After my scary tarot card reading, I’m happy to have a busy week to distract me. I spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday carefully packing and shipping the pieces of Theo’s vintage clothes already sold to Rune’s costume contacts.
Even more exciting, I’m texting back and forth with one of the costume team from The Troubadour Tales. They’re on vacation, traveling around the Pacific Northwest, and want to come next Monday to look at the clothes in person. They might want to buy everything I have from the late 70s and early 80s.
And Vivienne loves my new version of the eBook for her and the animation (which she’s paying me for).
I wish, however, I could stop mulling over Tia Cecelia’s words, “You need to stay calm in the chaos of a brewing storm, especially regarding any legal troubles.” What in the world could that mean? Trident gave me the okay to use HorseGirls; I have it in writing. Does she mean my sister and Bill breaking up? Or are my parents possibly suing Syd and me for part of Theo’s house and land?
I can’t even ask Theo about any of this because he’s disappeared. Are my thoughts too dull for him? Has he moved on?
**
Thursday afternoon, Rune and I discuss how well his Instagram relaunch is going. I’m spreading olive oil over dough with a brush to make us a pizza for lunch. Rune’s sitting at the kitchen bar across from me, emailing me more images for upcoming posts.
The power of celebrity is impressive. His follows, and likes jump by the hundreds every time I check.
“The publishers have all sent me appreciative notes,” Rune tells me, “But they’d like me to do selfie videos too.”
“And you don’t want to do that?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“Not just to promote their books, I make a flat fee for narrating them.”
“What if it could help you negotiate a higher fee?” I ask, now spreading a jar of the marinara sauce I helped Luna can last summer.
“What an excellent idea! How cleverly mercenary you are, Shelby,” Rune smiles mischievously, “which reminds me, I need to call in that favor date. Julia Endo wants to do lunch in Seattle next week after finishing her current project.”
“Oh?” As I cover the pizza with mozzarella, I ask, “Can’t you take Daphne?”
“Daphne?” He shakes his head and snorts, “Ah no, Julia would never believe Daphne and I are a serious item. Besides, which Daphne's far too busy.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, my hand freezing over the olives, several conflicting emotions clamoring for my attention at once, “you want Julia to think we’re dating? Why?”
My libido, which has been quiet so far this morning, wakes up with a joyful dance of desire. My ego is both bruised and preening. Daphne’s too busy, but I’m not. And yet, I’m the more believable steady. Hmmm. I finish with the olives and add tomatoes, basil, and artichokes to the pizza.
“Because I need a favor from her, but I don’t want her to think I’m available,” he says, closing his laptop and reaching over to steal a black olive from the jar.
“Does she want to get back together?” Weirdly, this makes me sadder than the idea of him being a player.
“She’s sending those kinds of signals again,” he sighs unhappily, “she probably wants help finding her next project.”
“Now, who’s the mercenary thinker?” I narrow my eyes at him and bite my tongue from mentioning Ben Ito, Julia’s current boyfriend – at least according to the internet. I don’t want him to know I’ve looked up so much of his history online. Glancing at him under my lashes I also find it strange that Julia would be interested in getting back together with Rune because of his ability to help her with the business side of acting.
Of all the reasons one would want to be in a relationship with him business help isn't the first thing I'd put on my list. Isn't there a famous old song, it's one my parents like, something about "because your kiss is on my list?"
“Needs must, Shells,” he says simply, moving on to stealing an artichoke while I put the pizza in the oven, "I'm getting better at self-preservation."
“Where’s this lunch going to take place?”
“Julia wants to go to a place at Pike Market called The Pink Door. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, it’s Luna’s favorite, but I’ve never been. Is this something you want me to dress up for? As you know, my wardrobe is limited.”
Stolen story; please report.
“Yes, it is,” he agrees, “but I told you I’d have you covered. Can you come to Bainbridge when I take Lorelei’s friend Charlotte back tomorrow? I saw a boutique there that will probably have something perfect.”
**
Since I had a morning of errands to run on Friday (including shipping off more apparel from the Port Gamble post office), I arranged to meet Rune and the girls at Butcher Baker Provisions for lunch.
The restaurant and bakery live in an old filling station outside the historic Port Gamble downtown. I’m glad I’m here a little early; outdoor dining is popular on such a gorgeous day. But I planned for it; I knew the outdoor patio would be crowded, so I brought a picnic basket for us to eat on the vast expanse of lawn that rises behind the restaurant until the entrance to the Port Gamble Forest.
Above me, the sky is almost cloudless, and the most glorious robin’s egg is blue. To the north of me, the land slopes down gently. From here, all of what’s left of the historic logging town, founded in the late 1850s, is in view. Beyond is the deep blue-green of the Puget Sound
I’m studying the paper and the weekly changing menu, trying to decide between three delicious options, when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Alpinieri! Just the woman I hoped I’d be running into!” I turn to see my old crush, the photographer Ian McCallister, walking towards me, kitted out in road bike gear. There’s a big grin on his deeply tanned face. His longish, wavy, almost black hair has quite a bit more silver streaked through than the last time I saw him. It suits him.
“Ian, what are you doing here?” I ask, delighted at the serendipity as he hugs me. I'm even more glad I dressed up a little. Well, dressed up for me. I'm wearing my best jeans, my favorite vintage boots, that cute cream-colored vintage sweater over a tank top, Ray Bans and my dark brown fedora. I'm even wearing a flirty pair of gold, dangling fish earrings my sister got me for my birthday this year (I'm a Pisces). I love them. But they feel too fancy for every day. I figured they were just right for going clothes shopping with a millennial heartthrob.
“Some friends and I are on a short trip. We’re riding over to check out the Olympic Discovery Trail,” he motions to the group of athletic-looking middle-aged men with expensive-looking bikes standing outside the restaurant’s outdoor seating gate, “We’ve got a gorgeous Airbnb close by for tonight with a spectacular view. I was going to text to invite you to come and hang out with us.”
“You’ll love the trail,” I tell him eagerly because I’m unsure what to say about his invitation. It’s just like him, very last minute. I am flattered, but.
“You’ve biked it?” His dark eyes twinkle.
“No, hiked, but it’s gorgeous. Are you staying in an Airbnb there or at the Lake Crescent Lodge?”
“The lodge, of course; I can’t resist a historic old hotel like that,” he says, and then leans in closer to speak in a lower smile of a voice so that the others in line can’t overhear us, “I’ve got my own room; you should join me…” he cuts off as his eye catches something, “that can’t be Ash Dillion coming towards us, can it?”
“It is,” I tell him as I wave to show Rune where I am in line, “He’s an old friend. Do you know him?”
My heart’s beating wildly from Ian's words, and the sight of Rune striding towards us quickly. He’s wearing his Ray Ban sunglasses too, so I can’t see his eyes, but his mouth doesn’t look happy.
“I photographed him for GQ when he got The Troubadour Tales gig,” Ian tells me, and then low again, “Christ, the guy is photogenic, the camera absolutely adores him. But he’s completely fallen off the map. I heard all kinds of crazy bad stories about him.”
“He’s producing now,” I say quietly, a little defensively, as Rune comes into earshot.
Rune smiles a genuine smile when he recognizes Ian. But before shaking the photographer’s out-held hand, he slips in so that he’s standing closer to me than Ian is.
“Dude, fancy meeting you here,” Ian laughs, slapping him on the shoulder as they shake, “Alpinieri tells me you’re old friends,”
“That’s one word for it,” Rune says, winking at Ian, repeating what Tia Cecelia said. He sounds good-natured about it, but sliding his arm across my shoulders in a way that makes Ian raise his eyebrows. “Are we splitting something, Seashell? The girls want to split a grilled cheese.”
“I’m happy to split something,” I say, being honest but not sure whether I like his arm on my shoulders in front of Ian. What is he up to?
My body’s thrilled, of course, but part of me is annoyed. Why is Rune doing this relationship charade here? Did he catch what Ian was in the middle of asking me? Are his ears that sharp? My ego would like a moment to relish that proposition and consider whether I should take up the offer.
“I was in the middle of inviting Shelby to come and hang with us in a few hours at our Airbnb just down the road,” Ian says smoothly, “but I’ll amend that and expand it to the both of you.”
“We’d love to, but we’re babysitting,” Rune answers, lying easily, motioning to the long grassy upward slope behind the restaurant where I can make out Lorelei’s bright hair, “Are you here tomorrow? You should come for dinner. Have you been to Shelby’s farm yet?”
“No. I’d love to, but we’ll already be past Port Angeles tomorrow.”
**
It’s not until Rune and I have said goodbye to Ian and his group, picked up our order, and are making our way up the grass slope towards the girls that I have a chance to ask Rune what the heck he’s up to.
“I need people to think we’re an item,” he says softly as we make our way across the grass so none of the other picnicking people can overhear, “You didn’t really want to go have a booty call with him, did you, Shells? He’s such a notorious player.”
“That’s rich coming from you!” I whisper harshly, “So what if he is? Anyway, that’s not the point. You should have asked before assuming I’m up for playing along with this couple’s charade idea of yours beyond this date with Julia.”
“Fair point, Seashell,” he puts his sunglasses on top of his head, looking duly chastened, “Is Ian that important to you?”
“He was at one time,” I admit, with a sigh. I don’t add I was never that important to Ian. Rune’s right; he’s a player, but still. The arrogance!
“Look, I’m sorry,” Rune says quickly, lightly bumping his should against mine since our hands are full of lunch, “but I do need people to think we’re an item. You’ll improve my poor reputation.”
“Why and how?” I ask, stubbornly. This is too much. But as I turn my head to glare at him, my eye catches on something out of place. Up ahead of us, past where Lorelei and Charlotte are playing with their model horses, stands a giant Indian elephant right where the forest begins.