I have no problem with the weather. We can always go on short trips to warm places.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree, wanting to believe it can be this easy but still having doubts. Rune must see this on my face.

    ¡°You know what I¡¯ve learned through an excellent therapist, a lot of reading, plenty of time on my own to think, and conversations with interesting storytellers from around the world?¡± he asks, setting his own empty plate down on the coffee table, and then sliding his arm across the back of the couch towards me, which makes my heart flutter happily.

    ¡°No, please tell me,¡± I say, setting my half-finished sandwich plate back on the coffee table.

    ¡°Mostly, it¡¯s people who haven¡¯t dealt with their inner demons who need to be constantly entertained with fancy, exciting, and impressive. Happy people make their own pleasures. Often, the simpler and more hands-on, the better.¡± The look he gives me with this last bit makes my whole body quiver with anticipated delight.

    ¡°Really?¡± I ask, so happy I wiggle my feet, ¡°I¡¯m not as boring as I thought?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re never boring, Shells,¡± he admonishes, tucking my hair behind my ears the way he loves to do, ¡°You¡¯re the most interesting woman I know. You dance to the beat of your own drum. I¡¯m happy to go down those rabbit holes with you as long as we get to make stories together.¡±

    ¡°But with a better wardrobe?¡± I tease, leaning forward to be kissed, not sure how to contain my happiness.

    ¡°Yes. My wardrobe is part of my art just like Howl¡¯s is,¡± he says before pressing his lips to my jaw, ¡°Oh! Before we¡¯re completely distracted,¡± he stops and picks up his phone, ¡°one of your mutual fans outed us too.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± I exclaim as I watch him scroll.

    ¡°Here,¡± he hands me his phone, ¡°Someone who follows you named Ruth must have Googled you, found our photos together on the ReWild website at the fundraiser, and realized Rune Borstad is Asher Dillion and who you drew as Howl.¡±

    There it is. We¡¯ve been caught. One of the images Rune¡¯s included is our ¡°peace¡± pose that Jack took, but the other two are casual shots people took with their phones. In each, it seems obvious we¡¯re a couple. Rune¡¯s comment about painting himself into my life and none of our dates being fake to him comes back to me. The text says, ¡°Now we really know why Shelby chose Asher Dillion to draw as Howl, lucky girl!¡±

    ¡°How did you miss this, and I didn¡¯t? She posted it last night,¡± Rune asks as I scroll through the series of images several times. What strikes me about them is not the embarrassment of getting discovered but what Vivienne said. We do look good together. Well, at least when I make an effort.

    ¡°I turned your Instagram notifications off on my phone after the photos Julia posted,¡± I admit, handing him back his phone, ¡°I was too jealous. I only let myself check your Instagram once a day on my computer now.¡±

    ¡°Smart,¡± he says, smiling impishly as he puts the phone back on the coffee table. Apparently, he likes that I was jealous.

    ¡°Vivienne thinks we should have someone else to handle your social media now,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°We probably both should,¡± Rune says and takes my hand, looking serious again, ¡°Shells, I¡¯m also worried that Franklin and Pamela will somehow wreck your Horse Girls campaign.¡±

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    ¡°I guess they could,¡± I admit, deciding not to tell him I haven¡¯t made as good of progress on it as I¡¯d hoped yet and that Liz has been no help. I want to think about how we might beat Franklin and Pamela at their own game, ¡°I think we should use being outed to tell a different story than the one Franklin¡¯s going to paint of us.¡±

    ¡°What are you thinking, Miss Witch?¡± Rune asks, offering me a cookie. I take one, and then take a bite to buy some time.

    ¡°I understand that you got tired of Julia always posting about your private lives during your relationship. You like your privacy, and so do I, but Theo¡¯s got a point. I think right now we should start telling the truth about the sort of relationship we¡¯re in, whatever that is.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± he dusts cookie crumbs off his hands, ¡°What are you ready for?¡±

    I laugh and shake my head, ¡°You¡¯re answering my question with a question again, you brat.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± he admits with a grin, ¡°because I¡¯m extremely nervous and afraid of rejection right now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not going to happen,¡± I tell him, ¡°But I don¡¯t want to assume anything either. I¡¯m extremely nervous and afraid of rejection right now too.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± he leans on his hands towards me and kisses me on the cheek softly before whispering in my ear, ¡°You weren¡¯t only my summertime bestie, Shelby.¡±

    I hold my breath as he rocks back a little to gaze into my eyes and runs his fingers gently over my lips, ¡°You were my very best friend, period. And now, you¡¯re my favorite person in the whole world.¡±

    I can¡¯t help it. I¡¯m crying again, but happy tears this time, ¡°You were mine too, ditto,¡± I admit, and we¡¯re both laughing and crying.

    **

    After I feed the dog and let her out, we clean up a little, and Rune gets his bag out of the car and makes sure all of the doors are locked. This isn¡¯t something I normally do here, but now that I know we¡¯re being hunted by photographers I¡¯m all for it.

    I¡¯m not sure how we manage to make it upstairs with the flashlight, candles, wine and glasses, and one of Rune¡¯s duffel bags in the now completely dark house without dropping anything. We¡¯re giggling like naughty school kids, nervous and excited. And then we¡¯re pulling the covers aside and scrambling onto the bed. Rune is doing that thing where men¡¯s clothes melt off their bodies with alacrity while I grapple inelegantly with my own. Fortunately, he comes to my rescue and helps the rest of mine disappear too.

    In the comfort of the extra-large California king, we twine our long selves together again. I sigh with happiness to have the silk of his mostly naked body against me, his hands running over me as if I¡¯m something precious he couldn¡¯t wait to return to.

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t have intimacy coordinators until recently,¡± I say when we pause for a break to catch our breath and have some wine, ¡°But what about kissing? It¡¯s hard enough to learn how to kiss in real life. How do you learn to do it in front of a camera?¡±

    ¡°They teach you a few rules in acting class,¡± he tells me leaning back against the headboard, ¡°And it may be different now, but back when I was starting to get those boyfriend roles, it was being thrown in the deep in to learn how to swim,¡± he admits, ¡°the worst is that you often shoot out of order, and your first scene might be that kiss, or even more.¡±

    ¡°Oh, God. How horrible,¡± I groan, ¡°What sort of kissing rules did you learn?¡±

    ¡°Making it sort of look like you¡¯re French kissing, but you¡¯re usually not,¡± he says in a matter-of-fact. I hate to admit that I love this behind the scenes Hollywood stuff.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± I won¡¯t tell him I watched him play Gregg Allman again recently. That would be too weird. But Holy Guacamole, the love scenes were hot.

    ¡°You learn how to do these sort of open-mouth kisses that appear from the camera¡¯s point of view like you¡¯re using your tongue, but you¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± I ask, staring at his gorgeous mouth, wondering how in the world he can be so shy but kiss strangers for a role.

    ¡°Like this,¡± he leans in and gives me a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and catches my lower lip between his briefly before pulling away slightly, ¡°and this,¡± and he kisses my upper lip the same way, and then we set our wine glasses down and cheat using our tongues.

    When we¡¯re horizontal again, Rune rubs his smooth cheek against mine like a cat, ¡°Didn¡¯t we leave off somewhere around here?¡± his hand slips down between my legs, his fingers teasing over my now damp panties.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I gasped, ¡°I believe we did.¡±

    ¡°I shaved my pretty face for you,¡± he says, his lips brushing along my jaw, ¡°will you let me put my tongue where my fingers are?¡±

    ¡°Is it something you like to do?¡± I ask, feeling suddenly shy. Because, oh God, the idea that he shaved while contemplating putting his tongue there is making my whole nether region swoon. But it¡¯s also something I¡¯m self-conscious about, ¡°what if you don¡¯t like what I taste like or something¡­¡±

    Rune''s gaze is hooded and lazy but intent, ¡°I¡¯ve already had my hands here, Shells. I know exactly what you taste like,¡± he gives me a knowing Ashley Dillion bad-boy smile. I feel like I¡¯m going to melt through the mattress. Nothing¡¯ll be left of me but a puddle when he¡¯s done.

 Chapter 65: Another mystery and a lock with no key

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    My gift is a beautiful, tan, lightweight, full-length cashmere robe. I carefully remove it from the pretty pink and white striped tissue paper, complete with satin ribbon, as we climb into the bed again. I run my hands over the robe''s incredible softness. I''ve never received such a luxurious present in my life.

 Chapter 66: Cozy errands and strategy

    "I told you Theo spoke to me in the bath last night, right?" I say, leaning in as well, my voice low, "and that he said we should beat Franklin at his own game. So, I''ve been thinking about how we might do that."

    "Of course, that''s a hard sort of thing to forget. What have you got in mind, Ms. Witch?" he asks, hooking his foot around mine under the table.

    "When is your podcast coming out?" I ask,

    "It''s not planned until November," he tells me, "But I''ll check with Santiago''s team today and see what''s what."

    "I think we need a public relations campaign," I say, pretty sure he''s not going to like this idea, but needs must.

    Rune''s expression skeptical, "Publicists who do that sort of thing well are expensive, Shells. I doubt your dad will help us much under the circumstances, and I''d rather not burn through what I''ve saved up for producing projects."

    "No, he probably isn''t, and I hear you, but why can''t we use their tactics ourselves?" I ask. Trying not to feel daunted, I continue, "When my dad used to represent musicians who got into trouble in the gossip columns, he would work to create what they called an alternative narrative."

    I pause because the waitress has brought our order. While Rune butters the gorgeous fluffy steaming stack of pancakes, I split our omelet and hashbrowns onto two plates. I''m so hungry I focus on eating to give Rune space to think about what I''m suggesting.

    We eat in silence for a few minutes before he finally says, "Shells, we''re going to get a lot of attention from the media as it is. It''s not going to be fun, even with the legitimate ones," He warns, cutting into the stack of pancakes, "Wow, these are great."

    He''s right about the media attention, he''s lived through it before, so why do I feel like this ''alternative narrative'' creation is the right thing to do? My eye catches on Lord Ganesha''s charm on his bracelet as he takes another bite and smiles happily at the pancake''s deliciousness. The charm appears brighter than it should in this light. It reminds me I haven''t told him about my visions of the Indian god. I think I''ll hold off on that for now, though. I take a careful bite of the pancakes myself and hope Lord Ganesha doesn''t have other ideas.

    "They are," I agree, thinking about how to say what I want to say, and finally, "I think we should use our combined social media to tell a happy old friends, neighbors, and family story. Remember, Syd''s in marketing, I''m sure she''ll have some good strategic ideas."

    "Hmmm..." he''s running his teeth over his lower lip the way he does when he''s deep in thought sometimes, "No happy romance?" he asks after a few moments, with a glance that''s far more suited to the bedroom. Whew. I wish we didn''t have errands to run and guests coming for dinner.

    "Yes, of course, here and there judiciously," I say, coloring a little under his gaze, and focus on taking a bite of my buttery hashbrowns so I eat them instead of wearing them, "But just like your Instagram is focused more on the craft of your work, and not only photos of you, I think we should share the most about being storytellers."

    As I say this, I realize I''ve totally forgotten about Howl''s Moving Castle, and whether or not he''s found out if the rights are available and at all affordable.

    "Did you take a photo yet of the horse rescue coloring page you''re working on? You didn''t send it to me," Rune says, breaking into my thoughts, looking like he''s got an idea or knew what I was going to ask and wants to change the subject.

    "Yes," I tell him, picking up my phone and scrolling to find it, "but I don''t have any background details on the horses yet, so I haven''t shared it."

    "Look at these two sweethearts," he smiles happily after I hand him the phone, "This is perfect Shells," he zooms in and studies the drawing intently, "I think this is how we at least keep Franklin and Pamela from ruining your Horse Girls Heroes launch."

    "It is?" I ask, not following but happy about his shift into excited energy.

    "Yes!" he says eagerly, "Picture this: We make your crowdsourcing partly about helping to raise funds to find these horses homes, not just raising money to print the planner."

    "Oh!" I exclaim, "That''s a cool idea!" enjoying not only the idea but the "we-ness" of it. It feels fantastic. Promoting myself is still hard for me to wrap my head around, promoting the adoption of horses I can do.

    "It might be smart to launch Horse Girls Heroes early if we can," he says enthusiastically as he hands me back my phone, "how''s the campaign coming together?"

    "Ah, well," I stall, hating to admit, "I''m not as far along as I''d like."

    "Shells," Rune says, sounding disappointed, "what''s going on? You had such good momentum."

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    "Liz never got back to me," I finally tell him, "So I''ve been trying to figure it out myself and I got bogged down trying to understand all of the strategic details. I''m sorry."

    "Don''t apologize," Rune says sharply, "Liz promised me she''d give you any help you needed," he picks up his phone, and starts to text.

    "Don''t say anything to her," I say quickly, Lord Ganesh''s charm is shining too brightly at me again from his wrist.

    "Why not?" he asks tightly, "I''ve spent days jumping through hoops for her instead of being here honeymooning with you so our production partnership could wrap up in a way that works for both her and Julia," he says tightly.

    "Just a gut feeling," I tell him cautiously, reaching for his hand.

    Rune''s lips flatten and move sideways, "You think Franklin got to her?

    "I have no idea, probably not," I rush out, "Maybe Liz is as busy as she told me, but let''s play it safe and hold our cards close to our chest for now," I have no idea if this is smart or not, but a beautiful lotus blossom blooms in my mind''s eye, so it seems like a safe bet.

    **

    Since the hardware store Gunnar recommended isn''t open yet, we drive to Poulsbo to the fancy grocery store. We''ve both turned the notifications off on our phones for now since it''s still too early to be in touch with anyone but family. I texted my dad that I''ll call him later. Dinner tonight will be interesting. Not only is Syd planning on being there with Nils, but Gunnar and Lorelei will also be back. From Jenna, apparently, there''s only radio silence.

    "Let''s stock up on everything for the next week or so now," Rune tells me, obviously relieved that the expansive, beautifully stocked grocery store is mostly empty at this hour on a wet Thursday morning, "I''d like to buckle down and get the crowdsourcing campaign figured out. And leaving the house might become more and more challenging."

    "You want to work through your birthday?" I tease, as we start down the first aisle.

    "Not a chance," he tsks at me, "You''re not getting out of making that cake."

    Watching Rune shop is a fascinating experience. I''m always on a budget. He''s throwing things in the quickly filling cart like a child in a toy store with an unlimited expense account. Lorelei must love shopping with him. Sweet things seem to call him by name. When I make a face at all of the cookies and frozen items, he wants to include he reminds me they have another fridge in the barn.

    We decide on chicken tacos for tonight since they''re Nils''s favorite and get everything we need including enough for a vat of guacamole and some extremely fancy imported cheeses and toppings for pizza for tomorrow night since that''s Lorelei''s favorite. I find everything for Rune''s birthday cake, including candles. We decide to buy things to make our own ice cream again, and Rune has a quick consultation with Syd on the phone about alcohol for his birthday while I get a second cart to hold all of these drinks.

    Our final stop is the expansive candy section, where we pick up what we know are the kids'' favorite kinds of chocolate and gummy bears. Rune adds an assortment of colorful saltwater taffy because it''s beautifully displayed in old-fashioned bins, and why not?

    **

    "Here''s the address for the hardware store. Can you navigate?" Rune asks me after we''ve loaded up the car and made sure we can''t see any photographers in the parking lot, "Gunnar says it''s a house and a barn in a sort of out-of-the-way place."

    I find the address on Google Maps. It is indeed in an interesting location for retail store. Jensen''s Antique & Specialty Hardware is tucked off of 104 and Port Gable Road on a farm lot. It''s almost on the opposite side of the forest reserve from where we live.

    "Since it''s not raining as hard, we have some time to, and we want to keep an eye out for photographers, do you want to go the more scenic route?" I ask him, "Have you ever been up on Sawdust Hill Road?"

    "Not since I was a kid," he tells me, "I think Aunt Sally had a private client up there."

    I''m much better at navigating this hilly, wooded, water-surrounded landscape than when I first moved here. We zig-zag up the winding road, which takes us straight up to the top of the ridge. After going through a narrow bit and making a sharp left-hand turn we arrive at an area that flattens out for a while. We''re now in the first section with impressive, white-fenced horse properties.

    "Sweet!" Rune whistles at the lush, now empty pastures, with large fancy horse barns nearby, "Know anyone who lives up here? These people could easily give a rescue horse a forever home and support a Horse Girl Heroes."

    "Alas, no," I laugh, "though Luna''s in-laws might. I bet Amy Penington does, too."

    "Yes. Exactly. Let''s put a pitch letter for your pre-funding campaign to get out to our networks ASAP," he says, heading into a sharp right-hand turn that gives us a quick scenic view from the heights before opening up into another plateau of landed gentry-type properties.

    "Okay," I agree, suddenly nervous.

    I''ve read about how vital this pre-funding campaign idea is, that successful campaigns build momentum by receiving early funding from your friends, family, and colleagues before being officially launched. Apparently starting with money already raised is considered a very smart move. My challenge about this is that I hate asking for favors, probably as much as Rune hates the idea of being on social media. I guess it''s time for both of us to face more of our fears than Franklin''s crazy stories.

    Focus on the horses getting new homes, I tell myself, and it''ll be much easier.

    Good girl, Theo says from very far away.

    The hardware store is at the end of an unmarked road that, fortunately, has a bright barn red artfully hand-painted sandwich board sign with an arrow pointing us in the right direction. I like this place''s aesthetic already.

    We follow the narrow, forest-lined gravel road until it opens to a farm property of several dozen acres. A huge old-fashioned unpainted barn hosts another beautifully rendered hand-painted sign in old-fashioned fonts that claims we''ve successfully found Jensen''s Antique & Specialty Hardware.

    There''s a decent-sized gravel parking lot for us to pull into with only two other cars. Rune and I laugh at each other as we both pull out our phones to snap pics of the barn as we walk towards it.

    "Let''s take a selfie," Rune says, and he positions it so that the two of us appear with the barn and sign behind us. He takes several shots from different angles, including one where he''s kissing my cheek.

    Lord Ganesha''s gong reverberates through me as he puts my camera away and takes my hand. Once we step inside the open side of the big double barn doors, we''ve entered a wonderland of hardware and home goods from another era. The space is open and bright from skylights in the tall roof above and a series of large old-fashioned chandeliers.

    Everywhere I look, intriguing pieces of old hardware and antiques are beautifully displayed. This is almost as marvelous as a bookstore. I could get lost here for hours.

 Chapter 67: Where the heck is that key?

    "Your mother''s in an awful place," Dad tells me in Italian when we finally connect via phone. Fortunately, we arrived home to find we have power again and didn''t have to dig out the generator.

    "I''m sure she is, but we can''t give in to Franklin''s demands, Dad," I say firmly in English, moving quickly around the kitchen to put groceries away and dispel the anger I can feel building again, "They''re totally illegal, you know that, right?"

    "Yes, I know," he says sadly, sounding like he''s opening the screen door to go into the backyard.

    "He''s probably had Pamela place some of those stories already regardless of what he told Mom," I continue, realizing in exasperation I''m going to need to reorganize the fridge to fit everything, even with what Rune already took next door.

    "He did," Dad switches back to English, "I''ve found three stories on small gossip sites already."

    "Crap," I sigh, shutting the fridge and picking up my phone, "Which ones?"

    "You think it''s Pamela doing this for him?" Dad asks, sounding dismayed as he texts me the links.

    "We know it is. We ran into her in Lake Crescent; she was trying to convince Gunnar''s fianc¨¦e to let Lorelie be involved in a reality show."

    "Porca miseria," Dad swears, as I start clicking through to the stories, "finding out Pamela''s a part of this might send your mother over the edge."

    Sure enough, there we are. The shot on the first site is of Rune, Lorelei, and I walk into the lodge in the rain. Fortunately, only Rune and I are recognizable. Rune is successfully blocking Lorelie from the camera, so only a bit of her bright hair is visible.

    "Dad, Mom has to go to the police," I say emphatically, skimming the first article. It says exactly what Franklin threatened: Former TV millennial heartthrob Asher Dillion is in a custody battle with his cousin Gunnar over the secret daughter he had with a fan. Crap, crap, crap. I''m not sure if I''m relieved or annoyed I haven''t been named.

    "I''m working on it," Dad says, breaking into my distracted thoughts, "But she insists Franklin has something else on her that will completely destroy her reputation right as she''s having this big career renaissance."

    "Isn''t this her being dramatic? The career renaissance hasn''t actually happened yet," I say bluntly, thinking Rune, Gunnar, Syd, and I have many more years of career-life ahead of us to be destroyed than Mom does.

    "I hear you Shelby, but I don''t think it is," he says, "I''m not going to be able to fly up this weekend as planned to help Sydney and Nils get settled. I''m afraid she might hurt herself if I leave her alone. She''s really spiraling. I''m trying to get her to go to the doctor."

    "Okay," I say, feeling frightened and defeated, "Keep us posted."

    My mother is dramatic, but I don''t remember my dad ever sounding this worried about her.

    You''ve got to find the key to open that drawer, darling, Theo says faintly in my head.

    We need you to tell me where it is! I exclaim out loud.

    Look in the bookcase, he tells me, find the key book.

    I race into the office and start pulling out books systematically, one after another, looking for whatever a key book is. It must be one of those fake books that you put valuables in. But all of these books are real. Nor are there any keys stuck underneath them, or under them, or inside them that I can see. Crap, crap, crap. I''ve gotten rid of so many books. I probably sent the key book to the Good Will without even realizing it was one. I''m about to run next door to find Rune when he finds me sitting on the office floor replacing all the books I already pulled out.

    "Any news from the hardware store yet?" I ask.

    "They''ll have a bunch of antique skeleton keys for us to pick up in the morning around ten," he tells me.

    "I''m not sure we can wait that long," I grimace, as I get up and go back into the kitchen to wash my dusty hands, "How hard would it be to cut into that cabinet?"

    "I have no idee. I wouldn''t want to take it on until Gunnar gets here," Rune says, making himself a coffee.

    "Okay," I say shortly, turning the oven on to 400 degrees.

    "What''s going on?" he asks, clearly perplexed as I start rapidly taking carrots, green beans, and beets out of the fridge, "I thought we were going to focus on Horse Girls and get that pre-funding letter done."

    "We are," I say tersely, "but I need to cook while we do it. We''ll have all these people in the house for the weekend, and I need to do something active."

    "Okay¡­" Rune says carefully, raising his hands, "Would a walk be a better idea? It''s not raining now."

    "We can do that later," I say, not as sharp but firm, as I empty a large bag of green beans into a metal colander and run water over them. "My mom''s in such a bad place right now. My dad''s afraid to leave her alone."

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    "She won''t go to the police?" Rune asks, getting out a couple of cutting boards and knives.

    "Not yet," I say, making sure the beans are clean so I can chop them up and toss them in oil.

    "Shells," Rune says soothingly, squeezing the back of my neck lightly, "slow down, and take a deep breath," I turn the water off, close my eyes and do what he says, letting my shoulders drop as I do.

    "I want to be mad at her," I say, willing myself not to cry, "I don''t want to be worried about her when we''ve got the rest of us to worry about."

    "It''s okay to be both," he says as I turn into him and wrap my arms around him, resting my head against his shoulder, "Let me call my dad and see if he has some advice," Rune tells me, "And then we''ll cook and work on that letter."

    **

    Rune''s phone call is fruitful. His father''s willing to swing into action and offer my parents advice; thankfully my dad''s willing to listen. Whether my mom will or not remains to be seen. But I''m not going to take on that responsibility. I''m going to keep my head down and cook.

    Rune has set himself up on the kitchen bar with our laptops and my Horse Girl folders. By the time I''ve chopped up, oiled, seasoned, and started to successfully roast my way through green beans, carrots, zucchini, and beets, I''ve caught Rune up on exactly where I am on putting together the campaign, and we''ve started on a rough draft letter for friends and family.

    "Wait, this one''s new," Rune says, when we take a break from wordsmithing and he''s going through my finished illustrations again. He holds up an illustration of the Nordic goddess Gn¨¢ and her horse H¨®fvarpnir. Gn¨¢ was a handmaiden and messenger for the goddess Frigg, and her horse could travel effortlessly through time and space.

    "I drew that this week, when I was frustrated over not hearing from Liz," I tell him as I add some cayenne to the carrots I''m going to roast next, "I realized that I''d need to have permission to include anyone who''s still alive in the calendar, so I''m going to switch out some of those for ancient horse goddesses."

    "Great idea, it makes the calendar more international, too," he says as Butterscotch starts to yap and runs for the door.

    There''s a light knock, and then Lorelei bursts in, barely able to contain herself with excitement.

    "I wish you''d both been with us! We''ve had so much fun!" She tells us excitedly as she hands Rune her phone and then drops to the ground to greet the dog, "Your new coloring page for the rescue horses is amazing, Shelby," she tells us as she tries to wrestle Butterscotch''s ball away from her, "The pinto''s name is Ladybug, and the gray one is named Smoke."

    I join Rune in scrolling through her phone to admire more photos, mostly of the young horses.

    "Dad thinks he''ll be able to get the stalls in good enough order to take three or four horses here by late September, or early October, which is our deadline," Lorelei continues, tossing the ball across the room for the dog.

    "Wow, that''s quick," Rune raises both eyebrows, and we share a look. Three or four horses? I can''t help it, my stomach leaps with excitement.

    Well, you have to help," she tells Rune, hopping back up, "we all do."

    "Of course," Rune hands her back her phone, "Where is your dad?"

    Talking to Jenna on the phone," she rolls her eyes before returning to look at the images of the horses, "I think she''s coming over tomorrow to get some of her things. Are we really having tacos for dinner? Can I help make the guacamole?"

    **

    Rune goes to find Gunnar to touch base in person about the fact that Syd and Nils are arriving around five, and to find out the scoop about Jenna. I keep Lorelei entertained by having her help me put all the ingredients in the crock pot to make the shredded chicken for tacos.

    As she happily catches me up about the rescue horses, I do my best not to stare at her sweet face, looking for more similarities with Nils. But every time I glance at her, things pop out that I can''t believe I didn''t notice before.

    The guys arrive about half an hour later and head straight for the office. We hear the movement of furniture, and then Gunnar and Rune join us in the kitchen a few minutes later.

    "Shelby, I think we should wait for those skeleton keys," Gunnar tells me, his hands on his dusty blue-jeaned hips like Rune does, "it''s a nice piece of furniture. There''s no way we can get the drawer out without ruining it."

    "Okay," I agree. I''m less agitated now that I''ve spent time cooking, "I just hate feeling like we''re sitting ducks," I almost whisper. Lorelei''s in the dining room working on the coloring page I drew of the two rescue horses. I don''t want her to overhear us.

    "We''re going to figure out a way to get back at that asshat," Gunnar says also low, his light blue eyes serious.

    "My dad''s talking to both your parents now," Rune tells me, "So let''s do our best to chill for now."

    "Excellent plan," Gunnar nods, "in the meantime, Pup and I are going to go home and decompress. You just want the beer, wine, and watermelon for dinner tonight?"

    "Yes, perfect," I tell him, "Thank you."

    "Stay off social media, you two," Gunnar says as he moves into the living room to gather up Lorelei, "Figure out how to help us find homes for these horses or go upstairs again," he says with a wink.

    "He seems to be taking things remarkably well," I say, amazed, while Rune pours us fresh glasses of iced tea before sitting back at the kitchen bar again.

    "Honestly, I think he''s in shock," Rune says, "I think we all are."

    **

    "I need a drink and a shower in that order," my sister tells us a few hours later, marching straight into the kitchen and setting a bag that clinks down on the counter, "Rune, you gorgeous fellow, please tell me that''s a pitcher of Margaritas you''re stirring, not just lemonade."

    We were given no dog warning because Lorelei has taken Butterscotch next door. She''s going to test out keeping her overnight. In all of the hullabaloo, Gunnar only told her about the dog belonging to her about an hour ago.

    "It''s definitely Margaritas," Rune gives her one of his most charming smiles, taking a second bag from her, "What''s all this? I thought you gave us your list of drink requirements already."

    "Yes, but I couldn''t help myself when we stopped for lunch," Syd admits, giving Rune a kiss of greeting and doing the same to me, "I may drink most of this myself. Don''t worry, it won''t go to waste."

    Syd is as gorgeous as ever. She''s wearing linen, a matching slouchy button-down shirt with three quarter sleeves, and wide-legged pants in a periwinkle blue that make her eyes pop. Her dark red-chestnut hair is cut in a chic long layered shag. She''s absolutely ready to be photographed by the paparazzi, but she looks stressed. There are lines around her eyes and mouth I''ve never seen before.

    "Hungry?" I ask Nils, who''s coming up behind Syd with more luggage. I sneak around her to hug him. He''s grown even since Christmas.

    "I can always eat," he says, with a shy smile when we step apart, eyeing Rune as I introduce them, flattening his full lips and moving them sideways exactly like Rune and Lorelei do.

    Has Sydney already told him who his real father is? Oh God, I hope he hasn''t looked anything up on the internet. What a drama club we''re part of right now.

 Chapter 68: One big tense family

    "Nils, how about you and Rune bring in the rest of our stuff?" Sydney volunteers them. As soon as they''ve stepped out of the kitchen, she turns to me as she picks up the Margarita Rune poured for her, "Where''s my baby daddy?"

    "I''m pretty sure he''s working on their barn until dinner," I tell her, sipping my drink. It''s strong, but I''m glad. I''m going to need it. We all are.

    "Whew, perfect! I need time to prepare after our wild ride," she says, opening one of the bags of potato chips she bought and holding it out to me.

    "Have you told Nils who his real father is yet?" I ask, taking a few chips.

    "No! Just that a crazy man, an old friend of mom''s is trying to get back at Rune for exposing the truth about him," she exclaims, taking a few chips herself, "I tried, I did, but I just couldn''t find the words. And don''t give me that look when you''re so obviously happy and getting some. Oh my God, you and Rune are PLs forever," she laughs, squeezing my arm, "And I love your hair."

    "Don''t change the subject," I whisper tersely as Rune and Nils come back in and head straight up the stairs, "You''ve got to tell him before he meets Gunnar tonight. And how are Rune and I pathetic losers for getting together? He didn''t leave a hickey on me or anything, I checked," I say, narrowing my eyes at her as I take another chip.

    The PLs was a nickname she and Gunnar, and even their Aunt Sally, used to call us when we were kids. It was so annoying.

    "Oh shit, is that what I told you PL stood for? Sometimes I could be as mean as Mom," Syd cackles a laugh so loud she covers her hand with her mouth, she''s obviously running on adrenaline.

    "Yes, you could," I agree with a grimace.

    "It didn''t mean pathetic losers," Syd tells me, continuing to laugh, taking another large sip of her drink and refilling her glass from the pitcher, "Aunt Sally made it up. It stood for perpetual lovebirds."

    "Seriously?" I scoff, "That''s a bit much."

    "I love you, Shells, but you''ve always been a bit obtuse regarding Ruination and his adoration of you. Am I downstairs or up?" she asks, moving into the living room and picking up a suitcase.

    "Downstairs," I tell her, following, annoyed and delighted with the nickname of perpetual lovebirds.

    "Thanks, I need to jump in the shower and put my aching head and shoulders under steam," Syd tells me disappearing into the downstairs bedroom.

    **

    All things considered, dinner''s going well. The tacos are popular, the Margaritas even more so. The kids are both being shy but warming up to each other slowly. Rune covers any awkward silences. After years of being interviewed, he''s apparently learned some good lessons. He keeps lobbing interested questions at Sydney and Nils about their trip from California or Gunnar and Lorelei about the visit to their cousins as if he''s a seasoned talk show host.

    Both Sydney and Gunnar are avoiding eye contact with each other. I hope the kids aren''t picking up on it as much as I am. Lorelei''s so preoccupied with the idea of the horses that she''s probably easier to fool than she''d usually be.

    I''ve only touched lightly on looking for the key, but I''ve asked the kids to help me search for a "key book" first thing tomorrow morning. The main topic of conversation, the one to help us avoid the elephant in the room, is the rescue horses.

    "That seems like a stupid and mean thing to do," Nils says after Lorelei''s caught us all up on how the Borstad cousins have just two months to find the rescue horses homes because of their neighbor''s sudden passing, "Why would anyone buy a horse and then not take care of it?"

    "Of course, it is," Lorelei huffs, "but some people are mean, or sometimes they lose their jobs, or someone gets too old or sick, or they die," she adds with dramatic flair.

    "So, you''re going to take three or four? What about the rest?" Sydney asks Lorelei and Gunnar, glancing at him for only the briefest nanosecond.

    I''m only sitting next to her, and I pick up on the uncomfortably electric jolt that snaps between them. Rune squeezes my knee reassuringly under the table.

    "It''s a tough deadline to find fifteen mostly old horses forever homes and veterinary," Gunnar admits. His long fingers, which are so much like Rune''s, tease the ends of his short beard, "But Stella and Torsten know a lot of the horse people on the Olympic Peninsula, and she was pleased to hear about your network with ReWild," he tells me.

    "They both love your idea of the coloring page to help tell the story," Lorelei pipes up.

    "Rune has an even better idea," I tell her, "He thinks Horse Girls Heroes should help raise money to find them homes."

    "Really?" Lorelei claps with excitement, "That would be amazing!"

    "That''s brilliant," Syd agrees, raising her glass to Rune, and they clink, "on so many levels."

    "Hey, Pup," Gunnar says suddenly to Lorelei as he checks his watch, "If you want to invite Nils to see the movie Rune picked out, you''d better do it now."

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    **

    "Any more updates on the devil we know," Gunnar asks after the kids are safely ensconced in Syd''s room.

    Rune has set them up to watch the classic Viggo Mortensen film Hidalgo about the Mustang who wins the famous Sahara endurance race. I wish I was in there watching with them instead of out here for this difficult conversation.

    "Three articles posted to smaller celebrity gossip sites this am that our dad found," I tell him, "They''re all about Rune and ''a fan'' being in a custody battle with you over Lorelei."

    "He''s expanded since then," Gunnar says, his voice deceptively light, "friends have started to contact me in concern."

    "Oh no," I wince as both Rune and Syd swear under their breaths, "Obviously, he never had any intention of keeping a deal with our mom."

    "Nope, the man''s certifiable," Gunnar says, "I need to be out of here between nine and noon tomorrow so Jenna can come and pick up her stuff. I can''t handle one more conversation with her at the moment. Her optimistic philosophy is failing her," his light blue eyes rest on Sydney, "She''s losing it with the news that I have a surprise child."

    Syd winces but stares at her drink.

    "I''ll deal with her," Rune says as the two men exchange a look.

    "I''ll go pick up the skeleton keys," Gunnar says, "and take Pup to get your birthday present."

    "Would you mind taking Nils with you?" Sydney asks carefully, glancing at him under her lashes, "So he''s not here when Jenna comes by, and Shelby and I can work on some sort of response strategy to Franklin?"

    "Have you told Nils anything?" Gunnar asks.

    "Not yet," Syd sighs, shaking her head and running her hands through her hair.

    "Christ, Syd," Gunnar says sharply, "he''s probably read about it already on the Internet." This time, staring straight at her. I''m glad he''s not mad at me. He''s such an angry iceberg.

    "He promised not to look online, but yes, I know. I''m sorry. I''ve fucked up royally about this, but I don''t want Nils to pay," she tells Gunnar sounding like she truly is sorry, "I just need to have my head in a better place first. It''s been a bad several months."

    "You can''t control this," Gunnar sighs in a way that sounds like it''s an old argument about something else when he sees she''s close to tears, and bites back whatever else he was going to say.

    "I think we need to create an alternative narrative," I say to everyone quickly, reaching out to take Rune''s hand as I do.

    "Taking a play out of Dad''s playbook?" Syd says with a sniff, nodding, before finishing her drink and pushing it aside, "That might work."

    "What does that mean for those of us who don''t have your fancy education?" Gunnar asks tiredly.

    "We give the legit media something to bite on besides whatever lies Franklin and Pamela are drumming up," Syd tells him, raising her chin as if it''s a dare, "If you both agree, Shelby and I can come up with some specific ideas on strategy tomorrow."

    "Okay," Gunnar nods, standing, picking up his plate and the now-empty Margarita pitcher, "That''s better than my plan to jump on the next flight to go break Franklin''s knees with a sledgehammer."

    **

    "I think I understand why you didn''t let Gunnar know initially. He wanted to travel, and you wanted to finish school and settle down, but why didn''t you tell him later on?" I ask Syd as she, Rune, and I are finishing up the last of the kitchen duty, "I mean, Gunnar''s doing so well¡­"

    "I just couldn''t; it''s hard to face being so in the wrong," Syd says, drying the glass taco platter that''s too long and fragile to put in the dishwasher with a bit more vigor than necessary, "I knew the clock was ticking with DNA testing becoming all the rage, but honestly, I was still too afraid of Mom''s wrath until she made such a debacle of things in Ventura for me."

    "She still dislikes us that much?" Rune asks, looking very unhappy.

    "Oh, you were in her better graces for a while when Franklin bragged about you as his very successful protege."

    "But I''m sure still not good enough for her daughters," Rune adds knowingly. I hate that he and Gunnar know this about my snobby mother, snobby parents really.

    "No," Sydney admits as we migrate into the living room to finish our conversation. Rune and I plop onto the couch, Syd in one of the armchairs. "When Gunnar and I finally called it quits the last time right after filming that commercial, I got back together with Bill, who is so impressive on paper but alas more married to his mother than he ever could be to me."

    "Ouch," Rune says, "I don''t feel so bad."

    "Yeah, it was fun to experience the ''not good enough'' medicine while living in Ventura. Being so up close and personal, instead of a couple of hours away, I found out Bill''s family thought I was quite step down for him from his high school girlfriend. Of course, they only let me know this after I helped save their beloved bike empire during Covid."

    "Why in the world weren''t you good enough for Bill?" I scoff, tucking my chilled feet under Rune''s legs.

    "Where shall I begin?" Sydney asks darkly, starting to count on her fingers, "My business degree is from UCLA, not USC, and partially from junior college credits. My MBA is an online degree. Bill and I never married, and oh yes, my parents are creatives, and my mom overdresses for every occasion. When they find out about Nils not being Bill''s child that will be quite a fireworks show I''m sure."

    "But doesn''t Bill''s family just own bike shops?" Rune asks, looking confused.

    "But they''re third-generation bike shops, and they all have degrees from Stanford," Syd kicks off her elegant sandals and curls up her feet, "The palpable jealousy in the air whenever Mom and Bill''s mom were in a room together was a delight to behold. Bill''s mom was the belle of the ball until mom showed up."

    "As much as I dislike your mother, that must have been something to experience," Rune laughs with her.

    "Rune, do you have your phone?" I ask him. I must have left mine back in the kitchen.

    "Yes," he takes it out of his pocket.

    "Will you pull up our mom''s video?" he nods and starts scrolling, "I think we figured out the real reason Mom doesn''t like Gunnar and Rune," I tell Sydney as Rune passes her his phone.

    "I haven''t seen this in years," Sydney says as One More Midnight with You begins to play.

    "Notice anything?"

    "You mean that whoever this hot guy Mom''s dancing with looks like a combo of Gunner and Rune, but more Rune," Syd says, not taking her eyes of Rune''s phone.

    "Exactly," I say, "I think this guy may be part of the puzzle. I don''t think this video is the love letter to Mom the way we were always told; I think it''s to this guy."

    "Oh shit," Syd laughs low, watching the video intently for a few moments, "You''re right."

    "The podcast research team is trying to track him down," Rune tells us, "But they''re having a hard time finding anything."

    "Rune, are all of the men in the lawsuit blond like this guy and, well, this pretty?" Sydney asks.

    "Yes, different shades of blond, all blue-eyed, all in some form of entertainment, most actors but not all, all have been Franklin''s protegees of some form or another over the years," Rune takes his phone back from Sydney.

    "But you''re naturally a strawberry blond with green eyes," I say, "so you shouldn''t fit his type."

    "Yeah, well, Franklin figured out how to get around that loophole by encouraging me to dye my hair and to wear blue contacts when I went on auditions. That''s when I started seriously booking roles, and unfortunately, started to hero-worship him."

 Chapter 69: Theos letter

    Nils is sitting at the kitchen bar in a hoodie and flannels with a severe case of bedhead when I come downstairs on Friday morning. He''s reading a battered paperback.

    "I found it!" He jumps off the barstool when he sees me, brandishing a tiny manilla envelope.

    "The key book?" I look at the envelope in his hand in confusion, still a little dreamy from what Rune and I have been up to for the past hour or so.

    "Yes, and I found the key," Nils says patiently, opening the envelope carefully, then shaking a tiny metal key into my hand. He holds up the battered paper book, "There were a couple of stacks of old thrillers in the closet upstairs when I snooped around late last night."

    "I completely forgot about those," I tell him, taking in the book''s title, The Key to Rebecca, "You''re so clever!" I squeeze his shoulder affectionately, "Let''s go find out if it works."

    I tell Nils to do the honors; I''m too nervous. The key sticks for a second but finally clicks, and the drawer slides open easily. Right on top, like in my dream, is a much larger, manilla envelope. Nils pulls it out carefully. Also like my dream, it''s addressed to Rune in Theo''s scrawling hand.

    "Wow, this is it," I say, hoping something in here will explain Mom''s behavior and help us stop Franklin, "thank you."

    "That''s not the only thing I figured out," Nils says, giving me a pointed glance and sitting in one of the other office chairs, making it very clear he wants to talk.

    "Oh?" I say, trying to sound casual as I sit in the other one and swivel it to face him, "You didn''t search online, did you?"

    "No, I was tempted to, but I promised Mom," he draws his knees up and wraps his long arms around them, "I don''t look like any of Bill''s family," Nils tells me, his solemn young face such a mix of his parents, his eyes are his mother''s, but the lighter blue is total Gunnar''s, "I think maybe Bill guessed a while ago. He''s been cooler to me since we moved to Ventura. At first, I thought it was because I wasn''t interested in bike racing anymore, but I overheard Grandma, well, his mom, say something over the holidays that made me wonder."

    "I''m sorry you had to find out like this," I tell him, reaching over to squeeze his knee, wishing he was still small enough to pull onto my lap. He used to be so fun to cuddle with.

    "It hasn''t been fun," he admits, "Being stalked by that photographer was crazy," he looks out the window, gathering his thoughts. "When we came in yesterday, I thought it was Rune. You know, because of our mouths and noses. But Mom was so normal around him, and he was always with you in Mom''s photos."

    "What photos?"

    "I found a shoe box of them when we were packing," he looks a little sheepish, "I''ve got it upstairs. They''re a mix of when you two were growing up, mostly trips up here, and some candid from Mom''s modeling shoots. There are several of her and Gunnar over the years, including from that perfume ad they did together. It''s obvious how much they liked each other."

    "You know about that ad?" I ask, and then realize I shouldn''t be shocked.

    "Of course I''ve looked up Mom on the internet. You can find that ad on YouTube," he scoffs like it''s a no brainer, "It''s not easy having a hot mom; I wanted to be prepared for any surprises since she''s so tight-lipped about modeling."

    "Is she?" I had no idea.

    "Yeah, especially around Bill," he scrubs his hands over his face and then combs his fingers through his unruly curls, "but I guess that makes sense now."

    "I''m sure he''ll still be your friend," I say, but Nils shakes his head.

    "I doubt it," he tells me, "Is Gunnar okay with all this? Did he know already or¡­?"

    "He didn''t," I tell him, and he winces, "but he knows now, and he''s absolutely okay with it," I assure him, "He wouldn''t have asked you to spend the morning with him and Lorelei if he wasn''t."

    "That''s what I was hoping," he admits. "He''s so cool, Shells. He''s such an amazing builder."

    "You looked him up?" I ask, hoping he didn''t accidentally find out more.

    "Of course, I only promised not to look up gossip sites."

    **

    "This is it," Rune says, his hair still wet from the shower as we sit facing each other crossed-legged on the bed, staring at the envelope before us.

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    "Open it," I encourage him.

    "Shouldn''t you do the honors since you''re the one who dreamed about it, and it''s about your mother?" He''s eyeing the envelope like a venomous snake might jump out of it.

    "Theo said it''s for you, and you have the better reading voice," I tell him.

    He tsks at me but picks up the envelope and carefully unseals it, "I just have more practice," he says, sliding a small dark green leather journal out of the envelope.

    I recognize the journal as one of a series my parents gave Theo as a gift every Christmas. They''re made in Como. The journal has a letter folded up marking a particular page. Rune unfolds it carefully. It''s typed and dated with Theo''s signature at the bottom.

    Dear Rune,

    If you''re reading this, chances are that I, too, have passed. What a dreadful time it''s been for you with the loss of your dear darling mother. Gunnar told me that Franklin Haus has made things even worse, doing his best to ruin your career.

    Dear boy, this is the fifth version of this letter I''ve drafted over the months. Now that Shelby is here taking excellent care of me, I hope to find the courage to tell her to send it to you on my behalf. If the specifics of the content can''t help you, then at least maybe you and Shelby can become friends again.

    I met Franklin when he was a handsome, brash senior in High School. He and Eva (Shelby''s mother) became fast friends when she came to live with me as a sophomore. They shared a passion for drama class, vintage clothes, and rockabilly music. They were inseparable.

    Yes, I knew Franklin was gay, but he was also Catholic. As fun as the late'' 70s/early 80''s were, many people were still closeted, especially those from conservative backgrounds. The AIDs crisis made it worse.

    No, I didn''t like that he was using my niece as his beard. I tried to convince her what was happening, but she was sure I was wrong. Ah, the arrogance of a pretty young girl who understands how to twist most boys around her little finger.

    I hoped they would fade apart when Franklin went to college, but he chose to attend Long Beach State. He was just a junior when he made the music video "One More Midnight with You" for that local band. Of course, he chose Eva as his muse to star in it, along with a young man named Scott Treadman. He was a handsome classmate of Franklin''s who was already having some success as a semi-regular on a soap.

    By this time, I''d switched tactics. I was trying to convince Franklin to tell Eva the truth. I told him I''d never forgive him if he gave my niece AIDS. He promised he would finally break it off with her if I''d loan him the clothes for the video for free (which I was planning on doing anyway, but he always needed to feel he got the better end of a deal). Instead, not a week after the video debuted, they announced they were engaged.

    Of course, it was a publicity stunt. Franklin, Eva, and Scott were feted in the media. The video was the absolute darling of MTV. The song went to number one. Franklin left film school to go to New York to make his next music video without graduating; Scott was cast in a musical, and Eva took a leave from fashion school to follow them and make a few commercials.

    She came home six months later, pregnant. She told us she and Franklin would get married quietly in Long Beach and then have a big reception in New York. But Franklin didn''t show. When Eva finally got him on the phone, he made all kinds of excuses and kept telling her they''d marry soon, but he had too much work and couldn''t leave New York yet.

    Eva went into hysterics, but Franklin kept stalling. When I finally calmed her down, an ugly truth came out. The baby wasn''t Franklin''s; it was Scott Treadman''s. This was Franklin''s revenge on Scott, who''d turned Franklin down and stayed faithful to his girlfriend back home in Wyoming. But Franklin knew Scott also had a crush on Eva. So, Franklin devised a scheme for Eva to take advantage of it by promising he''d marry her and take care of her in style for the rest of her life if she''d get pregnant by Scotts.

    Eva succeeded. Franklin was thrilled and sent her home, supposedly to prep for their life together. I was appalled, but I also felt guilty for not realizing how much Eva was under Franklin''s thumb. My sister and I convinced Eva to have an abortion before it was too late and to go back to school and have her own life. In my journal, I''ve written down the name of the clinic in Huntington Beach and the date. I drove her myself. I still believe this was the right thing to do.

    Eva doesn''t. She was so distraught she jumped in her car a day later and drove up here to stay with her grandmother without letting me know until she arrived. I helped support her while she stayed for two years, finishing her fashion degree and starting to work in event design.

    When Franklin finally returned to L.A. to make his first movie a few years after that, he connected with Eva again, expecting to find her raising their child and living with me. When he found out she''d had an abortion, he gave her a terrible time about it and disowned her.

    Not too long after that, Eva met Sandro and fell in love. I hoped she''d put Franklin behind her. But she hadn''t. Your dad was great at getting your mom in the press, and finally, she was such a media darling as the woman who designed the best parties, and that dam video started being touted as a classic masterpiece, that Franklin just had to be in touch again.

    Rune, I''m sorry I was in the backyard holding court the night you met Franklin. I couldn''t stand to be in the same room with him, but I kept the peace for Eva''s sake. I don''t know if I could have made a difference. I like to think I would have tried if I''d seen the interest he was paying you.

    I hope you can forgive an ashamed old man for not speaking up sooner.

    Yours, Theo

    **

    "Wow," Rune blows out, too bad we can''t share it with the Narcissus podcast," Rune says, rubbing his eyes and leaning back on the pillows against the headboard, "your mother will never speak to you again if we do."

    I scoot over to sit next to him, "I think we should let my dad decide," I say quietly but firmly.

    "You want to show this to him?" Rune asks in surprise, "Shouldn''t it be your mother''s choice? And aren''t all Italians Catholic?"

    "Yes, most, but he''s completely pro-choice," I fold the letter up carefully and put it back into the journal Rune left lying face down on the bed. I know on one hand it really should be my mother''s choice, but I''m really angry at her right now. Just like Sophie Hatter I''m tired of being afraid of things, "Rune, my mom has used the threat of not talking, and now disowning me, as to me as a way to control my behavior. I''m done with it."

 Chapter 70: Jennas surprise attack

    No," Syd folds up the letter and puts it back in the journal, "Gunnar''s yelling at me enough already via text. I don''t need to listen to her histrionics right now."

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    er voice is a little muffled because she''s holding an icepack to her lip to keep the swelling down.

    Inside, Jenna, Rune, and Kim are at the dining room table, with Gunnar glowering from where he''s leaning against the kitchen bar.

 Chapter 71: Jennas sly move

    While Gunnar chats with his lawyer in the office and Kim types up the document we''ll need she and Jenna to sign from the dining room table, Syd decides to go lie down. I don''t blame her.

    No one else had eaten lunch yet, and the milkshake I split with Syd feels like it was a decade ago. Our plan is to make pizza tonight. I decide to serve the roasted vegetables I already made over orzo, so I start filling a pot with water to boil.

    "I hope we can climb back into bed in the none-too-distant future," Rune says, his voice honey-smooth as he comes into the kitchen, so only I''ll hear, "How can I help?"

    "Me too," I sigh and smile at him with longing, "Will you cut up some of this good bread?" I ask, taking out a fisherman''s loaf we bought yesterday, mostly to just have him nearby.

    "Sure," he gets a bread knife and a cutting board. I''m tempted to stand here, and watch how he uses his beautiful hands, and daydream about what might happen after dark. Instead, I shake myself out of it and focus.

    While the pasta cooks, I get out the roasted carrots, asparagus, zucchini, and start cutting up the small orange tomatoes while I have Rune grate up some mozzarella next. Then it occurs to me that Jenna might not eat cheese or pasta, so I send Rune out to check.

    "Kim, what made Jenna go off like this today?" I ask, after Kim confirms she sent the non-disclosure agreement off for Gunnar''s lawyer to approve, "It seems so unlike her."

    Kim gets up from the dining room table and comes over to the bar with my laptop. She glances around us in the kitchen to the door that goes into the laundry room, making sure Jenna isn''t coming back inside.

    "Finding out the production company was only interested if we had Rune involved was a big blow to her. She still thought there was a chance to create a real show. And then reading that Gunnar had another child, who is so obviously his child, that was bad," Kim shakes her head over the memory.

    "Wait, she contacted the production company again after I told you what they were after?" Rune asks, incredulous, as he comes back in and tells me it was a good call. Jenna wants a salad, preferably with some lean protein. I''m tempted to get everything out and let Jenna make her own salad, but that would mean she''d be here in the kitchen with us, so I go ahead and make one with strips of turkey lunch meat for her.

    "I thought she believed you, I certainly did," Kim admits, looking sheepish, "But when we got to Bellevue to stay with her parents'' friends, she insisted I keep calling Pamela''s team. Finally, someone answered me and me and Jenna got to hear first-hand that it was really you they wanted."

    "Why didn''t you just refuse to contact them?" I ask as Rune and I start assembling sandwiches.

    "I''m completely broke. Jenna owes me my salary for coming on this trip and a plane ticket home," Kim tells us, "I only took this job driving up North with her and helping with her fledgling production company so I could stop couch surfing at my brother''s house."

    "That sucks," I commiserate as I stir the orzo, and ask Rune to take Jenna the salad with a jar of olive oil and lemon dressing I made, telling him it''s the only kind we have so I hope it works for her. He laughs and says he''s happy to tell her.

    "Yeah," Kim says, refilling her iced tea from the pitcher, "I''m steeling myself for doing drive home. We''ve got a motel for tonight, but then she wants to drive straight through to Los Angeles."

    "She doesn''t look like she''s up for that," I say, as I drain the pasta, "You''re her friend; can''t you reason with her?"

    "I''ll do all the night driving," Kim tells me as Rune comes back in, "So we should be fine. Anyway, we''re not really friends. We went to high school together, but I''m a few years behind her; she''s actually friend of my brothers. Can I help you with all this?" She asks, leaning forward to watch as I put a good portion of orzo in the bowls I''ve had Rune line up, and then we start putting the vegetables on top.

    "We''ve got it," I assure her, as I have Rune sprinkle a handful of cheese on top and I follow with a drizzle of my best garlic and red pepper infused olive oil before stirring the contents of each bowl together, so the hot orzo melts the cheese, "tell Gunnar we''re ready to eat."

    When I stick my head into Syd''s room, I see that she''s sound asleep, so I leave her be.

    "This looks amazing," Gunnar says as he and Kim sit down, "Why did I start dating Jenna when you were already here?" he winks at me as he takes a bite, "We could have been so good together Shells, think of how green we could have made this compound."

    "Because you knew her heart belonged to me," Rune says in mock sternness, "and you''ll do all of those sustainability projects anyway. Where are the kids?"

    "Coming," Gunnar tells him, "I texted them."

    I realize guiltily that we''ve left Jenna to eat on the back porch all by herself, which might be what she prefers. I''m about to get up and invite her inside when the kids and the dog burst through the front door.

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    "Yay! You got it all squared away with Jenna!" Lorelei says happily. But she stops so suddenly when she sees Kim that Nils almost slams into her from behind.

    "Be nice," Gunnar warns as the kids approach the table.

    "Why didn''t Jenna take you with her?" Nils asks Kim, both kids look confused as they take their places at the table.

    "Jenna hasn''t left yet," Gunnar tells them, "She''s out back."

    "No, she''s not," Lorelei tells him as she takes a large bite of pasta, "She just drove past us as we were walking over. She didn''t even wave goodbye."

    "Oh, for fuck''s sake," Gunnar snarls, dropping his fork, jumping up from the table and darting out the front door with Butterscotch on his heels.

    "Oh no," Kim exclaims and jumps up to run after them.

    Sure enough, when Rune, the kids and I join everyone out in front Jenna''s car is gone. Two dusty duffle bags sit on the gravel drive in its place.

    "I forgot she had a spare key hidden on the car," Gunnar shakes his head as he picks up the two duffel bags.

    "My brother''s going to kill me," Kim says, but instead of following Gunnar back into the house, she sits on the bottom step and promptly bursts into tears.

    "Kids, go eat on the back deck," Gunnar backtracks and takes in the crying young woman, "Take the dog with you," he''s using a tone that isn''t to be messed with as he shepherds the kids inside. I follow him and dart into the downstairs bathroom for a box of tissues.

    "I''m sorry," Kim mumbles as I hand her the box, "I know you''ve all got a terrible dark cloud of gossip hanging over your head. I don''t mean to add to it."

    "What''s going on?" I see Syd ask Gunnar drowsily, coming into the living room. Rune shuts the front door and joins me to sit on the porch steps up a couple from the still crying Kim.

    "Kim, we''ll get you a flight home, don''t worry," I tell her, "Surely your brother can''t be mad at you because Jenna is acting so crazy."

    "You don''t know my brother," Kim says, sniffing and wiping her tears, "He idolizes Jenna. It''ll be just one more thing in my life I''ve fucked up. The only thing he''ll be happy about in this is that she and Gunnar are broken up."

    **

    "There''s nothing close to a direct flight except on standby until Wednesday," Gunnar comes out to find Rune, Syd, and I on the back deck. We''ve resumed brainstorming on how to launch Horse Girls Heroes.

    "I know none of you have any reason to trust me," Kim says from behind him, looking thoroughly miserable, "but if someone has miles, you can book a standby ticket with for me, and then someone can Venmo me a few hundred dollars and take me to Viking Station I''ll be out of your hair soon."

    "Don''t be ridiculous," Gunnar says shortly, sitting with a huff into one of the Adirondack chairs and taking out his phone.

    "I''ve signed a copy of the non-disclosure, and I''ll come up with a way to pay you back," Kim says quickly, wrapping her arms around herself in a way that seems like she wants to make herself as small as possible.

    "Kim, you have my email address; send me an invoice for how much you agreed Jenna would pay you for this trip, and I''ll send you the money," Gunner tells her, his voice more friendly.

    "Thank you, that''s very kind," Kim says. Looking relieved but still uncomfortable, she sits down in the empty chair next to Gunnar and takes out her own phone.

    "Let''s be smart about this everyone," Syd says, "Kim, do you have any social media or crowdfunding campaign skills?" Syd asks from where we were working at the table.

    "I mostly did photography and videography when I worked at the lifestyle magazine, but before that I worked for an amazing handmade doll designer who hosted some successful campaigns," Kim admits, "Why?"

    I tell her about the crowdfunding campaign for Horse Girls and that we''re also going to make it a fundraiser for the rescue horses

    "That''s a cool idea," she says, "Can I see what you''ve put together so far?"

    While we catch Kim up on the campaign, Gunnar and Rune take off to make sure their other spare room is set up for Kim to sleep in, and to check in with the kids.

    "Have you got all of your gift perks figured out?" Kim asks as she flips through a copy of the day calendar.

    "No," I admit, "we''ve been focused on the pre-funding letter. Rune wants to send it out to our friends and family sometime next week."

    "That''s good; I bet you''ll raise quite a bit that way, but yes, you need excellent perks. It''s a way to make people feel more involved," Kim tells us, "Show me the social media images you''re starting to put together for the launch."

    I show her the new illustration I''ve done of two young horses, and then Syd shows the video Rune helped me make on Rune''s laptop since hers now needs to go to the shop.

    "We need to reshoot Shelby''s intro," Syd tells Kim, "Since it also needs to talk about the rescue horses. We''ll take video of them and better images of them early next week. Could you help us out with that before you take off on Wednesday?"

    "Of course," Kim says, starting to sound excited, "The fact that both Shelby and Rune can edit video, and at this caliber is gold."

    "I''ve noticed that the most successful campaigns have good videos," I tell her, glad she''s enthused.

    "Maybe Jenna wasn''t crazy with her reality lifestyle show idea," Kim says, after studying Rune''s Instagram and mine for a while.

    "You can''t be serious!" Syd exclaims, looking like she wants to flee the table, "I could lose my job if my company thought I was behaving unprofessionally."

    "Hear me out," Kim says quickly, holding up her hands, "I don''t mean a real reality show. I mean, why not turn the tables on these crazy people and their smear campaign against your family."

    "We''re admitting that Rune and I are in a relationship," I tell her, "But we want to be careful with everyone else''s privacy, especially the kids."

    "I hear you about the kids," Kim says, "But what if you showed a more united front? Especially considering what Jenna might decide to get up to once she gets home?"

    "You think she''ll try and talk to the media?" I ask, as the tsunami wave of dread crests in my mind''s eye. Crap.

    "She really likes to be the center of attention," Kim says, "She never told me anything about how talented you are Shelby, "just that you inherited this big house and spend all of your time drawing and weeding. And you''re dating one of the millennials'' favorite TV boyfriends," You''ve hardly begun to tap into the power of that popularity if you want to drown out what this guy Franklin is up to."

    "She has a point," Syd nods, looking thoughtful.

    "Rune and Gunnar aren''t my thing," Kim says, standing, starting to walk back and forth on the deck, "I mean, honestly, the fact that I''m gay is probably a big reason why Jenna hired me. But I''m a good videographer. You should be using all of your combined photogenic-ness, and the beauty of this place more."

    "Oh," I say in surprise, and Syd snorts a laugh at my continued obtuseness.

    "You should be telling the story of all four of you and your histories together and how it relates to this place and the horses," Kim continues, "let people fall in love with that story."

 Chapter 72: A photo worth a thousand words

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    shyness

    Mourn her, Theo says, but also realize that right here right now you''re very interesting.

 Chapter 73: Franklins unwelcome visit

    "Wake up, sweetheart, we need to talk to you," a deep, familiar voice says. I open my eyes and peer down at the foot of the bed towards the voice. It''s still dark out. Theo''s standing there, I can tell it''s him because he''s glowing slightly in the dark.

    I sit bolt upright and turn to wake Rune, overjoyed to share my great uncle is back from the dead. It''s a miracle.

    "He won''t hear you, darling," Theo says a little sadly, "we''re in not in the physical realm."

    This seems to make perfect sense. I scoot down the bed to get close to my beloved uncle. Now that I''m close, I realize this isn''t Theo as I remember him. He''s not an elderly man on the brink of death. The man standing before me is in the prime of his life.

    Although he was always a snappy dresser, Theo looks ready for a night out on the town. He''s wearing the brown velvet suit jacket Rune wore to the mid-summer fundraiser, a natty bright blue and green striped shirt, and bell-bottom jeans. His face is already a bit craggy, but it''s so full of charm and character.

    I slowly stand and reach my hand out to touch him, to find out if I can. His hand meets mine and grips it strongly. It''s not warm, but not cold either and it''s reassuring solid. I throw my arms around him.

    "I miss you so terribly," I sob, then pull back so I won''t mess up his lovely jacket, "Why don''t you talk to me as much now?"

    "You don''t need me darling," he says, cupping my face in his hands tenderly, "You''re doing so much better. And it''s about my time to move on."

    "Oh no, don''t go," I beg, clutching his hand with both of mine, and crying harder.

    "Don''t worry, I can still check in occasionally like this," Theo tells me reassuringly, "It''s much nicer than my voice echoing around in your head, isn''t it? But you need to be feeling really good and well-grounded to allow this to happen Shelby. Can you try and keep that up?"

    "Yes, of course, I''ll do my best," I agree, I like the idea of him being able to visit like this, "Where are you going?"

    "Oh, there are so many wonderous things to experience and see, darling," he laughs, "Truly, death is only a doorway. Unfortunately, duty calls right now. We have other things we need to discuss."

    "Like what?" I ask wanting to get the duty over with quickly, so I can ask a million questions.

    "Franklin has asked my permission to speak with you," Theo tells me, glancing to the side and behind him, "He needs your help."

    "Franklin?" I stammer in shock. Sure enough, closer to the French doors stands Franklin Haus. He, too, is younger. I recognize this version of him from my mom''s polaroids and snapshots she took while they were making One More Midnight with You.

    Franklin''s beautifully dressed in 40s vintage charcoal three-piece suit, but his whole countenance is one of misery. His shoulders are so hunched, and his head is so low and slung forward that he looks like a turtle. He''s also surrounded by an ugly mottled gray-green mist the color of a bruise.

    "I can''t stay stuck here like this. I need you to convince Asher to forgive me so I can come back," Franklin says rapidly, in a whining, demanding voice that sets my teeth on edge.

    "Franklin, we went over this," Theo says sternly, "this isn''t the right approach. I warned you to face reality when I agreed to bring you here."

    "But I''m not ready!" Frankly retorts hotly, "I''m not old old like you! I''m not even sixty-five yet. I still have so much to do!" He starts pacing back and forth in front of the French doors, like an animal caged in a zoo. This makes the ugly mist swirl around him nauseatingly. I have to look away, so it doesn''t make me sick.

    "You''re in danger of making things worse for yourself," Theo warns, "don''t continue to be such an arrogant fool."

    "I''ll take everything back," Franklin stops and says pleadingly and pointedly to me, ignoring Theo.

    "You destroyed Rune''s acting career and made his life miserable," I glare at Franklin, "Why should I listen to you?"

    "I gave him that career. He''d never would have gotten anything but kid''s roles without my coaching," Franklin scoffs, brushing my words aside dismissively with a wave of his hand and steps towards the foot of the bed, looking at Rune''s sleeping form with blatant hunger.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    I cross my arms over my chest and step towards Franklin to warn him away. He steps back and paces back and forth again.

    "I''ll make it right. But first you''ve got to get him to forgive me," he says as he paces, and then more to himself he goes on, "I''m sure he''s the key to getting out of here. Asher''s the one with the real talent. It was a waste to make him so beautiful on top of all of that brainpower," he stops at the foot of the bed next to me again. He gazes at Rune with an almost wistful look, "Look at him. Really, who wouldn''t be tempted? Obviously, you can''t keep your hands off him."

    "Stay away from him, you monster," I growl, dropping my hands into clenched fists. If Franklin didn''t step quickly away, I would have decked him. I still might. I''m so angry I can barely see straight.

    "This isn''t helping at all, Franklin," Theo sighs, "You''re digging yourself in deeper."

    I''m not sure what this means, but it seems like the mist surrounding Franklin has gotten denser as he''s returned to pacing in front of the French doors. Now, an ugly purple tone has been added to the mist. It''s hideous. I''m extremely creeped out.

    "If this is so important, why don''t you call him and ask for forgiveness yourself?" I ask Franklin, glancing at Theo, but his gaze is steadily on Franklin. He looks sad and disappointed. "Are you too much of a coward?"

    "I can''t in this hell hole limbo!" Franklin shouts, motioning to the fog around him, "I don''t have your family''s weird voodoo skills."

    "What weird voodoo skills?" I ask, confused, but a sneaking suspicion is creeping up my spine.

    "This, this ability to talk to people in other realms," Franklin waves his hands about the room and then immediately crosses his arms again, hunching even more into himself, "Your mother''s sixth sense of knowing which projects were right for me," he says, and starts to say something else but decides against it, "Just tell Asher I''ll find him the right star vehicle, no more power games. I promise. But I need him to forgive me first so I can get out of here. Getting out of here is the main thing."

    "Are you even a bit sorry for the heartache you''ve caused Rune or any of those other men?" I ask angrily, stepping towards him. He shrinks a little in size as I do. We''re now the same height.

    "You have no right to judge me you spoiled brat," Franklin deflects angrily, backing closer to the open doors, "You''ve had everything handed to you your whole life, a present father who loved you, family attention and support, the love of the boy you wanted if only you''d been smart enough to realize it¡­"

    This fills me with such rage I slam both hands onto Franklin''s chest and push him out onto the deck. He''s now shorter than me.

    "I won''t let you near him; you''re not sorry at all," I snarl, grabbing the lapels of his fancy suit.

    "You think he''s going to stay with you here in this boring bucolic wonderland?" Franklin sneers up at me, trying in vain to push me off, "As soon as the gossip dies down, he''ll leave. If it''s not back to Julia, it''ll be some other equally exotically gorgeous girl."

    "You''re lying just to be horrible," I shake Franklin so hard that I lift him off his feet. He''s now shrunk to the size of a five-year-old child, hanging in my hands.

    "Franklin," Theo warns from behind right me but not physically interfering, "You''re in real danger here. Look to your soul. Apologize to both of them. Be sincere, man. Own up."

    "Do you think I''d be here groveling to you both if I could talk directly to Asher?" Franklin wheezes, now looking like a giant, well-dressed rag doll.

    "I hate you, and I wish you were dead!" I scream and fling Franklin away from me over the balcony railing.

    I wake with a start. Rune''s gazing at me in low light with concern, his warm hand on my shoulder.

    "You''re having a nightmare," he tells me, his voice extra deep and gravely with sleep.

    "No, it was real," I scrambled out of bed in a panic, "I killed Franklin Haus."

    "He''s here?" Rune jumps out of bed after me, dressed only in his boxers, "He got into the house?"

    "Yes, he was right here with me and Theo," I say, opening the screen door of the French doors and stepping onto the deck.

    The damp wood is icy against my bare feet, the light breeze too chilly for my light cotton pajamas. I clench my teeth and start to shiver as I peer over the edge of the railing, looking for a body on the patio below.

    It''s dawning on me that it might really have been a dream. But I have to make sure. It was all too horrible and real.

    "Get the flashlight," I tell Rune, "I can''t see well enough."

    "It was a dream, Shells," Rune says but obligingly brings me the big yellow flashlight we keep under the bed.

    Yes, reality hits me, Theo is dead and not younger than I''ve ever personally known him. If Franklin had been here, he wouldn''t be in his early twenties. But my heart''s still racing, so I need to make sure. I turn the flashlight on, and we both peer down below us over the railing. Nothing''s down there except the empty, wet patio.

    ******

    Back in the cozy, reassuring warmth of our bed, with my head resting against Rune''s bare chest, I recount the dream from the beginning.

    "That sounds like Franklin all right, the bastard," Rune says against my hair. One of his hands cradles mine over his heart; the other has been tracing slow, comforting circles down my back.

    We lie in silence, listening to the occasional bird call as the dawn begins to brighten the sky. I think he''ll drift back to sleep now, but Rune has other ideas.

    "You know, it''s now officially my birthday Seashell," his voice has turned to the low honey silk he uses whenever he wants to seduce me. He kisses the top of my head and then my forehead softly, "It''s quite a turn on how fierce you are."

    "Seriously?" I ask, tilting my face up so he can kiss me properly, "you like my Nordic Valkyrie side?"

    "Absolutely," he purrs against my ear, and then rolls me onto my back, "First hearing how you went after Jenna and now Franklin. What a warrior you are," he says before kissing me soundly, pressing his hips into me suggestively.

    "Isn''t this just the way you wake up?" I tease, running my fingers over the soft scruff on his jaw, letting my body catch up to the heat in his cat green eyes.

    "No," he scoffs, "that erection is still hours away," he kisses me again so passionately that I wrap my legs around his hips and rock against him.

 Chapter 74: Jenna strikes again

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 Chapter 75: Runes marvelous secret

    ¡°All right, Seashell,¡± Rune says after we sign off with Naomi, getting up off the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face, ¡°Let¡¯s pick out what you¡¯re going to wear tonight. I want you to get ready while I finish something in the barn that I¡¯ll show you in a bit.¡±

    We left it that Naomi is going to help us just for a short amount of time, to help us get through the next couple of weeks. The first thing she¡¯s going to do is draft up a press release that will be sent out tomorrow morning after it¡¯s run by Raymond Santiago and his podcast team.

    I can tell by the set of Rune¡¯s shoulders as I follow him into the spacious walk-in closet that he feels better after speaking with Naomi. I do too. It¡¯s always good to have a plan. And Naomi loves that we¡¯re going to be releasing a lot of lifestyle images and video through our Instagram accounts to show what we¡¯re really up to. Take that Jenna.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to need some new clothes if we¡¯re going to be talking to the press a lot,¡± Rune says, eyeing the side of the walk-in closet with my paltry collection of clothes. His side is now over half full, even though he still has a storage unit near his Uncle Hank¡¯s house back in the San Fernando Valley.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I say, ¡°I¡¯ll agree if they can mostly be resale instead of new.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ms. Conservationist, we¡¯ll make you a darling of the green media,¡± Runes says starting to flip through his long sleeve dress shirts, all organized by color, ¡°but tonight we¡¯ll have to improvise.¡±

    I¡¯m impressed. All of his clothes are meticulously organized by type and color. He holds up a white shirt with blue pinstripes to me, and then one with green. The party¡¯s colors are blue and green because Rune found several dramatic blue and green tablecloths and matching napkins in Uncle Rueben¡¯s linens that he likes. If she wasn¡¯t mad at us my mother would be impressed by all of this color coordination going on.

    ¡°Those aren¡¯t going to fit me,¡± I say, confused, ¡°unless we¡¯re going for a 90s wear-your-boyfriends-clothes look.¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± Rune gives me a wink, "we want it obvious you¡¯re wearing something of mine; put on your white tank top, and let¡¯s see which color is best.

    I follow orders and soon Rune has me trying on one of his beautifully tailored expensive dress shirts after another. After careful deliberation, he decides on a periwinkle one almost the exact color of some of Uncle Reuben¡¯s hydrangeas. The color is soft but vibrant.

    ¡°I bought this in Italy when I went to Milan for the shows,¡± he tells me, carefully rolling up the sleeves and then tying it at my waist, ¡°It would look best with a pair of white jeans,¡± he laments as he turns me around to face the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. He certainly has an eye. The color looks great on me, even in my bedraggled state.

    ¡°I¡¯ll check if Syd brought any,¡± I tell him.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± he turns me back to kiss my forehead, and traces his elegant fingertips along my jaw sending shivers down my spine, ¡°and then put on some of that sexy sophisticated eyeliner you wore for the fundraising party and meet me in the barn in about an hour.¡±

    **

    Almost exactly hour later, after my second shower of the day and a quick consultation with Sydney, I make my way down to the kitchen. I¡¯m wearing my sister¡¯s white jeans, Rune¡¯s designer shirt tied just right by Syd, my vintage olive oxfords, a dramatic but not quite Cleopatra eye, and a bronzy orange summertime lipstick to complete my party ensemble.

    Syd and Kim have their heads bent together over a bowl of bright orange nasturtium flowers in a blue ceramic dish that Kim is photographing very close up.

    ¡°Wow, you clean up well,¡± Kim says happily, ¡°come pose by some of your garden bounty. I can¡¯t believe these flowers are edible and they taste like cinnamon.¡±

    ¡°I love them,¡± I agree, taking one of the bright flowers and popping it into my mouth, ¡°Will the kids be ready to finally help me decorate the cake when I¡¯m done in the barn?¡±

    ¡°Yes, here, put on one of these aprons to stay clean,¡± Syd instructs, handing me one of Rueben¡¯s tasteful dark green ones. It wraps almost all the way around me and goes well past my knees.

    I pose with the flowers, putting one of the bright flowers behind my ear, feeling very Martha Stewart.

    ¡°Make sure I¡¯m here to take photos when you¡¯re working on the cake,¡± Kim advises. ¡°We¡¯re getting such amazing shots and video of the party coming together, Shelby. Is there a place we can post them besides just Instagram?¡±

    ¡°I think we should put them on your website,¡± Syd says, ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a huge bump in traffic because of all of the controversy. Let¡¯s give them an eyeful happiness, especially Jenna. I want her to choke on it.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree with sigh, knowing she¡¯s right, ¡°I¡¯ve been avoiding looking at it.¡±

    ¡°If you sign me into your website, I¡¯ll work on it after I get the cake shots,¡± Kim volunteers.

    It¡¯s four-thirty now. Marguerite and Luna¡¯s family will be here in about two hours. My stomach is starting to get wound up both with excitement and dread. Excitement we¡¯ll be celebrating Rune with family and friends. Dread over how this might be received with the broader world we¡¯ll be sharing with.

    **

    I¡¯m not sure what I expected when Rune opens the storeroom door, but it¡¯s not the controlled chaos that greets me.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I¡¯m not neat like you are in my creative space,¡± he says, looking nervous as he turns down the volume on a turn table. It¡¯s set up in the living room section of this new arrangement, playing cheery classic piano jazz with a female singer who sounds familiar, but I can¡¯t name her.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± I tell him, just happy to finally be let into his secret clubhouse, ¡°It¡¯s your space. Not everyone¡¯s the neurotic neat freak I am.¡±

    ¡°You look amazing, by the way,¡± he brushes his lips lightly over my cheek.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I smile at him and run my hands through his hair, trying to smooth it a little. He¡¯s due for a haircut, so we should set something up with Leslie when she comes tonight. It¡¯s also apparent he¡¯s been tugging on it with nerves; it¡¯s just as disheveled as when I¡¯ve been pulling on it in passion, ¡°Give me the tour.¡±

    This room is a mess, but it¡¯s an interesting, creative one. I like the vibe. There are stacks of books and magazines everywhere. It feels like a place of possibilities.

    ¡°These weren¡¯t all in the back of your SUV, were they?¡± I motion to the stacks.

    ¡°Not all of them,¡± he admits, ¡°Some I had shipped from my storage unit.¡±

    This makes me smile at him again, and take his hand. Why would he set all of this up and bring things in from L.A. if he wasn¡¯t planning on staying? Fuck you Franklin Haus, I think, boldly.

    Why would he indeed? I hear Theo laugh delightedly, but far away.

    On the left wall, a long, continuous desk made of two old wooden doors and metal sawhorses runs under the only windows. It holds Rune¡¯s laptop, a large fancy desktop monitor, and a printer. Gunner must have had these in their barn.

    Beside the desk is a floor to ceiling idea board made of cork squares. This is very intriguing. To get to that I need to weave through the living room section of Theo¡¯s leftover mid-century modern furniture.

    The centerpiece of the living room is a large wood coffee table almost completely covered in Astrid¡¯s photos of the four of us. It¡¯s joined by a small dark orange sofa and two mismatched armchairs with fantastic but threadbare cushions that I could never decide whether to try and sell as is or have repaired. The stereo¡¯s playing from a lovely wooden cabinet, but it¡¯s missing a leg, so Rune¡¯s propped it level with a brick. Smart.

    My stomach does an excited little dance as I move toward the corkboard. The first thing I take in is a poster of Lord Ganesha at eye level on the left hand side of this inspiration board. It¡¯s an elegant carving in some kind of terra cotta colored stone. The elephant god is seated, cross legged, showing his four arms.

    I¡¯ve looked him up and now know that each hand holds a symbol of his wisdom and power, a lotus for enlightenment, a hatchet to cut away all of your old good and bad deeds when enlightenment comes, sweetmeats that are the rewards for a wise person, and finally one palm is held up facing forward with the blessing, because a wise person wishes the best for everyone.

    As I take in the poster¡¯s ancient gaze, one eye winks and the gong reverberates in my mind. A sense of peace eases through my body. I take a deep breath and start looking over the rest of the board. Just as large as the poster of Lord Ganesha is the cover for Horse Girl Heroes and my fanart for Howl¡¯s Moving Castle. I remember now that he asked me for the print quality art files. He¡¯s had them blown up.

    With all that¡¯s been going on, I haven¡¯t looked at my Howl¡¯s coloring page illustration for a while. I walk up to it and scan it critically. It holds up well. I like it, no matter what Jenna thinks of our self-aggrandizing egos.

    To the upper right of this poster, there¡¯s a photo of a much younger Rune with the famous elderly character actress Imogen Katz tacked up. On the corner of that is a bright pink stickie note in Rune¡¯s printing that says simply, ¡°Text her soon!¡±

    A wild idea occurs to me. No. It can¡¯t be.

    I turn back to Rune, who has his hands jammed in his pockets, a look of excited anticipation on his handsome face. What¡¯s he up to? I gaze at the corkboard again. Slowly, I run my eyes over what else he¡¯s tacked up around my Howl¡¯s illustration. Things are grouped in order of various subjects that all have to do with different ways you can tell stories online. There are notes like ¡°animation,¡± and ¡°interactive,¡± and ¡°inspiring podcasters.¡±

    This section has a photo of Raymond Santiago, of course, but also of Malcolm Gladwell, The Moth, and other famous non-fiction storytellers, as well as platforms with arrows pointing to Horse Girl Heroes. There are also images from the Welcome to Nightvale podcast and others that must be fiction, with arrows pointing toward the Howl¡¯s poster.

    ¡°Did you finally hear back about buying the rights to Howl¡¯s?¡± I ask in no more than a whisper because the idea is too big and scary.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he smiles in a sly Asher-Dillion-being-Wizard-Howl way as he ambles close to me.

    ¡°And it¡¯s good news?¡± He nods, ¡°Seriously?¡± I ask, thinking I must be dreaming, but a happy dream this time, not a nightmare.

    ¡°Seriously,¡± he tells me, ¡°I got confirmation they accepted my offer while we were on the phone with Naomi. I guess it¡¯s our time to get some good news again.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± I put my hands over my mouth because I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to scream, ¡°What are you going to do?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean ¡®we¡¯?¡± He asks, his eyes intent on mine as he squeezes my shoulders. He turns me back around to face the corkboard again, wrapping his arms around me from behind, ¡°I¡¯m open to directing a live-action someday, but first, I want to create something that we have total artistic and distribution control over.¡±

    ¡°A podcast?¡± I ask, loving the feel of his warmth behind me as I continue to make sense of more of the things he¡¯s pinned up.

    ¡°A multimedia story with an audio play of the book at the heart of it,¡± he tells me.

    ¡°This is so cool,¡± I say, thinking I might cry, and then turn and put my arms around his neck, ¡°why didn¡¯t you tell me you were dreaming up all this?¡±

    ¡°Because I didn¡¯t want you to be disappointed if it was unavailable or out of my price range.¡±

    I take his face in my hands, the way he does so often to me, and kiss him very thoroughly, not caring about my lipstick. I can fix it later.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to make coloring pages for you, but I don¡¯t know anything about creating any of this,¡± I motion with my head back to his idea board.

    ¡°You know more than you think,¡± he encourages, ¡°but you will have to learn about doing dramatic reading.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± I ask, startled out of my cozy bliss, ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to play young Sophie,¡± he tells me, leading me over to the surprisingly comfortable couch, where we have an excellent view of the corkboard.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about acting!¡± I exclaim, ¡°You should have someone famous play young Sophie.¡±

    ¡°You have a great voice, Seashell,¡± he tells me, ¡°Didn¡¯t you do voiceovers for Pamela so she wouldn¡¯t have to pay scale?¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, Viv and I both did,¡±

    ¡°Perfect, so let¡¯s save the budget for a great female narrator and old Sophie.¡±

    In the past I would have argued for my limitations, afraid I would somehow ruin this marvelously exciting dream project with my ineptness. In this, I was just like Sophie. But she¡¯s proved wrong over the story. Sophie saves the day just as much as Howl does. Maybe I can too.

    ¡°Does that mean you want Vivienne to play Madam Suliman?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I like how you¡¯re thinking,¡± Rune says, ¡°what else?¡±

    ¡°Are you going to get Imogen Katz to play Old Sophie?¡±

    ¡°If you like the idea, I¡¯ll do my best,¡± he tells me, squeezing my hand gently, and then kissing the back of it.

    ¡°Do it,¡± I encourage him, and then reluctantly start getting up, ¡°I¡¯d love to stay here and daydream, but I have your birthday cake to put together with the kids.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but first, you need to see something on my computer and tell me whether or not you approve of my sending it out.¡±

 Chapter 76: Runes birthday

    "Hey," Rune addresses the camera. He''s standing in front of his vision board, his hair still wet and slicked back from his morning shower. "Today is my birthday. Thank you to all of you who''ve been sending me best wishes already. I really appreciate it," He flashes a beguilingly charming smile. The camera simply adores him. I''m dazzled, and I''m already in love with him.

    "I also want to express my appreciation to everyone who supports the books I narrate. It''s been a hard couple of years as I''ve grieved the loss of my beloved mother during Covid. Being able to continue to work steadily doing audio narration while I get back on my feet emotionally in private has been such a gift.

    I''m not just celebrating my bday today," he says as the camera pans back and shows a little more of the corkboard around him and that he''s holding a photo in his hand, "I''m celebrating being in love with the first girl I ever had a crush on," he holds up the photo and Kim zooms in. Rune and I happily sitting on Storm Cloud all those years ago. "This is the first day we met. As you can see, I''m already smitten. Shelby was kind but a little more interested in the horse," Rune laughs self-deprecatingly, and I blush watching because it''s probably true. The camera pans back further, showing more of the corkboard.

    "Fortunately, I''ve charmed my way into her heart. She''s even immortalized me," Rune steps aside so the viewers can see my Howl''s Moving Castle illustration behind him, "And she''s agreed to work with me on some creative projects I can''t wait to tell you about. But first, we''ll spend the day celebrating with family and friends. Stay tuned. More coming."

    **

    "Ruination!" I exclaim, jumping up from the chair and throwing my arms around him, and gasp "Oh my God!" before pressing my mouth to his.

    "Not too much?" he asks, lifting his lips from mine for a moment, and then kisses me again.

    "It''s perfect; everyone gets some love, especially me," I lean into him and have a brief fantasy of our ravishing each other right here right now on this dark orange couch.

    "Especially you, my favorite witch," Rune presses in as well, and then an alarm goes off on his phone in his pocket. Earth to Shelby, I think, it''s almost party time.

    "Shall I send it out?" I ask, stepping away as he checks his phone.

    "Yes," he tells me, "But first, this is Naomi with a draft of what she thinks we ought to send out."

    Rune reads me the artfully phrased missive from the publicist. She''s a fantastic wordsmith. We agree to let her send it out to the entertainment media including the site that posted Jenna''s interview with only a few tweaks.

    I hold my breath the entire time we''re walking back to the house and I''m uploading Rune''s video to his Instagram account. I only exhale once I push publish.

    It''s started. We''re not taking things lying down anymore. We weighed the pros and cons of turning off the comments on both of our accounts, as some have gotten pretty nasty. Not most of them. Most of them are so kind and supportive. But wow, the negative comments are crazy bad. The level of vitriol stuns. Who wastes their time this way? Who thinks making personally mean comments about artists is a good use of time?

    Of course, all of these people hide who they are behind monikers and avatars, but Rune wants to see how many of them are specifically spouting the same lies that Jenna put forward in her interview. So far, about a dozen people are showing up on both of our accounts doing exactly that.

    "Can we decorate the cake now?" Lorelei asks impatiently as she and Butterscotch greet us on the front porch, where there are now three gigantic, gorgeous ferns hanging from baskets that I don''t recognize, and even more colorful pillows added to the Adirondack chairs. I hadn''t even realized my sister had gone shopping, online or otherwise. Along with my newly freshened-up planters the porch, it looks fantastic. Whici is the point.

    While Rune goes upstairs to change for the party, Lorelei and I find Kim on the back porch with everyone else.

    "What''s going on?" I ask as she, Gunnar, Nils, and Syd maneuver the large wooden table down the stairs. Not far from where Gunnar has the grill set up, two other tables are already covered with the dramatic blue and green tablecloths.

    "More people are coming," Nils tells me excitedly, "Uncle Hank and a couple of surprise guests."

    "We''re going to borrow Rune''s couch and coffee table for the seating out here," Kim says.

    It''s good I didn''t persuade Rune to stop on it for some nooky.

    "Work on the cake, and we''ll worry about all this," Syd calls as they hurry towards our barn, "And put on some more lipstick!"

    In the kitchen, also wrapped in a protective apron, Lorelei helps me gently fold fresh strawberries from the garden, plus blueberries and raspberries from the store into the vanilla custard.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Once the first layer of cake makes it successfully onto Uncle Rueben''s antique glass stand, we spread the custard and berry mixture onto the layer, carefully places the second layer of cake on top, and add more custard. Once the top is on, we cover the entire thing with fresh cream I just whipped up, and decorate it with more berries, sprigs of mint, and two big blue "three" wax candles.

    **

    By the time Luna and her family arrive, bringing all kinds of gorgeous flower arrangements, we''re just about ready for the party to begin. Gunnar''s manning the grill with the salmon, corn, and other veggies. Rune has set up the music; he and Syd are the drink monitors making the limoncello blueberry cocktail, while the kids are helping me put together the various platters of hummus and olive tapenade to set out.

    "I said no gifts," Rune jokingly chastises as he hands Luna a cocktail while she hands him a small gift box covered with real flowers and ribbons on top.

    "Birthdays are for gifts," she insists, "and it''s one you can share."

    "Well, okay then," he agrees happily and sets the box down on the small table where we''ve all put the other gifts. It''s starting to overflow. And there''s my book with the others. I don''t remember finishing wrapping it; Syd must have.

    Butterscotch is going a little crazy with all of the people and excitement. I''m just about to pick her up to stop her barking when she launches herself off the porch, running towards the front of the house.

    "I think our surprise guests are here," I take Rune''s hand, and we head after the barking dog.

    "Butterscotch, you know me," Vivienne''s telling the dog over the stack of gifts in her hands, while a very familiar-looking very handsome man with salt and pepper hair, and a short, neat beard next to her kneels down and lets the dog sniff his hand. Behind them with duffel bag is Rune''s Uncle Hank.

    Vivienne''s brought Tyler Paul to Rune''s birthday party. Tyler Paul is crouched down, petting Butterscotch in my front yard, while Uncle Hank is stepping around them to hug Rune.

    "Oh wow," Rune''s laughing, "This is the best! How did you get here?"

    "Tyler flew us to Port Townsend in his plane!" Vivienne gives me a one-armed hug, while Tyler and Rune shake hands and slap backs.

    "No one listened about no gifts," Rune tells Vivienne, eyeing the stack of presents she''s balancing."

    "Oh, these aren''t all for you, birthday boy," Vivienne chuckles, handing him what is obviously a bottle of wine, "only this is. Go put this on some ice."

    **

    While we introduce everyone and Uncle Hank is reunited with his family, Kim is everywhere, taking photos and short videos. We''ve set our laptops up on the washing machine in the laundry room to upload content and start sharing online.

    "We called Naomi," I tell Vivienne as she watches me schedule images to Instagram while Kim returns to join the party, "We''re going on the offensive at least for a little bit just to show people what we''re really up to."

    "I''m so proud of you, Shelby," Vivienne encourages me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

    "Viv, how in the world did you get Tyler Paul to fly you and Rune''s Uncle up here in his plane?" I ask, still amazed.

    "I told him last night on our date that I wanted to take some vacation time to come up here to support you. I asked if he had a trick to getting last-minute flights," she tells me, her eyes dancing with delight, "He said he could do one better.

    "But how did you connect with Hank?" I ask, delighted at this marvelous serendipity.

    "I had Sydney''s email from your Uncle Theo''s celebration of life, so I sent her a note and asked if there was anyone else we should invite along."

    **

    "Presents before cake!" Lorelei announces from the foot of the back porch, where she and Nils are standing with a rusty old red child''s wagon containing one big rectangular gift box.

    Gunnar jumps up from the table where he''s seated with his dad and Marguerite and helps Nils carry the box up the steps to the seating area with the couches.

    "I''m all for that," Rune agrees, rubbing his hands together eagerly. Come on, Seashell. You can keep track of who I need to thank for what."

    We settle on the orange couch, bookended by Nils and Lorelei taking turns playing Santa''s elves, handing Rune his gifts. It''s still light out, but twilight is coming in the clear, cooling evening. Gunnar turns the tree lights on, and Syd goes around, turning on the tea lights in the glass lanterns hung on the porch railing.

    As people pull the Adirondack chairs closer or bring the folding chairs up from the tables on the lawn, I wonder at this marvelous night of family and friends. I wish Theo was here in person with us. He would have loved meeting the handsome, charming Taylor Paul, who regaled us at dinner with funny stories from film and TV shoots he''s worked on, including when he once played Rune''s father.

    I''m here in spirit, dear heart, Theo says very faintly.

    I blink away tears and open my notes app. The first gift Lorelei hands Rune is the small, beautifully decorated one from Luna and Tom. Rune carefully removes the flowers and ribbon and hands them to Lorelei before lifting off the lid. He takes out several small brown craft envelopes with a beautifully rendered sketch of butterflies, bees, and moths on the cover.

    "It''s a selfish baseball mitt gift!" Luna tells him with a laugh.

    "Are those the seeds so we can have a meadow in our front yard like you do?" Lorelei claps excitedly.

    "Yes," Luna tells her, "There should be enough there to seed your front area, Marquerite''s, and Shelby and Syd''s house."

    "Dad," Gunnar tells Hank dryly, from where the two are standing, "I hope you''re prepared to hang out in a hippy compound."

    "I was too young to take advantage of all it had to offer the first time around, so sure, why not?" Hank tells him with a shy smile.

    "I want to open Shelby''s gift next," Rune tells Nils.

    "A book, what a surprise," Gunnar says dryly as my gift is handed over

    "Don''t be obnoxious," Syd warns as she makes the rounds filling people''s drinks, but as she refills his glass, he says something low to her that makes her laugh. Well, that''s a good sign. Right?

    "Seashell, this is so cool!" Rune unwraps the book from the shooting star paper. "It''s on theme and everything!" He holds it up for everyone to see.

    "I''ve always wanted one of their beautiful books but could never think of a reason to splurge on one," I tell him, "It''s a bit of a baseball mitt gift, too; I hope you don''t mind."

    "No," Rune laughs, "I''m fond of giving baseball mitt gifts myself."

    "Oh, they make such gorgeous editions," Pat, Luna''s mother-in-law says happily from where she, Luna, Tom, and Dan are ensconced on the other couch.

    "This is a book we both love that my mom introduced us to the last summer we spent here together," Rune tells everyone, "We''re going to do a podcast play of the book," Rune says and lightly tugs one of Lorelei''s braids, "I bought the rights."

 Chapter 77: The waters fine! An ending for this section!

    "Oh wow!" Lorelie pumps one of her fists, "Does that mean you''re going to pierce your ear? And wear an earring?"

    "It''s possible unless it hurts too much," Rune says in mock seriousness. Lorelei just scowls and shakes her head at him.\

    "So, all this fantasy nerd stuff between the two of you will finally pay off?" Syd asks as she slips in to refill our water glasses.

    "Was she as big of a Lord of the Rings nerd as Rune was?" Tyler Paul asks, holding up his glass to Syd, "He once acted out Gollum''s undying love for the ring for me while we were waiting for a scene change to convince me to see the last movie."

    This makes everyone laugh. "Did I?" Rune puts his hands over his face, pink with embarrassment.

    "Thank God Shelby never did that, but she could talk my ear off about her favorite books. We were a pretty insular family," Syd tells Tyler, filling his glass, "I was so happy when we started spending Augusts up here so I could ditch her with Rune and escape to some mountain biking with Gunnar."

    I''d never thought about it that way, but Syd''s right. Our immediate family was pretty insular. My parents didn''t like us having anyone over when they were at work, and they were at work a lot.

    Rune continues to open his gifts while Gunnar, Hank, Syd, and I share highlights from those summers together, not all of them embarrassing to the birthday boy. Kim is indefatigable, darting here and there to catch photos and video. Finally, I tell her we''ve shared enough and to just relax and enjoy herself.

    Rune receives a beautiful book about grilling vegetables from Pat, and Dan, a bottle of organic olive oil with white truffles from my parents (which is a surprise), a new fantasy thriller from Marguerite she swears he won''t be able to put down, and a card from Leslie that has Rune nodding.

    "Excellent," He smiles a satisfied, mysterious Cheshire cat grin, "Thanks."

    "My pleasure," she smiles, looking happy and relieved.

    "What are you two up to?" I ask, mystified.

    "She''s going to help me grow my hair out, so it doesn''t look so raggedy and keep you looking chic for all of the interviews we''ll need to do, in exchange for help with video content for her social media.

    "Yes please," I agree.

    "I''ve had five new people contact me for hair appointments this week, three from my Instagram, and two because Amy Penington told her friends I cut your hair."

    "Really?" I find this hard to believe.

    "A photo of the three of you came up on one of her favorite celebrity fashion sites walking down the street in Seattle, when you had lunch at The Pink Door," Leslie tells us, "You have one of the new chic bobs for summer."

    "Seriously?" I can only laugh.

    "Get used to the weirdness," Tyler Paul tells me, "It''s your new life."

    "Yep," Rune smiles and kisses my cheek and then says eagerly to Nils and Lorelei, "Can I finally open your present now?"

    "Yes, it''s from all of us," Nils tells him, looking shy as he points to Lorelei, Syd, and finally Gunner, "and it''s for both of you so you can open it together."

    This gives me pause. I look from Gunnar to Syd. He''s unreadable. Syd just shrugs and makes a wry expression. Hmmm. With that, Nils and Lorelei push the large newspaper-wrapped box with blue and green ribbons in front of us. When Rune tries to pick it up, it tips heavily back out of his hands with a thump.

    "Yikes, I hope it''s not breakable," he winces, "Shells, give me a hand."

    We leave the box on the ground. I untie the bow and pull off the ribbons as Rune rips into the newspaper from the top. Underneath is a plain, sturdy cardboard box with no markings. Rune pulls apart the pieces folded in on themselves, and we look down inside at a sea of crumpled blue and green tissue paper.

    "Oh," I gasp as we lift off the paper. We can see two nylon halters, one hunter green, one cobalt blue, with lead lines attached. It was their big brass hooks that clanked.

    "What does this mean?" Rune asks, looking from one of the gift givers to the other, starting to lift one of the halters out. I''m speechless. If I say anything, I''ll start crying, especially looking at the bright expectation on Nils''s and Lorelei''s faces.

    "Keep digging," Nils encourages him, "there''s more!" And indeed, there is. We pull out assorted brushes, a hoof pick, and all sorts of horse paraphernalia. With each item, it''s harder and harder for me to hold back happy tears.

    Finally, at the bottom are two heavy, slender packages. We each open one to find a blank metal nameplate. The kind that goes on the front of a horse''s stall.

    "We picked out horses for you that need to be adopted!" Lorelei jumps up, clapping. She and Nils do a crazy little dance of excitement and show us their phones.

    "We figured you need something active and hands-on to take you away from your computers and all that''s going on with those asshats," Syd says as the kids hand us their phones.

    "I figured this was the easiest way to inspire your lazy ass out to the barn to help me get their stalls rebuilt in time," Gunnar pipes up, "though we''re in much better shape now that Dad''s here."

    "Ouch," Rune grimaces while he takes Lorelei''s phone. I take Nils''s phone, but I can''t look at it yet. Instead, I watch Rune instead.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    "His name''s Whiskey," Lorelei tells him as Rune stares down at a rangy raw-boned chestnut with a flax mane and tail.

    "Wow," Rune says, as speechless as I am, "thank you guys. He''s fantastic."

    "He needs some TLC," Lorelei says frankly, "They all do. They''re too skinny."

    "You can pick out different horses, if you like," Nils tells us, "But these are the most recent additions to the rescue ranch, and they''re the four youngest."

    "Wait, how did you see the horses?" I ask the kids.

    "I took them over," Gunnar tells us, "It''s not that far."

    "I can''t believe you both kept this secret," I tell the kids, impressed.

    "It was such a good one it was easy to keep," Lorelei admits.

    "Plus, we''re a family good at keeping secrets," Nils pipes in, with a sly glance at his mother. Syd chokes on her drink and then laughs.

    "I deserved that," she admits.

    "Look at your horse, Seashell," Rune encourages me.

    I nod, biting my lip, and finally look at the photo. It''s a skinny, sunburned black horse. It''s so obviously a thoroughbred with its long lines and leggy-ness. A black thoroughbred. My dream. I''m speechless.

    "Her name''s Ink Jet. She''s one of the most challenging horses they have, she''s only green broke from the track," Lorelei tells me in total horse talk.

    "You don''t have to take her," Nils says, playing the diplomat, "but you told me once you wanted to adopt a racehorse."

    "I did, didn''t I?" I say and give my nephew a big hug.

    **

    The rest of the evening floats by in a happy haze of delicious birthday cake and equally delicious conversation. Tyler Paul has to fly home tomorrow morning, but he''ll fly back and pick Vivienne up at the end of the week, and we''ll get to spend more time with him them. We told him all about starting to pre-fund Horse Girls Heroes next week, and Rune shared some ideas about bringing Howl''s Moving Castle to life as an audio play. Both Vivienne and Tyler are delighted we want her to be a part in it. They seem easy and relaxed with each other, and I can''t wait to get the scoop from Viv tomorrow.

    There''s a text from my dad when Rune and I finally make our way to bed after seeing Vivienne and Tyler off as the last party guests. Vivienne''s rented a house for the week just a few minutes away.

    Dad: Your posts today have inspired your mother. She gave Franklin a taste of his own medicine late this afternoon. We hope it''ll help stop his craziness. I''ll let her tell you about it herself. Tomorrow''s crazy busy. We''ll touch base with you tomorrow night.

    "Wow. What in the world can this mean?" I ask Rune, showing him my phone.

    **

    When I come out of the bathroom after washing my face, Rune is sitting up in bed, staring at nothing, his arms wrapped around his knees. He has an odd, angry, baffled expression and tears in his eyes.

    "What''s happened?" I ask, scrambling onto the bed to kneel beside him, "What else did they say about us?"

    "Franklin Haus has been taken away by an ambulance," he tells me, wiping his hand across his eyes, "The guy I have watching his house saw Pamela show up at Franklin''s a few hours ago. About half an hour later the paramedics came and took his prone form away. About twenty minutes after that Pamela came out the side gate carrying a stack of boxes. She screamed at my guy when he tried to talk to her and ran to her car."

    "Prone form?" I ask, hardly hearing anything else; the gigantic tsunami is cresting in my mind''s eye.

    "Franklin was strapped to a gurney and wasn''t moving," Rune clarifies.

    "Is anything online about it?" I ask, reaching for my phone on the nightstand and start to Google News + Franklin Haus + Health.

    "Not yet."

    "So maybe I did kill him," I whisper, and toss my phone on the bed.

    "No, Seashell, you didn''t," Rune shakes his head and takes my hands, "angry dreams don''t kill people, or I would have easily killed Franklin a couple of years ago several times over."

    "How do you feel about this?" I ask, wanting to crawl close for a cuddle, but not wanting to encroach if he needs space.

    "Angry, confused," Rune shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand, "I don''t want him to be dead. I want him to have to deal with the consequences of his actions and all of the people he hurt," he sighs and pulls me toward him, "But I have to be honest. The thought of Franklin and Pamela''s crazy making stopping because he might be sick, or dead is a huge relief too."

    **

    "You won; I''m leaving," says that needling whining voice. I don''t recognize it immediately because it''s younger than last time.

    I sit on a cold sandy beach, a few yards from a storming ocean. There''s no tsunami coming at me, but the waves are large and rough, with lots of white caps under a dark angry gunmetal grey sky. Lightning flashes.

    "Did you hear me?" the whining voice asks, with a crack, "I said I''m leaving. I''m throwing in the towel. Between you, Rune, and now especially your mother, you''ve won. I''m leaving."

    A lanky, dark-haired teen boy, about Nils''s age, is sitting next to me on my left. It''s a young Franklin Haus.

    "You''re not welcome here," Rune says sharply from my right side. He''s thirteen, dressed just as he was for our outing to see the Lord of the Rings. Taking in his sportscoat and carefully styled hair now, how did I not realize it was a date back then?

    "I know I''m not," Frankly retorts, standing, in a tone that says he''s used to this.

    Rune and I both stand as well. I glance back and forth between the now-adult Rune, glaring angrily at the now Christmas party version of Franklin in his suave 40s suit.

    "So leave," Rune instructs, his voice firm.

    "In a minute. First, I need to apologize," Franklin says in a voice that sounds annoyed more than anything, "Look, I noticed how happy and smitten the two of you were the night of that Christmas party. I was jealous. I just had to insert myself and to make sure you didn''t kiss."

    "That''s not an apology, that''s an excuse," Rune sounds extremely fed up.

    "I guess I don''t understand yet what an apology is, then," Franklin shrugs.

    "Take your time learning because I''m not ready to forgive you yet," Rune takes my hand.

    "Me either," I add, "and I''m pretty sure my mother feels the same."

    "Fair enough, but Eva certainly got one over on me," Franklin sighs and puts his hands in his pockets as if this is simply a business deal he''s been outmaneuvered in. Maybe for him, it is.

    "I appreciate your coming to tell us this," Rune says evenly.

    "I have to start somewhere to learn all these new rules," Franklin says, looking out at the ocean and the sky, both calmer now, except for a narrow gray strip in front of him.

    "Okay," Rune says in a tone I''ve learned is his way of shutting down conversations he''s no longer interested in. Franklin winks out.

    "Is he dead?" I ask, not sure how I feel about it.

    "That or in a coma; I think he''s too much of a coward to face us now that we''re on the offensive," Rune says, slipping off his shoes and pulling off his socks, "Let''s go for a swim."

    "Are you sure?" I ask, looking out at the still-high waves that are now a beautiful tropical turquoise. Above them, the sky is a gorgeous array of sherbet tones. Is it dawn or sunset, I wonder?

    It''s whatever you wish, Lord Ganesha says with his rich, laughter-filled voice. Suddenly, there in the calming waves stands a gigantic elephant in an even more elaborate costume than the last time I saw him. He waves his trunk in greeting.

    "We''re both good swimmers," Rune reminds me, taking my hand and walking to the water''s edge, "and the water''s nice and warm."

    "It is!" I laugh, delighted with the bathwater feel as it splashes around my feet. I am a good swimmer. I know how to get through the waves.

    Suddenly, swimming in the ocean sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world, "Let''s go," I agree, and we step forward, now in our bathing suits from that last summer together, hand in hand into the waves.

    The End

    Stay tuned for more adventures with Shelby, Rune, and their extended family. Stay up to date with what I''m writing next here: Serial Novel Wait for Me by Melissa Balmer ¡ª Pedal Love</a>