"Slow down, Lorelei, first things first. Are you or anyone else hurt? Should we be calling an ambulance?"

"No one's hurt," she says, sounding like she's trying to hold back tears, "but Daddy went off on a short mountain biking trip yesterday with some friends and won't be back until tonight. I can't reach him on his cell, and I can't get Rune either."

"Is Jenna being mean to you?" I ask, thinking I shouldn't jump in if it's just a personality clash, but I jog up the stairs with Butterscotch on my heels in case I need to pack and pick her up.

"No, not really. She's been nicer than normal, she even promised to take me shopping for books in Port Angeles today. But now I know why. She and her friend Kim have been talking to strange people with cameras about a reality show. They've been in the lodge for over an hour. I tried calling my cousin Lori, but she's dealing with an emergency at her neighbor's farm, so she can't come."

"Okay, sweetheart, don't worry," I say, my stomach clenched uncomfortably as I grab a duffle bag out of my closet, "I'm on my way. Where are you?"

"The Escape at Lake Crescent," she says and reads me the address in Port Angeles, "I'm in my cabin watching movies."

"I thought you were staying at the Lodge," I say.

"Jenna didn't like it, it was too old-fashioned," she hiccups, "This place is brand new, and fancier, with an indoor pool and stuff, Rune always told us to say no to any reality shows because they're not real, but when I tried to tell Jenna that at breakfast, she didn't believe me and told me this was how we could afford a horse and my expensive outdoor school."

She's crying full out now, "It's okay, Lorelei," I say soothingly, slipping out of my shorts and pulling on my best pair of fleece-lined leggings, "I won't be there for over an hour. Is that okay?"

"Yes, if you're coming, I'll be fine. I'll watch Howl's again until you get here," she tells me, "I can see the parking lot from the window. But a paparazzi just arrived about fifteen minutes ago, so that can't be good."

"No, that can't," I agree, moving into the bathroom and throwing my toothbrush and other toiletries into my duffle bag, "Did you text your dad and Rune a message about that?"

"Yes, of course," she sniffs.

"If your dad comes home or Jenna returns to the cabin, tell them you want to go home since the weather's supposed to be bad for the next few days, okay?

**

I probably shouldn't be doing this, I think, as I grab a warm pair of socks and then another as I glance at the weather report. I probably shouldn't be butting in. But how can I leave Lorelei feeling so miserable and with paparazzi there? Why the hell have they shown up?

Is Gunnar famous enough to send paparazzi? To Port Angeles? Almost in Canada? I could be paranoid, but somehow, this feels like a trap for Rune.

The temperature is expected to drop significantly. This storm is supposed to dump some serious rain and maybe even hail. I pull on my duck boots and throw the extra socks, panties, and flannel jeans into the duffle before changing into a long-sleeve t-shirt and pulling on my warmest hoodies.

I don't want to be stuck without my stuff if the wind is so bad they close the bridge. Running down the stairs into my office, I pick up my laptop, battery charger, and the case. I'm probably overreacting, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Butterscotch will have to come; Marguerite's still away. I throw a container with food, treats, her leash, and dishes in a canvas tote and lock up the house.

I text both Gunnar and Rune and leave voice messages. If one or the other calls me back before I start the car, I can change course, I think, as I slip on Butterscotch's harness and grab my heavier rain jacket. Neither calls me back.

**

I'm on the Hood Canal Floating Bridge heading West towards the Olympic Peninsula, ten minutes from home, when Rune's call comes across on my Bluetooth.

"Hey! Where are you?"

"Just crossing the bridge," I tell him. I'm pretty sure he's going to ask me to turn around.

"Perfect, can you pick me up at the ferry terminal in Port Angeles?" He asks instead.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Of course. But you're not bringing your car?" I ask, surprised.

"I can walk on now or wait with my car for two hours. There's a lot of traffic; people want to get home before the storm gets bad."

"So, you don't think I'm overreacting?" I ask.

"I hope we're both overreacting," he says, "I hope we'll laugh over a pizza about it in a couple of hours. But I don't think that'll be the case, not with a paparazzi in the parking lot.

"Do you think someone set Jenna up?"

"Yes, but we'll talk about it when I see you. I'm going to jump off and keep trying to reach Gunnar," he says, adding, "Seashell, thanks for this."

"No worries," I tell him as we sign off, my heart lifting the dread a little from his appreciation, but not much. What the hell is going on?

Since I'll arrive faster in Port Angeles than Rune, I stop for gas in Sequim. Weirdly, my anxiety is making me hungry. But looking at the time, I realize it's closer to dinner than I had imagined. Time melted away as I was working on the planters.

I zoom down the convenience store aisles and grab several packages of peanut butter and crackers, peanut M&M's, a full-sized bag of Ruffles, and a few Cokes. These are the things that look appetizing in my current mental state. We might need emergency snacks, too. Honestly, though a pizza does sound delicious right now.

It had already started to rain before Butterscotch, and I left home. Now it's coming down even harder. The wind is up. It's beginning to whip the trees around as I pull to the back of the gas station and find a grassy spot for Butterscotch to do her business. She's not too happy about my wanting her to get out in the wet.

"You might be in the car for a while," I advise her, "be smart."

My teeth are chattering from nerves and cold by the time we're back in the car again, and I've got Butterscotch safely strapped in. I'm grateful I threw my down vest in at the last minute. I slip out of my wet rain jacket and pull the vest on instead. I need some music and some sugar and caffeine. I pull up Dua Lipa's album Future Nostalgia on iTunes hit play while I take a big swig of Coke. Love Again comes up first with its catchy tagline on being surprised to be falling in love again.

"Very funny, Theo," I say out loud, bopping my head to the song's addictive disco beat as I pull out of the gas station parking lot and eat a handful of M&M's.

Any time, doll, he laughs back.

**

When I pull into Port Angeles waterfront area, Rune's ferry is still a few minutes out. Fortunately, I snag street parking within the eye line of the terminal just as someone else is leaving. I move Butterscotch to the backseat, which she doesn't appreciate, and put her stuff and my duffle in the trunk.

With still more time to kill, I open my compact. I look at harried as I feel. Eeek. Chances are I'll probably sit in the car while Rune handles everything at the cabins. But just in case, why not kill time by being a little more put together?

Yes, I am thinking of the gorgeous and elegantly put together Julia Endo. I'm in love here by myself, I know, but I need to represent Girl Friday's well. Yet again, I appreciate my new chic haircut. I run a brush through it, then clean up my smudged eyeliner and mascara I put on for lunch with Luna with a spare Q-tip. By the time I'm applying a dab of lip color, Rune's texting that he's walking out of the terminal.

My heart lifts when I see him jogging towards us in his Carhartt jacket and black baseball cap. His lush mouth is pressed in an unhappy line.

"Want me to drive, and you can navigate?" he asks as he throws his duffle bag in the backseat next to the excited barking dog.

"Yes," I say, relieved, getting out quickly to change places with him. I'm a good driver, but the wind is so strong now it's driving the rain horizontally and it's making me nervous.

"Two of my three favorite girls," Rune twists around to croon at Butterscotch, tossing the black cap he was wearing into the back seat next to her and reaching to rub her head. I'm relieved he can be chipper, all things considered.

"Marguerite's away teaching," I explain, watching him adjust the seat and mirrors, telling myself not to make too much of being one of his favorite girls.

"Lorelei will be thrilled to see her; that'll help," he grins at me. He looks almost as tired as in June when he first arrived. The only difference is that his eyes aren't bloodshot.

This is my first time seeing him in anything but perfectly matched apparel. The black running pants and brown sweatshirt under his jacket have seen better days. More red-blonde scruff is on his jaw and upper lip than I've seen him wear, his hair's flat from his cap, and he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I've never wanted to kiss a man so badly in my whole life.

"Did you talk to Lorelei?" I ask to distract myself, taking another drink of Coke as he drives us back towards the highway.

"I did, she's been so smart, but she's pretty freaked out," he says.

"Snack?" I ask after I tell him to take the 101 West towards Lake Cresent.

"What are my options, Ms. Disaster Preparedness?" he asks with a quirk of his swoon-worthy lips. I feel a tiny sense of pride at this title as I tell him what I've got. Girl Friday's rule.

"Ruffles, absolutely," he says, and then motions to the drink between us, "Can I have a sip?" he gestures to the Coke.

"Of course, but don't you want your own? Unfortunately, they didn't have Orangina."

"No, I just need a taste."

We crunch on the chips, not talking as he drives us back to the highway.

"So, what do you think is going on?" I ask finally, breaking the silence while I study the way to the cabins on Google Maps.

"I think Franklin's trying to get at me through my family, I think he found out about the podcast somehow," he tells me as we speed along the forest-lined highway and the wind-shield wipers beat rhythmically. Obviously, I've turned off the music.

"I think that too. I guess we're equally paranoid," I say.

"It's nice not to be alone in this," he says, keeping his eyes on the road, "thank you."

"I'm so sorry my family party is the reason you met Franklin," I've said this before, but I feel it bears repeating, maybe again and again.

"Shells, we've been over this; it's not your family's fault," he says, patting my leg reassuringly, "And you know what? Your mom may be as much a victim of Franklin as any of us."

He's not wrong, Theo says in my head. I hear him, but I can't think about that right now.