by Grace Palmer
“I think so, but I suppose that is up to Tasha and Eddie.”
“It’s great!” A booming voice came from the back of the theater. They both turned to see Tasha giving her a thumbs-up. “You should take a break!”
Pam, Barb, and Cheri appeared from the other side of the stage, carrying bundles of fabric that would soon be the costumes for the actors and feigning grumbling about how overworked they are. Pam lifted a hand to her forehead and threw her head back. “I have also been working my hands to the bone. If only someone would offer me a break.”
“Or some snacks,” Cheri added with a mischievous cackle. “A truly benevolent director would provide us with finger sandwiches and doughnuts.”
“Too bad you don’t have a benevolent director!” Tasha yelled. “You’ve just got me.” Her smile was wide, and Stella could see the Baldwin family resemblance.
Stella laughed and turned to Sam, voice low. “A break? I kind of assumed I’d be done for the day.”
“I know. She’s a tyrant,” Sam said at full volume, his smile widening to a grin when Tasha began to protest.
“You better watch yourself, or you’re off my crew, Sam Warren.”
“Is that so? Well, if you know another handyman who will build you a trolley for free, then give him a call.”
There was a long pause before Tasha responded. “Have I told you how much we appreciate you recently, Sam? Because, boy oh boy, do we love and appreciate you. You do great work. Feel free to take a break, as well. You’ve earned it.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sam chuckled while the three women once again erupted in faux anger from off stage. Sam turned to Stella. “Would you like to take a break with me? Don’t tell anyone, but I packed myself a picnic lunch, and I have more than enough to share.”
As if on cue, Stella’s stomach growled. She’d been so focused on painting that she didn’t have time to remember she never had a proper lunch. And as good as Vivienne’s almond croissant had been, it was not filling all on its own.
“Should I take that as a yes?” Sam asked, eyeing her stomach.
Stella elbowed him. “Yes, but only if you promise not to be ornery.”
Sam stood back and extended an arm to usher Stella toward the back door of the theater. “I make no such promises.”
8
Sam wasn’t kidding when he said he had enough lunch to share. His picnic could feed half the cast and crew. He’d packed a footlong sandwich loaded with slices of ham and turkey, provolone cheese, and enough veggies to satisfy both of their daily required servings of fruits and veggies. Plus, he also had a bag of washed red grapes and two chocolate chip cookies.
“Were you really going to eat all of this by yourself?”
“This is what I eat every day for lunch.” When Stella’s mouth fell open, Sam laughed and pulled out paper plates and napkins, handing one of each to Stella. “No, I actually thought I’d try to get Tasha to sit down long enough to eat with me. It’s been a while since she and I had a sit-down talk, and I wanted to see how she is doing.”
“Oh, well I can find my own lunch if you had plans. I don’t want to intrude on—”
“You’re not intruding on a thing,” Sam said, patting Stella’s hand gently before going back to divvying up the food. “You saw her in there today. Did that look like a woman who was going to slow down to eat? I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t eat a bite until dinner. She’d probably skip dinner, too, if Georgia didn’t force her to eat with the family.”
Sam said he’d never been married or had children, but Stella couldn’t help but notice that he talked about the Baldwins as though they were his family. And based on the little bit of interacting she had seen between them all at the Duke Saloon last night, they were comfortable enough around each other to seem like they were more than neighbors.
Drew had said Sam was friends with his dad before he left the family, so what did that mean for Sam and Georgia’s relationship now? Was he still friends with Georgia? Or was it something more? Georgia did say she had a new man in her life, and though Stella had no right to feel any sort of way about it, the thought that that man could be Sam made her lose her appetite.
Sam had forgotten a knife, so he ripped the sandwich in half, and Stella took the smaller of the two pieces, which was still more than she would ever be able to finish. Then, Sam dumped a pile of grapes on her plate, handed her a cookie, and pulled out a glass bottle of water with condensation dripping down the side.
“This is clean, I promise,” he said, filling a paper cup for each of them. “I hate plastic water bottles. The water is the same stuff running through my pipes at home, but more expensive, so I just take this around with me. It does the trick.”
Stella thanked him for the lunch, and they ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the stretch of green space behind the theater. Without realizing it, Stella had actually painted a scene much like this one on the backdrop inside. There were bundles of red and orange flowers growing around a bench and at the base of a gazebo across the grass, and honeybees were buzzing around them, doing their work.
“So, you’re close with the Baldwins?” Stella asked. The question felt clunky after such a long stretch of silence, but Sam handled it seamlessly, wiping his forearm across his mouth to clear away sandwich crumbs.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve been a friend of the family for a long time.” He hesitated, as though weighing whether he should say something or not. “They’ve gone through a hard time recently, so I’ve tried to be there for them.”
“Georgia told me her husband left them unexpectedly.”
“Georgia isn’t shy about sharing the details, but it isn’t my story to tell, so I didn’t want to overstep.” Sam’s shoulders sagged forward, almost like he was relieved he could talk about it freely. “But that’s one way to put it. After decades together, he left her a note and then, poof. Gone. Can you believe that?”
“He didn’t say anything to you?”
“No, definitely not,” Sam said, shaking his head vigorously, mouth set in a stern line. “If he had, I would have told him he was crazy. Who would walk away from a family like that?”
Stella felt a pang of something akin to jealousy, but she ignored it. “They all seem great. I’ve met Drew and Tasha, and they are both so lovely. Georgia, too, obviously. She has been a wonderful host.”
Sam nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything specific. Nothing to let Stella know whether he had any particular soft spots for Georgia.
“Drew was a professional baseball player, but he recently had a career change,” he said. “He crash-landed back here, so I offered him a job at the shop for something to do. The extra help has been nice, but I don’t suspect he’ll be there long. He is off to bigger and better things, I’m sure.”
“From what I can tell, you have a very nice shop here.”
“Well, thanks. I think so, too, but Drew is bigger than the shop and me. Someone as charming, handsome, and talented as him can’t be hidden away underneath a car all day. He was born to do something big.”
Stella wanted to tell Sam that he was just as charming, handsome, and, from what she had seen, talented as Drew, but it felt like an overstep. They didn’t know each other well enough for compliments like that.
“You’re very proud of him.” It was a statement, not a question, but Sam nodded.
“I am. I always wanted kids, but it never happened for me. When Richard and Georgia started having their kids, they called me Uncle Sam.”
“Very patriotic,” Stella quipped.
Sam rolled his eyes, no doubt having heard the same joke many times before. “I’ve loved them since they were tiny little things, and I can’t help but feel like I have some right to be proud of them. I don’t, of course. I didn’t raise them or anything. But that doesn’t stop me.”
“They seem to be proud of you, too. I mean, Tasha asked you to help out with her play. She must trust you.”
“I don’t know about that. I mean, she asked yo
u to help, and she barely knows you.” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “That came out wrong. I just mean—”
“I get it,” Stella laughed. “You’re right. Tasha doesn’t exactly seem shy. So maybe that isn’t a good metric. But I know Drew is very fond of you. He had nothing but good things to say when he gave me a ride last night. Georgia, too, for that matter.”
He shrugged. “Georgia is nice to everyone. She can’t help herself. She has always been one of the nicest people I’ve ever known.”
Again, jealousy scratched at the back door of Stella’s mind, like a feral cat begging to be let inside. She did her best to keep the door firmly closed.
“I think you may underestimate yourself. You skipped dinner to save a stranger stranded on the highway, you’re building sets for a local play for free, and you are expediting the repairs on my car to see that my vacation isn’t totally ruined. I’d say those things make you a nice person in your own respect.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” Stella insisted. “Very few men in my life have been as warm or welcoming as you have been. Genuine selflessness is hard to find, so I recognize it when I see it.”
He seemed uncomfortable with the compliments, turning away and taking a large bite of his sandwich, and Stella worried she’d overstepped. Maybe Sam’s niceness was part of the problem. It had been so long since Stella flirted with a man that she could no longer tell the difference between flirting and common courtesy. Was she making Sam uncomfortable? The thought alone made her face flush bright red, and she lowered her head as she continued eating, hoping to hide her discomfort.
After they finished eating, Sam sent Stella inside while he cleaned up, and Stella was almost relieved to be excused. After her compliment, Sam’s brow was perpetually creased, and he seemed troubled. They talked about nothing—when the summer humidity would finally abate and which towns in Maine Stella had created websites for—and it felt as though they were both blindly navigating a field of landmines.
Stella painted the rest of the afternoon, but Sam kept his distance. When he did finally leave, he didn’t tell her goodbye, and she tried to pretend the slight didn’t sting.
9
Stella’s pants were splattered with paint despite her efforts to be careful, and her back was sore. It had been a long time since she’d done so many hours of manual labor in a row. She was desperate for a hot shower. The walk back up to the inn didn’t help, either. She considered calling for a car, but Drew had said the day before there was only one ride-share driver in the whole town, and Stella didn’t want to use up the person’s time for what would be a relatively short walk.
That might’ve been a mistake. As she walked up the rocky path to the inn’s wide front stairs, knees aching, Stella had numerous regrets and was counting them out for posterity when a small creature launched an attack.
The yapping caught her by surprise. Stella pressed a hand to her heart and jumped back. Suddenly, her aches were gone as adrenaline flooded her system, her fight-or-flight instinct telling her to turn and run for the hills immediately. Then, she got a solid look at the creature and realized the bark had to be worse than its bite.
The dog was scruffy, some kind of terrier with flopping ears and a gray patch between its eyes, and energetic. The entire time it was barking, it never once stopped moving, bouncing on all four feet from left to right, back and forth in an attempt to block Stella’s path.
Stella squatted down to pet the animal. It quieted and took a tentative step towards her, tempted by her offered hand and the promise of a few ear scritches. She stooped lower and saw it was a boy. “Good boy. Good dog.”
The sound of her voice startled the animal, and he launched into his yapping again.
Over the barking, another voice joined the fray. “I’m so sorry! Bad boy, Bandit. No, no.”
“He’s fine!” Stella yelled back over the cacophony.
The woman scooped the dog up and propped him on her hip like a baby. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a smooth, low ponytail, and her face was makeup-free from what Stella could see. She looked young, but held herself with a poise that made Stella feel inferior, especially in her sweaty, paint-covered clothes.
“I keep him on a leash out back, but the littler stinker tore through the leash and decided accosting guests would be much more fun.” She was chastising the dog in a high-pitched baby voice while scratching under his neck. Something told Stella this interaction wasn’t going to force the dog to change his ways.
“Are you another one of the Baldwins?” Stella asked, noticing the way the woman referred to the guests.
“Melanie,” the woman said shyly. “And this is Bandit.”
Stella reached out and patted the now-docile dog’s head. “We’ve met. Very welcoming fellow.”
“He’s a total sweetheart, but a bit too territorial. I’m working on it,” Melanie said, exasperated. Her expression changed as she studied Stella for a moment. “You wouldn’t be Stella Pierce, would you?”
Stella held her arms out to her side. “The one and only, in all my glory.”
“My mom told me Tasha roped you into painting sets for her. I’m not at all surprised. Tasha has an eye for spotting talent, and I saw your painting on the deck. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, that’s really sweet. I’m way out of practice.”
“No, really,” Melanie said, suddenly serious. “I love the painting so much. I’m partial to landscapes, especially ones I’m familiar with, and you had such a beautiful take on the natural splendor around the inn. With those pastel colors, it would be beautiful in a nursery. Actually, come to think of it, I’d love to buy it off you.”
Stella was stunned by the offer. She had never sold a piece of art before—the kitschy signs she painted for her mom’s flea market sale were going to be the first—and now she had sold a piece without even trying.
“Are you decorating a nursery right now?” she asked. “Consider it a baby shower gift.”
Melanie’s eyes widened, and a pale flush rose into her cheeks. “No, nothing like that. I’m not even married. I just—the pastels made me think of a nursery, that’s all. It’s a beautiful painting regardless, and I’d like to buy it from you.”
Stella shook her hand. “Your mom pushed the supplies into my hands, so the painting is yours. Free of charge.”
“I couldn’t. Your work is so beautiful. You deserve to be compensated for it.”
“You can and you will. I had enough fun painting it that I don’t need payment to make the experience worth it. Your family has been kind to me, and it’s the least I can do in return.”
Before Melanie could argue further, the door to the Willow Beach Inn opened. Georgia walked out onto the porch as Bandit squirmed wildly in Melanie’s arms. Melanie fought him for a moment before it became pointless, and she had no choice but to put him on the ground. The moment his feet hit the path, he darted to Georgia, tail wagging low between his legs, and his ears pushed back. He rolled onto his back when Georgia began petting him, crooning what a good boy he was.
“That good boy nearly mauled a paying guest!” Melanie scolded.
Georgia looked shocked, but she was still smiling. “He was just protecting his granny. But I am sorry, Stella. Will some daytime wine help you forget the trauma?” Georgia lifted an arm into the air, a bottle of wine in her hand. The door behind her opened again, and Alma from the Duke Saloon walked out, grabbing the bottle out of Georgia’s hand as she passed.
“Day wine cures almost every ill I can think of,” Alma announced. When she said it like that, it was hard to disagree. “Come on, you two, join us.”
A third woman came through the door, her curly gray hair a halo around her round face. “They can only come if there is more wine inside. I need two glasses minimum.”
“Only two glasses, Gwen?” Alma scoffed. “I’ve lived here for years, and I still forget what lightweights you non-Texans are.”
/> “Non-Texans? Is that how you view the world, Alma—Texans and non-Texans?” Georgia patted Bandit’s side as he hopped up and scurried down the porch to Melanie. “It seems rather reductive.”
“I used to think of everyone as Texans and ‘people who wish they were Texans,’ so you should applaud my progress.”
The women had an easy, joking rapport as they took up seats in the white wooden chairs scattered around the porch. Georgia and Alma kicked their feet up on the glass coffee table in the middle of the circle of chairs, but Gwen slipped off her sandals and curled her feet up underneath her. Stella could tell this was a regular ritual for the friends, and even though Georgia kept waving her onto the porch, she was afraid to intrude.
“I’d love to chat with you ladies, but I’m afraid Colin is waiting for me,” Melanie said.
“You’re not afraid of nothing!” Alma yelled, letting out a long wolf whistle. “Go tell that delicious boyfriend of yours hello from me!”
“Tell your husband I say hello,” Melanie said with a scandalized smile, putting a meaningful amount of emphasis on the word.
Melanie quickly arranged to pick up the painting tomorrow morning when it was dry and then gave everyone a final wave as she drove down the lane. Stella watched her leave and then tried to go inside to shower, leaving the women to their wine and conversation. She didn’t get very far.
“You’ve only got paint on you because my daughter bothered you for help,” Georgia insisted, “and believe me, I know my daughter. She is ruthless when it comes to this play going perfectly, so you’ve earned a glass of wine, I’m sure.”
She wasn’t wrong. Though Tasha wasn’t actually a tyrant, the energy at the theater was one of eagerly seeking approval. Every person there wanted Tasha to be happy with what they’d done, so they each gave it their all. Including Stella. Even though she didn’t know Willow Beach existed before yesterday, she wanted their local production of Meet Me in St. Louis to go off without a hitch. She didn’t want her set designs to bring the entire play down.