I know Josiah well. His family is from Haiti, but he doesn’t speak with an accent since he was born here. He was a friend of my father’s, and they went fishing together on weekends.
A warm smile coasts across his weathered face. “I’ve told Sheldon you’re friendly. I’ve told him you’ve always been friendly, but…”
“But cats,” I say, handing him the pot, then gesture to the blue-haired woman with me. “And I believe you know Juniper Claire from Ruby Horizons.”
“Sure do. Met the other week. Sheldon likes you,” he says to Juniper.
“I’m a cat person,” she says, and I file that detail away.
Especially since it just tracks.
Juniper quickly shifts gears, noting she needs to double check the power supply options in the store for the shoot. As they chat, I grab some of the paint he’d told me he’d set aside for me as part of our regular trades, and I load the tins up in the truck.
On the way back into town, we drive past the local university, an enclave of learning and cherry blossom trees. Both are quiet during the summer, but I point out the quad where the trees bloom gloriously each April, then the small art museum just beyond, which recently hosted a pop art exhibit that brought new crowds to the town.
We pull over on Main Street to pay a visit to The Slippery Dipper, where a key scene in the film will take place. Outside the lotions-and-potions shop hangs a cheeky awning with a black-and-white illustration of a cartoon woman in an old-fashioned bathtub, taking a sudsy shower. Juniper stops under it, swiping on her screen, perhaps recording sunlight amounts, or I dunno, checking to see if her kale levels have slipped too low.
When she’s done, I grab the handle of the door, but then pause before opening it. “I swear this guy here—his name is Noah—is like some kind of romance soothsayer.”
That seems to perk her interest. She cocks her head. “Really? In what way?”
“He seems to know exactly what every dude in town needs,” I say, then an irksome thought lands in my head. Banks could have used Noah’s help. He would definitely have benefitted from some serious guidance because ghosting a one-night stand before the deed is not okay.
But then I dismiss the thought.
There’s no help for that man I met in San Francisco. Some guys just aren’t worth the trouble. Like the ones who kiss you breathless then disappear without a trace, leaving you feeling like a complete and utter fool.
I’d never have had time for romance anyway. Fine, fine, it was only going to be a one-night stand, but even that would have occupied too much space in my head. It’s a good thing the night with Banks didn’t happen.
It really,reallyis.
A few hours later, after I drop off Juniper at The BookHouse, I’ve crossed another item off my to-do list. “I should go recharge now,” she says, and briefly I picture her plugging herself into a wall socket so she can handle her job tomorrow.
Once I’m home, I grab my gloves, ready to hit the farm chores again, but I stop on my way through the kitchen. There’s a package from Haven waiting on the kitchen counter. Grandma must have brought it in and left it for me.
I open it, grabbing the card on top of the gift.
You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t wait to see you soon.
Then, there’s a packet of biodegradable tennis balls for my dog. My heart warms. Haven knows the way to my heart.
I show Hudson and he wags his tail, ready again, no recharge necessary.
I spend the next few weeks prepping, then finally catching my breath at Prohibition Spirit with my best girlfriends—Chloe and Bridget—a few nights before my sister and the crew arrive.
Inside the whiskey bar with the rich deep-red upholstery and high windows, we order old-fashioneds. “Coming right up,” the bartender-owner says in a honey voice worthy of a torch singer as jazz music plays faintly overhead.
When she plunks them down a few minutes later, she locks her big eyes with mine. Tiny silver skull earrings line both ears fromlobe to top. Matching skulls snake across her arms, and a silver stud is parked in the side of her nose. “All right, Addison. Who do I need to fuck around here to get my bar on the location list?”
For a few seconds, I draw a blank. I didn’t know Esmeralda Polanco was so…blunt. “I…”
She points at my chest. “Oh, you?” She’s so deadpan I don’t know if she means it.
“I swear it’s not up to me,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I was just helping the location scout.”
But Esmeralda cracks a smile, then slaps the counter. “Just giving you a hard time, girl. I don’t want my bar in the film. Earlier today this place was crawling with amateur photogs. I swear I had to swat ’em out of here with my extra-large broom.” Then she wiggles her eyebrows. “The one I fly on at night.”
Relieved she’s not annoyed, I laugh too. “Oh good. I mean, it’s not good that you’re…but it’s good…”
