“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 story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read 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.