“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.