Page 1

One

If only Leslie could lie out on a flat rock and bask in the sun’s lovely rays, but the pleasure of Tennessee’s late-July heat wasn’t worth a week of slathering herself in aloe. Not that she’d burn the way humans did, much less catch fire as humans once believed. No, she’d just dry out like ancient papyrus.

Sitting behind her exhibit table, she dug into her purse for her organic sunscreen and reapplied to her face, arms, and the tops of her feet. She finished as a young family with two strollers passed on the other side of the dusty aisle. The heat was keeping some humans at home, no doubt. Today’s turnout was about two-thirds the usual number for a Harmony Ridge art fair.

But Leslie could count on one person to show up, even when no one else did. That person was now skipping toward her wearing a yellow sundress sprinkled with a blue wildflower print. Her sandals made puffs of dust with every skip.

“Oh wow! It’s Leslie Snow, the genius diorama artist! Hey y’all, check out Leslie Snow’s exhibit!”

The family with the strollers halted and turned back.

“Oh wow,” Leslie deadpanned. “It’s my friend Hannah, who has never brought embarrassing attention to me at an art fair before.”

“You love me.” Hannah stopped and leaned toward the diorama in the center of the booth, a little bigger than the rest—not in scale but in scope. Her black ponytail brushed the model’s highest cliff. “Ooh. The waterfall looks like actual water now.”

“That’s the goal.”

“Is this the one you were trying to finish in time for the fair?”

“Yeah. I may or may not have skipped sleeping on Thursday.”

Hannah glanced up, then continued to study the model. “I love the cliff details too.”

“Thanks.”

“When did you sleep last?”

The family was meandering their way back to Leslie’s exhibit thanks to Hannah’s beckoning. Leslie lowered her voice. “No worries. It’s only been nine days.”

“Right, of course,onlynine days. But you’re one of the few people I know who maintains an actual work/life balance, so I guess you’re fine.”

“And if I weren’t, my bestie wouldn’t hesitate to lecture me on self-care.”

Hannah flounced her skirt. “You’d best believe it.”

The family reached them. The younger girls remained in their strollers. The boy, about eight years old, stepped right up to the display table and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not supposed to touch anything,” he said to Leslie.

“Thank you very much,” she said.

“I definitely wouldn’t hurt your stuff, though.”

“I believe you. But this way no accidents can happen.”

He nodded and homed in on a model of a back country road surrounded by trees and populated by a single vehicle, an off-roader splashed with mud and driven by a man wearing a puffy jacket, jeans, boots, and a helmet.

“Cool,” the kid said.

“How many hours does one of these take to create?” his mom said.

As always, the wordcreatewarmed Leslie’s soul. “On average, about ten hours. The waterfall was closer to fifteen.”

“Mom, can we buy one?”

“Not today, buddy.”

“But what if…?” He sidled up to her and leaned against her hip. “What if it was my birthday present, and I got the one with the guy driving on the dirt road, and it went on top of my dresser? There’snothingon top of my dresser right now.”