Rune and I stare at each other for a beat, and then I hold up my little finger, "Pinkie, swear," I say, meaning it.

"Thanks," Rune smiles and hooks his little finger with mine. A jolt of energy runs through our hands as they connect briefly.

He grabs my hand and stands up, "Girls, Shelby and I are going just up to the trailhead entrance; you have fifteen minutes until we need to pack up and take Charlotte home."

The girls pause mid-play, both frowning, "Okay," Lorelei says mulishly. He pats her on the head as we pass by and wags a finger at her. Chastened, her expression lightens.

Rune's demeanor changes as we stride up the gradual grass slope. He's dropped my hand and has his own hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans; his broad shoulders are curved in a little as if under a heavy weight. I stay silent, biting my tongue, giving him space.

"The episode idea I've pitched to Raymond Santiago is about Franklin Haus," he says finally as we approach the little wooden sign marking the entrance of the forest trail. His eyes are on the ground. He's walking more slowly than usual. When we reach the sign, he turns to face me, his expression somber.

"What did he do?" I ask, my voice rough, knowing I'm going to hate his answer.

"It's ugly," Rune sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then glances at me quickly under his lashes before looking down at his feet, "I'm one of a group of straight men of similar appearance he groomed as proteges and then turned on when we didn't want to become his lovers, and when I say 'groomed as proteges and then turned on' that's putting it lightly. He's done his best to destroy us."

"Oh God," I say, no wonder his shoulders are curved in, as a led weight lands on my chest, "and you met him at my house."

"Don't feel guilty. It would have happened eventually anyway, Shells," Rune says, running the palm of one hand over the upper arm of the other in a self-soothing gesture, "I fit his type; I was already on his radar, remember?"

"Yes, he saw your show," I say; my eyes pricking with tears. I scrub at them quickly. No wonder he's been traveling around breaking hearts to distract himself. I still don't approve, but I get it. This is so awful.

"Yep. He would have tracked me down one way or another. He's always on the lookout for his next mark."

"You don't want to take him to court?"

"That's what my father's been helping me look into," he says, crossing his arms, as if in self-protection, "I decided not to. I respect anyone with the courage for that, but the victims are always put on trial as much as the defendants. A couple of the men he's stalked have tried to bring cases in the past, but he always finds out about them and blackmails them into silence."

"I'm so sorry, Rune; how can I support you?" I ask, wanting to hug him but unsure if that's the right thing to do. Also, I know we're up the slope from dozens of picnickers, almost like a stage.

"You already are, it means a lot having you as a friend again" he says, starting to walk along the edge of the forest, "And I've been studying how the Narcissus podcasts are put together and planning my pitch for over a year. Seashell, your noticing that the One More Midnight with You video is just as much about Scott Treadman is one of the things putting the cherry on top for Santiago."

A strange sensation runs up my spine, a frisson that feels like a cross between excitement and fear, "So, it's a go? I thought you were still waiting on his answer."

"It's a go as long as enough of the men I've put him in touch with say yes to being interviewed," Rune says folding his arms across his chest, "even though they've agreed to the project with me, people can get cold feet about this kind of thing."

"I bet," I say, as something occurs to me, "Is this what you've been doing while traveling around?"

"That, and doing the recordings, and spending a lot of time with my therapist in online sessions," he laughs a little ruefully and self-consciously at this, "but much of my time, I've been meeting with people who do different forms of immersive online storytelling that have sparked my interest."

"By immersive, do you mean blending text with audio and other things?" I ask, intrigued.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Exactly," he says, sounding happier to be on this subject, "Imagine if you could bring some of that to your HorseGirls stories."

We turn left when we reach the white picket fence that separates the grass field and the forest edge from Highway 104, which comes north into Port Gamble.

Rune explains that he thinks I should not just write short stories for the day calendar, but I record them, too, as extras for the crowdsourcing.

"I haven't written since college," I tell him, "and I don't know anything about writing stories."

"I told you I'll teach you," he says, "let's sit down next week and start. But first, let's go find something for you to wear to a fancy lunch."

"The restaurant is lovely," I tell him, "I've looked it up online, but I'm not sure it's that fancy."

"However, Julia is," he points out, "we have to fashion fight fire with fashion fire.

**

"Earth to Shelby," someone breaks into my musing about Rune and his terrible news by tapping me lightly on the shoulder from behind. I turn to see Leslie, Luna's chic sister-in-law, "what are you doing here?" Leslie looks incredible, sporting a new, super short boy cut that's fantastic on her.

At the Fourth party, her hair was dark, rich brown; now it's a fabulous auburn close to my mother and Syd's hair color.

"An impromptu art lesson," I tell her, pointing to where Lorelei sits, working studiously on a drawing in her scrapbook.

"Isn't that your friend Rune's niece?"

"Cousin, yes, we're hanging out together, but I needed some caffeine to keep up with her," I tell her as I order three iced teas.

"I can imagine," she smiles and places her order. After that, she joins me on the side of the cart to get sugar and cream, "Where's Rune? Or should I say, Asher Dill?" She doesn't sound weird about it, only a little teasing.

"He prefers Rune," I tell her, "He's just down the street shopping. We're on our way to meet him in a few minutes."

To be honest, Leslie's cool, perfect looks have always intimidated me; I always feel a little disheveled in comparison. But to play the role of Rune's girlfriend at lunch, I need more tools than a new outfit. I think it's finally time to have my hair cut.

"Hey, are you still interested in trading my help for refreshing your website and social media graphics for a haircut?" I ask before I can lose my nerve.

Leslie cuts and colors the hair of the well-to-do on Bainbridge. Doing in-kind is about the only way I can afford her, especially if I need my hair cut again regularly.

"Yes," she smiles enthusiastically, "I thought you'd forgotten all about that!"

"I didn't, but Jack really liked long hair," I say quickly, embarrassed, picking up my little tray of iced teas, "I know you're normally booked weeks ahead, but any chance you're free Monday, your day off? I have a super important meeting on Thursday. I'd like to have a great haircut for it."

"Any chance feeding me is part of the bargain?" she asks as she picks up her coffee, "And giving my card to Rune for when he needs a trim?"

"Absolutely," I say, "How about risotto? For lunch or dinner?"

"I'm yours for lunch," she says, "I've got to run to a color appointment," she says as her phone chimes, "but I'll email you questions and see you Monday, about noon?"

**

"We need to find a book or two as possible adaptation material for Julia to share at our lunch," Rune tells me when we meet him out front of the charming bookstore. "We have half an hour until the seamstress will be at the boutique."

"Seamstress?" I ask, somewhat horrified, "You're not having someone make something custom for me, are you?"

"Chill Seashell," he sighs and rolls his eyes at me, "she's a local woman who does alterations for this shop."

"Oh, okay, give me more details about what kind of book might be right for Julia," I say, nervousness squeezing my stomach at his crazy idea of playing his new girlfriend in front of the extremely famous and beautiful old one.

"If it's a fantasy, there can't be any sword fighting for her to do," Rune tells me as we enter the bookstore, "She doesn't want to be an action star; she tried that and didn't like it."

Lorelei sees the magazines and makes a beeline for them as we browse through the display tables of the newest releases.

Rune switches his sunglasses for his regular ones, an elegant pair of dark turtle shell horn rims that somehow work with his baseball cap, and continues Julia's list of criteria. I'd forgotten he wears contacts.

"The best bet would be something contemporary, but it can't be so popular it's already been snapped up or in a bidding war, or it is likely to be in one. We can't afford that. A thriller could be okay, but preferably some romance and witty banter. That's her forte." As he's rattling all this off, I take out my phone and jot down notes.

"Don't you have an in on new books?" I say almost in a whisper. I don't want the other browsers to pick up on our conversation.

"No, the audio company pitches the books to me," he tells me equally as low, "and I'd prefer the IPs not be ones I've narrated."

"Duly noted," I say, feeling relieved. I wish my jealousy were just as fake as my girlfriend status.

Unfortunately, with each book I show him, Rune has a specific list of reasons Julia won't like them.

"She's very picky," he admits after we've moved over to the shelved fiction section, "Very very picky," he renumerates.

We don't find anything that Rune thinks will work. Honestly, Julia sounds impossible to please.

It's not until we're standing in line for Rune to pay for Lorelei's magazines on scrapbooking that an idea occurs to me.

"My first official paid book cover was for someone I made friends with on the Wattpad author site," I tell him, "It's a modern remake of the Jane Austen book Persuasion but set in Palos Verdes and other parts of Los Angeles. It's terrific. It's self-published, but she's getting strong sales."

"Seashell, you're magic; that could be just the thing," he says, smiling so appreciatively at me that I hear the woman behind us catch her breath. She gives me a thumbs-up sign when we turn to leave.

I feel a sense of pride at this, and then I remember, chagrined, I'm only pretending to be his girlfriend.