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Wait for Me - a slow burn atmospheric romance
Chapter 16: Shelby finds out she's not the only one who's been fired

Chapter 16: Shelby finds out she's not the only one who's 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.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“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.