"Yes, I'd like to make a great howl right now, thank you very much," Rune snaps in a voice that's deeper and more there than I remember. It rings like a bell through me.

"No, I mean from Howl's Moving Castle," I clarify, feeling a little woozy.

"As intriguing as it sounds, I'm not acting anymore," he says as if he's told me this a hundred times, "Do you have an extra set of keys to Nan's house?"

"Yes, I do. And no, they're not making a movie of it," I snap back, dusting off my gardening gloves and removing them, "I'm drawing a new fan art coloring page. But wouldn't playing Howl be yet another in your line of handsome, misunderstood boyfriend roles?"

"You wound me, Shelby," Rune retorts, using one of Howl's lines, "Isn't he more of an anti-hero? And the king of snarky one-liners?"

"True," I admit, walking over to put my gloves, clippers, and kneeling pad back in the shed. We used to love quoting lines from our favorite books to each other. What geeks we were.

"It's a good idea for a coloring page," he says, watching me and then sounding impatient, "Can I get that key?" I wish the fact that he remembers I draw didn't make me feel like preening.

"Why are you here instead of Gunnar and a week early?" I ask abruptly, still discombobulated by his sudden appearance. I pick up my basket of arugula and head towards the house.

"Change of plans. I'll be hanging out with Lorelei until late July or early August," he tells me, matching my pace.

"Okay," I say, and then notice his right forearm is bleeding below his neatly rolled-up cuff. It looks like the scratch from a thorn, "Were you attacked by a rose bush?"

"Yes," he glances down at his long, lovely, lightly tanned forearm and dismissively wipes at the blood. Then he motions to the back of the other house, “Apparently, it objected to my climbing the trellis to get onto the upstairs balcony."

He begins running his hands through his hair, which I remember is a sure sign he's upset, frustrated, or nervous,

"Why the hell does Jenna have the house locked up so tight?" he asks tersely. Frustrated it is.

"She's used to L.A.," I say as we walk around to the front of the porch, "I've got the key inside with Lorelei's dog."

"Lorelei doesn't own a dog," He narrows his eyes at me again.

"Surprise," I say jovially with jazz hands, "Jenna didn't tell you?"

"Oh, fuck me!" Rune groans dramatically. I stare at him, shocked. He didn't use to swear at all. None of the Borstads did, do, whatever.

Suddenly, as if in response to this idea, the lower half of my torso vibrates giddily. I quickly walk up the steps. It's Rune, I think furiously to my body; he was a total jerk the last time we saw each other. And he wasn't always so gorgeous. Okay, yes, he was, but that's beside the point.

"Now, now," I say, wagging my finger at him and trying to sound nonchalant as we approach the front door, "neither of us wants that."

I don't want him to think I'm interested, regardless of what my pelvis thinks—Jack, I say mentally, Jack, Jack, Jack. Rune compresses his way too kissable mouth as if he's not sure he believes me. I'm sure he's used to everyone desiring him, the brat.

"I told Jenna no ponies and no dogs when I agreed to drive up here with Lorelei first," he pontificates, "Gunnar's fiancée has got to stop thinking she can buy Lorelei's affection."

"Well, Jenna listened about the pony, but only because your barn isn't in good enough condition to hold one," I tell him as I shoulder open the door.

"Shelby, we can't give Lorelei a dog when everything's so up in the air," Rune tells me as we enter the house. Butterscotch is right here waiting, of course. The young dog's yipping her happiness and wiggling around our feet in her fluffy Goldendoodle loveliness. We do our best to avoid tripping over her or her toys. She drags them in a pile to the door in protest whenever I leave her inside by herself for too long.

"Okay, you tell her," I say, barely missing the dog’s loudest squeaky toy, "Tell her to her face she's not wanted."

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"Hello, sweetheart," Rune croons as he crouches down to hold his hand out for Butterscotch to sniff. She does this for only a moment before standing on her hind legs to lick him right on the mouth; cheeky girl.

Rune laughs as she flops onto her back, offering her belly with complete abandon in her preferred centerfold position — but only with people she trusts. It took her three visits before she did this with Jack.

"Who's the sweetest?" Rune tells her, rubbing her fluffy rib cage, "Who's the most beautiful girl in the world?"

"Butterscotch," I tell him, annoyed at how good he is with her, "Her name is Butterscotch."

"We can't keep her yet, Seashell," he says, looking up at me with his strange cat-like eyes, using one of his old nicknames for me.

What's with the "we?" He says this as if Lorelei's a group parenting experiment. I know his mother was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt for Gunnar's daughter. And Lorelei speaks lovingly of Rune, he’s more an uncle than a cousin, but still. And using my old nickname? Like it's only been a summer since we've seen each other instead of a decade? This is all a bit much.

I don't like being reminded how close our families once were (even though Gunnar and I are good pals, and of course, I'm friendly with Gunnar's dad, Hank). Worse, I don't like remembering that Rune and I had nicknames for each other and were so close we practically lived in each other's pockets. I want to stay mad at him.

Oblivious to my inner chatter, Rune keeps rubbing the dog's chest, "We can't give Lorelei a dog until we have a better sense of what's going to happen here. It wouldn't be fair."

Crap. He's got a point. He's giving me his wide-eyed, interested but guileless look now. I hate to admit I've noticed he uses it effectively on reporters. My lower torso quivers in happiness again. Gah. If he tilts his head at me, I'll hit him.

"You don't think Gunnar and Jenna will really make the move?" I ask, though I've wondered about the exact same thing.

"Oh, they'll make the move, but I don't know if it'll stick," he says, standing up with Butterscotch in the crook of his arm and starting to walk around the well-appointed living room.

He looks around the room with interest as if drinking it in. “I doubt Jenna will find this area a good fit for all her energy and ambition. It's quite a bit different than La La Land."

He Stops to look at the dramatic painting of a pair of ravens flying through a grove of white-barked Alder trees at sunset. The mixed media piece is the one change I've made to the room since Theo passed, which is more or less a masterpiece of understated mid-century Danish modern light wood furniture. As is, it's a little too masculine for me, but I don't want to offend Theo's memory by changing anything yet.

"Everything else looks the same," Rune says fondly after a moment, his green gaze on me again, "But I don't remember this; is it one of yours?"

"No, it's a local artist I've done some work with," I tell him, "It's Odin's ravens."

"Nice, remembering our Viking heritage," he says, giving me a sweet smile I remember from childhood.

He keeps strolling about the room as if he's forgotten he's in a hurry. Theo had such taste," he says, now standing in the adjacent dining room, admiring Theo's well-appointed cocktail bar. I'm curious if he's thinking what I am, that I could use a drink right now.

"Look," I say instead, "I’m sure you know Jenna showed up with Butterscotch a few weeks ago to oversee getting new beds and do some painting and stuff. She asked me to keep her until she, and Gunnar, and Lorelei came up together. It wasn't my place to be the voice of reason and ask if she’d cleared it with Gunnar, or you.”

"She wouldn't have listened anyway," Rune admits, "she already had the dog. How about this? Can we pretend she's your dog until we know what's what?" he asks, walking back toward me. The dog is wearing a very contented aren't I special expression I swear I've never seen on her face before. "I'll pay for everything; I don't want something else that might break Lorelei's heart right now."

"Okay," I say slowly, wondering what he’s talking about. It's not a hardship, and I don't want to do anything to cause Lorelei pain. Rune's being wise. But it also means I may be stuck with owning this young tornado. "Here's the keys," I tell him, removing them from a hook next to the door. I hold them up but don't hand them to him. "Please make copies." He nods. "So, how long are you staying?" I ask, hoping he's staying shorter than he previously said. I really don’t need him complicating my life right now.

"End of July or early August," he repeats, reaching for the keys. His long, elegant fingers brush mine briefly, and a fizzy jolt of excited electricity runs through me and again vibrates my core. Good grief.

Rune sets Butterscotch down and moves to open the door. The dog barks excitedly as he lets her out. He holds the door for me as if he expects me to follow. I wrap my arms around myself, willing my internal vibration to calm the heck down. I hope it just looks like I'm hugging myself against the chill.

“What’s going on with Lorelei?” I ask, happy my own long legs can match Rune’s quick long strides as we head across the grass between the two houses.

Butterscotch is zipping around us in happy loops, ecstatic to be outside. She stays around as long as I keep an eye on her. It’s when I get absorbed in gardening she decides to take off on adventures and forgets to come back.

“Jenna and Gunnar are on a training vacation on Maui,” Rune says.

“I thought he’d fully retired from competing,” I say. I’m sure this is what he told me when we talked about it last summer.

Gunnar had been quite a successful endurance athlete, but he’s focused on the building and refurbishing business with his dad Hank for the past few years. He and Jenna met through a trail running group they both belong to.

“He had until he and Jenna got engaged at New Year’s. She’s talked him into racing professionally again,” Rune says in a flat tone that lets me know he’s not that fond of Gunnar’s fiancée. I understand. Jenna’s nice, but she’s just a bit much. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone with so much restless energy. “When Gunnar told me Lorelei didn’t want to go to Maui, I was already staying up here in Victoria. I volunteered to fly down and get her. I needed to drive my SUV up anyway.”

“That was nice of you,” I tell him.

“It was the least I could do,” he says, “there’s been a lot of upheavals in Lorelei’s life recently.”