Rune is moving the fire screen back into place as I come downstairs. As soon as he stands, Butterscotch plops herself in front of the brick hearth, wagging her tail in delight at the cracking heat. A bunch of pillar candles are lit on the mantle, the coffee table, and a bottle of red wine is open. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was all for a romantic evening on a dark, stormy night. Crap.

"Were you able to send the photos to everyone you wanted before the power went out?" I ask, trying not to look and sound as miserable as I feel. I perch on the edge of the couch and pick up my new bright pink horse pillow to hold as an emotional shield.

"Yes, enough for the podcast team and my dad to know what's going on," he sits next to me on the couch, but not close; I've definitely been friended, "Feeling any warmer?"

I notice he doesn't ask if I feel any better, because of course now he's going to make me feel worse. Crap crap crap.

"Yes, thanks," I nod, trying to keep the dread over what he's about to say off my face, but probably failing miserably.

"Want one?" he motions to the wine bottle and empty glass, "I splurged on it for my birthday, but I figured we need it more now."

"Excellent idea, please," I say, wanting to toss away my pillow and climb onto his lap, but ask instead, "How are you doing?"

"I'm livid, disgusted," he pours my glass half full of the deep red and hands it to me, then picks up his glass and takes a long drink. He seems to steel himself before looking straight at me, his jade green eyes sad and serious, "Seashell, I'm so sorry about all of this. I thought there would be time before the podcast aired to give you the choice of whether or not you wanted to be so involved in my life."

This is not at all what I expected him to say.

"I'm your friend," I say earnestly, "You can't honestly think I'd desert you, can you?"

"Plenty of people did last time," he tells me, taking another sip of wine before setting down the glass carefully. He glances down at the pillow I'm holding and then back at me again, "Is that all we are? Friends?" His gaze is as guarded as I've been trying to make my heart.

"Oh," I set down the pillow. I'm still too chicken to take one of his hands, which is what I really want to do, "What do you want us to be?" I ask.

This makes Rune bark a laugh and scrub his hands over his face. He groans but relaxes back against the couch. The tension in the room eases a notch. He still doesn't put his arm across the back of the sofa, though. Darn.

"Way to use my own tactic of answering a question with a question," he smiles ruefully, but his face gets quickly serious again, "What I want and what's smart for you are two different things."

"What do you mean?" I ask, finally sipping my wine. Oh boy it's a good one. I appreciate the warmth as it goes down my throat.

"Things are going to be extremely ugly for a while Shells," he says earnestly, "Really ugly. The closer our relationship is, the worse it will be for you and your family. Obviously, Franklin doesn't care at all about his long relationship with your mom."

"I'm not sure how much uglier it can be than my mom threatening to disown me if you don't somehow magically stop the podcast," I tell him, drinking deeply again for courage.

"What!" Rune's eyes are wide, "You're being a little dramatic, right?"

"I wish," I sigh and take another sip of wine, "that's why I was frozen in a fetal position on the storage room couch. She's threatening my whole family will disown me if we don't stop the podcast."

"I can't stop it for blackmail Seashell," he says sadly.

"I know you can't," I say firmly, "I don't want you to. I don't think Syd will want you to either," I say, thinking about what Theo told me while I was sitting in the bathtub. An idea starting to brew.

"But things will likely get brutal in the gossip media before the podcast airs," he warns, "Who knows what other wild stories he'll have Pamela spin for him. The ones they've come up with already are pretty devastating."

"So, Pamela's his PR henchman? Is that why you dislike her so much?"

"Yes," he fills his glass again, but I shake my head when he gestures with the bottle towards me, "I did a little digging of my own. A journalist friend found out that it's Pamela who has a bunch of people who work feeding gossip stories to sites for him. She's probably doing it right now about all this, if she hasn't already."

"You don't think he'll honor the timeframe he gave my mom?" I ask, shocked. But why should I be? Franklin's crazy.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I hope they will. That would give us a little time to be prepared, but I doubt it," Rune says, running his hands back and forth on his thighs. I wish he was running his hands back and forth on me, but it's obvious he's still wary.

"Hungry?" I ask, my tiny idea is getting firmer, but it's not fully formed. I also shouldn't drink more wine until I've eaten something, "Want a sandwich?"

"Sure," Rune agrees, as I jump up grabbing a flashlight. He picks up two pillar candles and follows me into the kitchen.

I peer through the dark fridge with the light, take out a jar of pickles and mayo, hand them to him, and then search for the mustard, sliced cheddar, and smoked turkey. I almost trip over Butterscotch, sitting hopefully at my feet in the dark, waiting for a dropped treat since I've been good about not giving her scraps.

I'm going to tell him about you, I think to Theo as I set up the flashlight so I can see what I'm doing, Are you cool with that?

Go for it, I hear from Theo very faintly.

As I take out the loaf of bread and we start making sandwiches I think about the best approach to this tricky subject.

"Did you make these pickles?" Rune asks, breaking into my musings, sounding impressed.

"I did," I say, getting out a knife and cutting board and handing him both, "I wanted to try out the recipe before we make up a batch to can."

"Is there anything you can't make?" He laughs a little and bumps me with his lightly with my hip, "I've been dreaming about my birthday cake already."

"Remains to be seen," I say, smiling gamely, relieved the energy between us is starting to normalize and bump him back, "I hope we have power by then."

"That's what generators are for, I know Gunnar has one if you don't," Rune says.

"We do," I assure him, "Gunnar insisted we get a new one during Covid."

We work side by side in easy, companionably silence for a while, needing to pay more attention to what we're doing because of the low light. I'm reminded of how well we worked together for the impromptu lunch for the director and her husband. I just hope Rune won't decide he needs to exit stage left when I tell him about Theo.

"Remember at the fundraiser you mentioned that Gregg Allman follows you around; what did you mean?" I ask finally, deciding this is my way in, grabbing an unopened bag of tortilla chips and a box of cookies as he finishes the sandwiches. We're definitely going to need more carbs for all of today's drama and stress.

"Oh," Rune's laugh is self-conscious as he follows me back into the living room, setting down our plates as I set down the treats, "you'll think I'm nuts if I tell you."

"I won't," I assure him, making sure the dog doesn't jump up on the couch, "I probably have a crazier story."

"Really? Do tell!" He sits down next to me on the couch, much closer this time, and takes a big bite of his sandwich.

"No Wizard Howl," I wag my finger as I sit cross-legged to face him and put my sandwich plate on my lap, "I asked first."

"Okay," he agrees, taking a deep breath, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Trust me, I won't," I shake my head.

"My mom had a thing for both Daryl Hall of Hall and Oates and Gregg Allman, which I guess explains my handsome blond dad."

"I thought he was a lawyer," I say, confused, not following.

"He is, but he used to sing and play the guitar. They met at music camp as teens, and then again at a reunion, and here I am. But that's another story," he laughs again, "Anyway, she always said both Hall and Allman were underrated as singers and musicians because they were both so attractive."

"Huh," I say, wondering if my dad has the same opinion. Probably not.

"And she always told me to keep my head down, continue to at the craft of acting, keep auditioning for theatre and more interesting roles, and not just T.V. and movie boyfriends because sooner or later, I was going to succeed in landing a part that would allow me to show off all I could do."

"Sound advice."

"Yes, it was. Franklin thought theater was a waste of time in L.A., but that's where Mandy and Stewart saw me. I was in a play at the Mark Taper Forum, and right after that, a bizarre thing happened. I started to dream about Gregg Allman."

"Seriously?" I ask, biting into my sandwich finally and enjoying the crispness of the pickle. We definitely should can some.

"It gets weirder," he warns, "I started catching glimpses of him when Julia and I would be at events or running errands."

"What!" I put my sandwich down again, fascinated.

"I've never told anyone that bit except you," he admits, looking self-conscious, "Not even my mom. It was always just flashes. I'd never fully see him, only a glimpse of his profile and that long, straight blond hair. In the dreams, we'd have fascinating conversations about songs and what inspired him to write them; sometimes, I'd realize I was him. I'd look down at my hands playing an organ, and I didn't play the organ, yet."

"That's amazing," I say, feeling braver with each admission. Rune's definitely as strange as I am.

"And then my agent calls and says Mandy was doing a section in The Troubadour Tales on Cher and Allman's romance and they wanted to meet me because they saw me at the theater.

"That's some crazy good synchronicity," I tell him. Before I can lose my nerve, I blurt out, "Theo talks to me in my head."

"Wait, what?" Rune puts down the chip he was about to eat, "Like you channel him or something?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, happy he knows the concept and doesn't seem put off about it, "Exactly. He thinks we should beat Franklin and Pamela at their own game."

"How does he propose we do that?" Rune gives me a dubious glance eating his chip, and taking more.

"I haven't figured that part out yet; he only gave me the suggestion the bathtub just now, not the tactics."

"Does he talk to you all the time?" Rune asks, his eyebrows almost at his hairline, as looks around the dim living, "Is he here right now?"

"No, not all the time. It's usually only when I'm alone," I assure him, "He doesn't give me answers, but he does give me ideas. The only thing he's insisted on so far was that I ask you to be my fake date for the fundraiser."

"Really? You wouldn't have done that on your own?" He looks a bit hurt.

"I was still too mad at you," I admit.

And then I realize something my mother said that needs to be cleared up if I'm going to be brave enough to face this social media storm I'm about to head into with this beautiful man.

"Rune, are you sure this thing between us isn't just some sort of short emotional vacation you need?" I ask, "Aren't you going to get bored? And tired of the rain? When I'm not drawing, I like to hike and contemplate growing a food forest and pollinator gardens… you're used to going to fundraisers, premiers, and exciting stuff all the time."