"The camera isn't going to bite Marguerite. I promise," Rune tells her from behind his video camera as I come out of the laundry room carrying a tray of snacks.

It's late Thursday afternoon. Rune's back from taking Lorelei off to stay with her friend Charlotte before Gunner arrives tomorrow evening to take her on their father-daughter camping trip.

We're on the back porch again, enjoying a blissfully lovely, much cooler day. It couldn't be better out here to create the videos. Rune has Marguerite set up in the corner of the deck under the Katsura tree. It's lovely leafy green surrounds her as the background.

"We're not all perfectly portioned photogenic creatures the camera loves Mr. Borstad," Marguerite tells him in her best stern teacher voice, rolling her shoulders as if she's getting ready for a boxing match, "Make sure to find my good side."

"I don't have perfectly proportioned features," Rune scowls, "My face is too long, my jaw is too sloped, my eyes are too close together, and my mouth's too big."

"What planet does he live on?" Marguerite asks me, eyebrows raise in disbelief.

"Certainly not the one I'm on," I concur. I refill each of their ice teas and then set out the hummus and tzatziki dip I made this morning, along with carrots, pita, and some excellent green olives from the Farmer's Market.

Rune's camera takes both stills and video, so he's taking headshots for us, too. He thinks it's time Marguerite had something better on her website than a faculty photo against a brick wall (I agree). He wants me to change out my illustrated logo on my Instagram with a personal photo. Ugh. But I can't argue since I'm pushing him to use more images of himself on that platform.

"Ladies, the secret to getting great photos is to stop being afraid of the camera," Rune says patiently as he sets his camera up on the tripod, "I had my mom's camera on me from infancy. They don't intimidate me," he leans over the camera and adjusts the focus, "Come on Marguerite, you're a powerhouse in the classroom. Your students adore you. Focus. Flirt with me, pretend I'm Brad Pitt."

"I prefer Robert Downey Jr., thank you," Marguerite says archly, and then finally gives him a bit of a smile, "You're beautiful, but you're just not him."

"No, I'm not," Rune admits, with a sigh, snapping away, "I think they broke that mold."

Marguerite starts to relax and have fun. I'm deliciously languid. It's nice sitting here listening to Rune and Marguerite banter, the light breeze rustling the trees, the hum of bees, and the ever-present varied array of birdsong.

The cooler weather this week meant I could go out for my long walks again. I did that this morning to be in the best head space for this. I'm even in a better place about Rune. Yes. I'm in love with him. I can't pretend otherwise. But Vivienne was right as usual; when I allowed myself to be with my anxiousness and jealousy over the past week, it dissipated quite a bit, at least for now.

I hope my relaxed state survives my turn in front of the camera. I've got the notes for what I want to say on index cards. I keep glancing at them (a trick my sister Syd taught me from her days of being in Toastmasters), but I think I've got everything down. I've been practicing for days.

The marvelous, diffused light from the Katsura is making Marguerite look great. Where Rune stands it's more dappled, glinting and shimmering on his red-gold hair and scruff. He's wearing a white t-shirt today (V-neck, of course), showing off new color on beautifully muscled arms.

I pick up my cell phone and move to the seat that allows me to see him in profile. I take a few shots and then a short video, too. I like capturing him like this. I love watching how intent, focused, and how in his element he is when he's creating.

"We need something fresh for your Instagram," I tell him when he glances at me. Rune only quirks that eyebrow, which I take as permission.

I've been careful to keep Marguerite out of the video, so that shouldn't be a problem either, but I'll save it to post later. I post my favorite of the still shots of him to his feed for now.

I add hashtags and then check his profile stats while I listen to Marguerite say her promotional piece for the camera about her memoir class. His followers, likes, and comments have been growing at a good steady pace. I hear Rune ask Marguerite to say her promotion a few different times in a few different ways, as I scroll through his comments. For each take, he asks for a slight change in energy and emphasis.

"Earth to Seashell," Rune says, bringing me back, "You're up."

"Yes, right," I answer, taking a sip of iced tea to bolster myself, "I'm ready."

And I am ready, as ready as I know how to be, for this sort of thing. I'm even wearing my striped, orange button-down that he likes and the hot fuchsia lipstick, all per his request. Marguerite and I change places.

"Marguerite, you weren't named after Marguerite Henry by chance, were you?" Rune asks her as he adjusts the tripod, and I get settled.

"No, I was named after my great-grandmother," she tells him, picking up a carrot stick and dipping it into the hummus, "I never met anyone else with such an old-fashioned name growing up, but I felt better as a kid when I found out I shared it with a famous children's author."

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"Did you finish Henry's coloring page?" Rune asks me, snapping pics even though I haven't quite decided how to sit.

"I did," I tell him, my years of dancing and riding reminding me to straighten my spine and relax my shoulders, "Lorelei helped me choose the covers I drew for the border.

"Excellent, drop your chin," he tells me, leaning forward to look through the camera again, "Now smile at me like I'm your favorite person in the world," he says in a particularly seductive Asher Dillion voice.

Now's your chance, sweetheart, Theo says in my head.

Could it hurt? To do this just for a photo? When Rune himself is asking me to?

Okay, I'll do it just this once. I hold up my index finger, asking for a moment, as I close my eyes. I think about how happy I am to have Rune in my life again and what it would be like if he were taking this photo as my beloved boyfriend.

I open my eyes and give the camera a smile that tells him I adore him.

Rune clears his throat, "That's perfect, Shells, you nailed it," he stands up straight and runs his hand through his perpetually sexy bedhead, "Marguerite's goal with her video was to tell a short story of why creative writing is such a superpower to the one student who most needed to hear it," he tells me, "What did you decide your goal is for this video?"

I'm prepared. Rune asked us this question via email a few days ago, "To share why horses are a superpower for girls," I tell him, holding my arms up in victory like a cheerleader.

"Perfect. Can you think of a well-known interviewer to you'd like to tell this story to?" Rune asks. I glance around him at Marguerite. She is as surprised as I am by this question.

"Oh," I say, buying time, but then realize I do know someone, "How about Entertainment Now's host, Carrie Larson?"

"She's super cool," Rune says, sounding impressed, "Does she ride?"

"She rode at the same stable I used to in Topanga Canyon," I tell him, "We took lessons together when we were teens. I would run into her occasionally when I started taking lessons there again in my late twenties."

"Did she remember you?" Marguerite asks, as she scoops more hummus onto a carrot, "Could you send her a sample copy of Horse Girl Heroes?"

"Yeah, surprisingly, she did," I tell them both, "but I would have no idea how to get in touch with her."

"Naomi will; she'll know who her publicist is," Rune says, "and you should definitely send sample pages from the coloring book to your old stable."

**

"Doing the video was much less painful than I imagined," I tell Rune as we cart our dinner dishes into the kitchen. We sent Marguerite home already since she'd did all of the legwork bringing us a delicious roasted chicken with artichokes, orzo and lemon for the three of us to share for dinner.

"You did really well," he tells me encouragingly, looking very tired now in the harsher overhead light of the kitchen, "After we get this cleaned up, I want to see the latest version of the draft video with the animations."

I'm about to tell him he can look at it tomorrow, he should go home, and leave the rest of the cleanup for me when my phone rings with Vivienne's tone.

"Hey, Viv, did you get a call from Tyler Paul's team?" I ask, which is the news we've been waiting for.

"Hey, Viv," Rune calls out, bringing the scrap bin in from the laundry room.

"Hey, favorite people, I did," she says, sounding strange like she's got a bad cold.

"Are you okay?" I ask her as Rune stops and looks at me, his face showing as much concern as I feel.

"No, actually, I'm not," Viv says with a sniff. I realize she doesn't have a cold; she's crying. I tell Rune that I'll be right back and go upstairs to my room to talk to her.

"Vivienne, what's happened?" I ask as I walk into my bedroom.

"I'm sorry to be such a sad sap, but boy, it's been a day. Do you want the good news first or the bad news?" She asks shakily. She's never sounded like this before.

"Which do you feel like sharing first," I ask, closing the sliding French doors to my outdoor deck. The wind has picked up, whipping the Katsura's limbs around in a frantic dance. At the end of the property line, the top branches of the fir trees are even swaying.

"Matthias has decided he doesn't want to be the partner of someone who's getting famous for being a sensuality coach," she tells me.

"Wait, what?" I ask, sitting down at the foot of my bed, sure I can't have heard her correctly.

"He doesn't want me to move to Boston with him if I'm going to keep doing this work."

"Oh, Viv, I'm so sorry," I say, stunned. They've been together for a decade at least, probably longer.

"I guess the TV interview, and the parties with celebrities were the straws that broke the camel's back," she sighs, "Apparently, it's been brewing for a while."

"But he knew this was your dream work. You've been coaching people for years on the side before you made it your full-time gig."

"Yes. He was fine with it as long as it was on the down low, but now, as a new Harvard professor, it makes him uncomfortable that it's so public. I have to honor that."

"You're not going to give up sensuality coaching, are you?" I ask, shocked.

"No. So we're no longer a couple," she says, sounding like she might start to cry again.

"I'm so sorry," I say, feeling I might cry too. She and Matthias always seemed like such a fantastic success story; they were so happy and into each other. Wow. "What's the good news?"

"Tyler Paul wants me to meet with his creative team next week and meet with their writing team and the new cast," she tells me.

"No way," I cheer, "Viv, this is awesome!"

"It is," she says, but much more subdued than usual.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Matthias is still back East. I'm going to pack up all of his over the weekend, so he doesn't have to fly back and do it himself. Thank God the condo and all of the furniture is mine."

"That's awfully kind of you, I don't know I'd be that helpful," I retort, "I think I'd be in bed eating chocolate."

"It's actually self-preservation," she admits, "I don't want to see him right now, knowing how he feels. And yes, I can have good, long, angry, ugly cries while I eat chocolate and junk food while I do it."

"Excellent!" I cheer her on. "Call me if you need encouragement along those lines. I'll go out and get some junk food to eat with you in solidarity."

**

The house is too quiet as I exit my bedroom and head for the stairs. Rune must have given up on me and gone home. I'm about to text him as I walk down the stairs when I realize he's sitting on the living room couch.

"Hey," I say softly as I take him in. He's slouched down with Butterscotch on his lap, his hands in her fur, his eyes closed.

"Hey," he says without opening his eyes, "I just need a little cat nap before going over your storyboard."

"Okay," I tell him, "Come on, Butterscotch. It's time for your potty break before bed.

The dog gives me the stink eye but follows. When I return, rather than waking, Rune removed his boots and curled up. He's out. His face is soft and even sweeter in sleep. I'd like nothing better than slipping onto the wide, comfortable couch beside him, pressing myself against his warmth. Instead, I cover him with a pretty but soft blanket I keep on the couch now to give the room more color and keep me warm when I'm reading in front of the fire, and head upstairs alone.