Page 44

WE NEED A MONTAGE

Tessa: Are you a farmer yet?

Tessa: How many cows have you milked?

Tessa: Can you chop wood? Pics. I demand pics.

Chris: I spent the night by a campfire sipping bourbon.

Tessa: Doesn’t sound very outdoorsy. Are you even trying?

Chris: Going into town to find winter clothes. Maine’s cold.

Tessa: Cold here, too. I had to wear a scarf.

Chris: I hate you.

Tessa: Enjoy the downtime. I have to go make a studio exec cry.

I chuckled. Tessa would be the death of me.

She had worked with the best in Hollywood, and for whatever reason, she took a shine to me.

After all the meals and late nights talking about work, a friendship had formed.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of acquaintances in my life, but very few I considered friends.

Tessa wiggled her way into my life, and I couldn’t imagine it without her teasing.

I had parked on the edge of Firefly’s downtown. The moment I got out of the car, a shiver ran up and down my spine. The snow might have melted, but Mother Nature refused to let go of winter. If it hadn’t been for the fire last night, I’d have been in my room curled up under Rose’s quilts.

“It’s cute.” Firefly’s downtown revolved around a park.

On two sides, large wood mills made of red brick stood as a reminder of the town’s origins.

At the ‘top’ of the green was a row of storefronts you’d find in any New England town.

There might be an industrial feel, but as the town converted the mills into small shops, it had taken on a homey feeling.

“You’re right, Tessa. Quaint.”

Oh, I nearly forgot about the delivery. Rose proved quite the wizard in the kitchen, and even the thought of her pies made my mouth water.

By the time I woke, she had baked a fresh loaf of bread, muffins, and served pancakes with syrup made right here in town.

When I mentioned the cold, she packed me a basket of muffins and told me, “Twice-Told Tales is where you need to go.”

With a basket of muffins in hand, I worked my way down the sidewalk, checking the signs above the storefronts.

In the distance, I spotted Legends Comics, which meant Simon’s bistro stood across the street.

Calibrated, I passed a hardware and flower shop and stopped in front of a window display for “Twice-Told Tales.”

“Vintage?” Is this where Firefly did their clothes shopping? I refused to believe it was the only place for clothes. Or was this one of those things that they traveled to the city for?

Inside, they had created a display like a small office.

An immaculate antique desk sat with a wooden chair.

I almost missed the ink well and feathered pen.

Next to it were several steamer trunks opened and draped with quilts.

I suspected at least one of them belonged to Rose.

I wasn’t sure what they’d have in the way of clothes, but it was time to partake in the real Firefly experience.

I opened the door to a bell jingling and sucked in the smell of mothballs and old books. Wandering inside, a woman’s head popped out from behind an armoire. Her eyes narrowed, and I suspected she ran through her Rolodex of faces, trying to place me.

“You’re new,” she said. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. She buttoned her cardigan and moved between the furniture, coming closer. “You’re the actor.” Her tone held a note of accusation.

“How did you??—”

“Small town. News travels fast.” Her expression softened as she spotted the basket full of muffins. “Oh, you’re staying with Rose and Edward.”

Staying with. Funny story about that. “I came in a couple of days ago. I think maybe we met at the comic con?”

Her eyes widened, and the smile stretched across her face. Acknowledging my familiarity with Firefly had somehow overridden her defenses. I breathed a sigh of relief. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, and the smile stretched across her face.

“I think we did. My grandbabies were jealous I met a real-life actor.”

I held out the basket of muffins like I was showing off a pretty rock I found. “Rose made these for you.”

“Bribery,” she said. Taking the basket, she inhaled the blueberry goodness. I wanted to ask about the bribery, but Gladys beat me to the punch. “She wants to make sure I take good care of you.”

She placed the basket on the counter. “I’m looking for a jacket. I didn’t really pack for the cold weather.”

“City boys,” she said with a laugh like wind chimes. I was beginning to think the locals had a love/hate relationship with tourists. “We’re in the middle of false spring. You’ll catch a cold going out like that.”

I glanced down at my t-shirt and jeans. Compared to the layers she wore, I felt out of place. “Can you help me?”

“Sweety, look around. I have whatever you could possibly need. I think we need to have ourselves a fashion show.”

“Oh, I really just need a jacket.”

“Don’t argue. What would the town say if they knew you visited and I let you catch a cold? Hypothermia isn’t to be messed with.”

A man passed by the door outside. “He’s in shorts and a hoodie.”

“He’s from Maine.” She spoke as if it explained everything.

“But—”

“Follow me.”

What had I gotten myself into?

Gladys wasn’t a woman to be trifled with.

I understood why Rose had sent baked goods.

I admired her candor—she didn't strike me as a woman who beat around the bush. She weaved between leather couches, wooden headboards, and more than a few rocking chairs. Toward the back, she had a row of massive armoires. It didn’t appear that Gladys’s shop had much in the way of clothing.

“Classic vintage,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Little mid-century modern?”

She threw open two closets, revealing dozens of jackets on hangers. Oh. What else did her store have hidden away? I lifted the lid of a trunk to find trays of silver cutlery. “You have quite the collection,” I said.

Gladys reached into the closet, pausing to give me the once-over. She threw one jacket over her arm, then another, and finally a third. She heaved them in my direction, and I grabbed the pile of clothes.

“Mirror is in the back near the changing room.”

She hemmed and hawed as I walked to the back.

The full-length mirror had an ornate gold trim, and like everything else in the store, it was far older than me.

I slipped on the first jacket. The bomber jacket looked like something from the costume department.

They could only dream of unearthing a find like this.

“Nope,” Gladys called. “Next.”

I scoffed. “I could definitely rock this,” I said.

“Nope. Next.” Gladys had moved to the next closet, holding up work boots.

“Gladys, don’t steer me wrong.” I switched to the next. Dark green and military, I think. I zipped it up, shoving my hands in the pockets. It was bulkier than I wanted, but it’d keep me warm.

Gladys approached with two pairs of boots in hand. “Oh lord, no. Us full-figure gals can’t pull off that look.”

I spun about, striking a pose. “You don’t think I look rugged?”

She raised an eyebrow before pointing to the third jacket. “The third time is always the charm.”

I switched, and as soon as I pulled it on, I knew I’d be making a purchase. The old leather biker jacket had a thick lining, and the cuffs hit the wrist as if it were tailored for me. Pulling up the zipper, it fit just on this side of snug.

“Strut.”

I raised an eyebrow at her reflection, not thinking she was serious.

With a pursed lip and head tilt, I realized she wasn’t joking.

Okay, Gladys, let’s put on a show. I walked down the aisle, and when I reached the beverage cart and tea set, I leaned back, striking a pose.

Unzipping the jacket, I spun about, strutting back to Gladys. Stop. Pose. Hair flip.

Whatever I had done, Gladys’s walls crumbled, and she belted out an infectious laugh. I continued posing, laughing at myself in the mirror. She stood by my side, giving me a wink.

“If I were younger, I’d give you a second glance.”

“Careful, Gladys,” I said, with a wag of the eyebrow. “I’m single and ready to mingle.”

She fanned herself. “Don’t get a gal worked up. We all know that’s a lie.”

Wait, what? Had my hookup with Bobby reached the town?

It had been a newsworthy hookup, but the last thing I needed was a town gossiping about how I seduced the handyman.

Though... it wouldn’t be the worst thing happening in my life, and I don’t think he’d be the type to kiss and tell.

I had written it off as a fling caused by too much fresh air.

It had been fun, but it'd be nothing more than a vacation romp.

Eventually, I'd have to return to my life between New York and Hollywood.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a rolled-up sheet of paper.

Handing it to me, I unrolled it, curious what — “Oh.” I had made the front page of the Firefly Valley Town Crier.

“A little slice of Hollywood in Firefly.” The first line repeated what Tessa had told the media, that I had come to visit a special someone.

She held up a pair of boots, thrusting them into my hands. “Trust me.” I didn’t argue with her as she linked arms with me and guided me to the front of the store. “You’re quite the topic today at coffee.”

Jason warned me about the well-intentioned, nosy people of Firefly. I thought he over-exaggerated. They meant well, but I’d be texting him to apologize for underestimating his statement.

“You’ll quickly find Firefly can be standoffish at first.” What? I hadn’t noticed when I first walked in. Emphasis on the sarcasm. “As an actor, you’ll be shocked to know we have a vibrant theater scene.”

“Really?” I couldn’t imagine there’d be enough people in town to fill a playhouse.

“Absolutely. The school puts on plays every year.”

High school theater, I should have guessed. “You don’t say?” I didn’t know what else to say without insulting the town and its efforts to be cultured.

“They’re doing Peter Pan this year.”

“That’s amazing.” No sarcasm. I never participated in plays in school.

It’s something I wish I had more time to do as a kid.

Maybe when I got back, I’d see if I could moonlight with a local ensemble?

It could scratch that itch to be something more than an action hero.

It’d make for a fun experience, and it never hurt to work on my craft.

The thought of playing King Lear had its appeal.

“As for the rest of Firefly, don’t worry about them. Once I call Dorothy and Bonny, they’ll treat you like family. Oh, I can’t forget Dorris. Maybe she’ll finally stop telling that Patrick Dempsey story.”

I snorted. “So, everybody will know I’ve been here?”

Gladys laughed again. Moving behind the counter, she lifted her cell phone. With a flick of her finger, she showed me the first of many texts.

Sheryl: Do I see him in your store?

Marigold: Peter walked by TTT and spotted him.

“Welcome to Firefly.” People kept saying that as if I had passed a test, but with a note that there’d be more to come.

What else could this town do to keep me on my toes?

She spun about and snapped a selfie with me in the background.

“I’m a superb judge of character.” I heard the swoosh of a photo sent to text.

“Young man, the town is going to love you.”