“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.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

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—Amy’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.”