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.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“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.”