Vivien stared after him. “What am I going to do now? There aren’t any other venues.”
Boone reached out, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
She looked up at him. “When I do—if I do—I’ll have to change every last poster we spent all morning hanging up.”
“Can I help you fix the posters?”
She shook her head, biting back tears. She wouldn’t give Gordy the satisfaction of knowing he’d devastated her. “No. I don’t even know what I’ll put on them now. Just…can you take me home?”
“Sure.”
She looked back at the building. “I guess I don’t need that notebook today.”
They climbed back into the car, the silence filling the space as Boone drove toward her house. “Vivien, are you sure you’re okay?”
Oh. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” She waved him off. Smiled. “I mean, except for the fact that I have nowhere to hold auditions on Thursday, nor a place to perform the actual production.” She stared out the window and watched the tourists bustling down Main Street, their hands already heavy with purchases.
“There is that. But I meant the run-in. Your scream. The way you came out of that auditorium—you were running for your life.” He parked in front of her house and she ventured a glance at the porch. No black roses. Only four one-foot-wide fish eyes stared at her from the porch.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I overreacted.” She smiled and unlatched her seatbelt. Here he was, trying to relax, and she’d gone screaming and creating a big scene. “Hey—I do owe you a thank you.” Vivien pulled her sunglasses from her eyes and tried to shake away the residual doom that hung over the afternoon. “How about lunch? It’s the least I can do.” She nodded toward the front door.
Boone looked at his watch then back at her, and a smile crept up his face.
He had such a nice smile.
“Sure. That sounds good.”
She looked down and realized she’d snapped her sunglasses in two. Apparently, Detective Buckam wasn’t the only one who needed to relax.
Chapter 4
He’d eat lunch with Vivien, make sure she was really okay, then go back to the cabin. He’d finish chapter one and peruse the offerings of outdoor activities.
And maybe, somehow, erase her scream, the one that still reverberated in his mind. Raw. Primal. And he hadn’t missed the way her body had trembled when she’d leaned against the building to hold herself up.
The house, a petite blue bungalow with river rock at the base of each porch pillar, reminded him of some of the older neighborhoods in Kellogg. Except, of course, for the two giant fish still hanging from the porch rafters. They approached the porch steps where the fish dangled, each from a single thick cord at the center of its back, causing them to slowly rotate, their freakish faces staring at Boone.
That was creepy enough, without the memory of the black roses left on her porch and her scream that still echoed in his brain.
Admittedly, this woman was a character.
He flicked the tail of the walleye, sending it spinning faster. “What’s with the fish?” They looked to be made of papier-mâché on a wire frame, their painted scales doused with glitter.
“Hey—be careful!” She reached out a manicured hand, steadied the aquatic atrocities.
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll make him seasick?”
“Funny. They’re Fish Pic decorations.” She gently repositioned the walleye’s gaze back out across the neighborhood.
“Wow—you go all out.” He leaned in to inspect the jagged teeth. “Are those teeth made out of sporks?”
“Yes, they are.” She put a hand on her hip. “Good work, detective. Now, can you tell me what edition of the paper was used?”
“Right. Mad detective skills—the Sunrise edition.”
She placed her palm on his chest with a playful nudge, the heat of it searing through his T-shirt and sending radiating waves across his entire body. “Very good. You’re an expert.” She blinked her long lashes, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of her lips. Her bright blue eyes met his.
He should probably run—past the gawking fish, straight down the steps—jump into his convertible, and head back to his lonely little cabin on the lakeshore. With his book. Because he was only in Deep Haven for five—scratch that—four-and-a-half more weeks.
“Are you coming?”
“Right behind you.”
Sunlight cast a golden glow in the living room. Hardwood floors stretched the expanse of it and dark wood trim contrasted with the cream-colored paint. He paused at the large photograph of New York City’s Central Park hung behind the frayed couch. “I’d order pizza, but I don’t have my phone.”
Vivien flashed him a smile. “This is Deep Haven, dear. We don’t have delivery.”
“No delivery?”
“Well, we did for a while, but things happened.” She winked at him. “We don’t anymore.”
“I see.”
“Lucky for us”—she swept into the kitchen—“my roommate made a grocery run yesterday.”
And there she went again, looking up at him with those big, bright eyes. Fluttering lashes. He swallowed.
“Your roommate—was that the woman who ducked behind the Chevelle with you?” Boone followed her into the kitchen, which looked like the 1950s met the 1970s. Avocado cabinet doors matched the checkerboard floor tiles. A small dining room table sat against the far wall with two chairs.
Cozy.
“Yes. That’s Ree Zimmerman. We’ve been best friends since…forever.” Vivien scrolled through screens on her phone. “Okay, here it is.” She blinked at the screen. “Uh—yum. This is the one we’re going to make.”
“Are you sure you want to make it? We can go out…”
“Absolutely.” She looked up at him. “It’s healthier this way.”
“If I wanted healthy, I wouldn’t have picked pizza.”
She laughed. A little husky and soft. “Oh, come on, you’ll love it.” She began scrolling on her phone. “See, cauliflower crust.”
There were very few things Boone could think of that sounded worse than a cauliflower crust on his pizza. He must have made a face.
“Trust me.”
Judging by her slender figure with just the right curves, Boone figured Garbo didn’t indulge in the same sort of greasy, cheesy, gooey pizza of his preference. If he wanted lunch with her, it meant, ugh, cauliflower crust pizza.
It might be worth it.
She pulled mixing bowls from the cupboard and set them on the countertop.
“How can I help?”
“One sec.”
She pulled out a bowl of something from the refrigerator, popped the lid off, and took a sniff.
The pungent odor of cooked cauliflower assaulted the kitchen. “We’re not eating that, are we?”
She nodded. “I think it’s okay.”
He raised a brow at her. “Think? How often do you need to smell the food in your refrigerator to determine if it’s edible?”
“Not that often.”
“Answer under oath.”
“I plead the Fifth.” She turned on the oven.
“I just want to know exactly how experienced your nose is at food safety detection.”
“It’s cauliflower.”
“Right. It always stinks, so I’m just wondering if it stinks more when it’s bad and if you have any experience with that.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Get the dried parsley from the cupboard next to the stove and the shredded cheese from the refrigerator. And the eggs. I told you Ree bought most of this yesterday.”
“Got it.” He rummaged through the refrigerator, finding some assurance that the cheese and eggs were at the front. He placed them on the countertop. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not smelling any of it.”
“Ha ha.” She measured out the ingredients. “You just wait, Detective Buckam.”
He watched her mash the cauliflower, cheese, e
ggs, and herbs together until she had a paste. She pulled a sheet pan from the cupboard and pressed the mixture into a flat disk and popped it into the oven.
“Now, for the toppings.” She went back to the refrigerator and pulled out zucchini, bell peppers, tomatoes, garlic, and a jar of marinara sauce. She looked over her countertop garden. “Oh! I forgot the eggplant.”
Eggplant? “What’s all that for?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Um, hello? The pizza. You’re going to love it.”
“It seems really unnecessary to put all those vegetables on a pizza that already has a cauliflower crust. What about the pepperoni? The sausage?”
“You need more vegetables in your life.”
“I really doubt that.” He watched her grasp the knife, start slicing away on the vegetables. “Tell me about this play you want to do.”
“Then Came You.”
He stared at her. Blinked.
“Okay, Crickets, you can’t seriously tell me you’ve never heard of it.” The oven timer dinged and she pulled out the crust.
Admittedly, it smelled good. But then she slathered on the sauce and stacked on more vegetables than he’d seen at the last Farmer’s Market.
“I’m sorry—I haven’t.” His stomach growled. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be horrible.
“It’s a sweet, one-act play about a man who’s pined for his childhood sweetheart for years. Everyone converges back in their hometown after college when a mutual friend dies unexpectedly.”
Oh. “Sounds…charming.”
She laughed. “I know, it sounds really sad—but it isn’t. He realizes…well, you know the song ‘Bless the Broken Road’?” She slid the pizza pan into the oven.
Boone nodded.
“It’s a little like that. Like, how do the broken circumstances in our life end up leading us to greater blessings?”
He turned her words over in his mind. He hadn’t grown up in a Christian home. Hadn’t even become a Christian until he was in the Army. When he’d come home, he hadn’t found the right church to attend. It didn’t help that his former flame and high school sweetheart, PJ Sugar, attended the Kellogg Praise and Worship Center. He’d needed her out of his life…so, there went his church attendance too.
He’d been relegated to watching services from his computer.
Vivien pulled open the refrigerator door and took two Cokes from the shelf, handed him one.
“Thanks.”
“All this time, the hero, Dylan Turner, was looking behind him—into his past, wishing it had played out differently—but, really, all the bad things in his life, all the setbacks, end up both shaping him into the man he is and also leading him to the love of his life.”
Boone took drink. “Huh. Interesting.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s incredibly sweet. In the end, he has to choose whether he wants to pursue his future with a girl he’s never dated before or get lured back to his high school sweetheart—who’s probably going to break his heart. Again.”
Boone cleared his throat, not sure he wanted to know how that one ended. “Someone has to die for this happy ending?”
“Well, the audience isn’t attached to the dead guy. He’s already dead when the play opens.”
“That makes it so much better.”
“Stop. It’s really good. The part of Ashleigh is probably my favorite character ever. Being her was so…” She stopped. Blinked.
“You played the part?”
She sighed, as if chasing away memories. “I did. It was quite a shift after Charlie’s Angels. Man, that was a fun show.” She smiled and took a sip. “But this show is sweet and it’s all about hope, the future. Letting go. I loved every moment of it.”
She started singing.
Don’t let the past hold you back
It’s time to let go—we’re on the right track
Embrace today, you know it’s true,
I didn’t know what love was, until I found you.
Wow. Her voice, a warm, rich alto, reached right in, disarmed him. Made him wonder why she wanted to be behind the scenes instead of on the stage.
“Beautiful.”
“See, it’s a fabulous show.”
He hadn’t meant the lyrics, specifically.
The kitchen smelled like cheese and roasted vegetables. The cheese he was okay with. The vegetables, not so much, but maybe she was right. He needed more vegetables in his life.
“Being her was so…? You never finished your sentence.” He watched her, waited for her answer.
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Fun. All her dreams came true. She got the guy, the job, the future.”
“A happy ending.”
“Of course!”
Interesting. He leaned a hip against the counter. “So, do you want to talk about what happened in the playhouse earlier? Why you thought someone was chasing you?” He’d thought she’d been lying about the roses. Now he was even more certain.
The kitchen timer went off and she grabbed a potholder. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
It smelled more like ratatouille than pizza. And she’d ignored his question.
“Vivien?”
She pulled out the baked garden and set it on the stove. “Really, it’s nothing. I just—overreacted. Let’s eat.”
Boone checked the weight of his Coke. He figured he had enough soda to get down one slice if he was judicious with it. She lifted the pizza cutter from the drawer. “Would you grab plates from the cupboard on the other side of the sink?”
“Sure.” He pulled two out and she plopped a far-too-large slice onto his. A smaller one on her own.
He’d faced dangerous criminals. He could eat vegetables. Vegetables didn’t kill. Probably.
She led the way to the table for two and he sat down across from her. Stared at the bubbling cheese.
“Should, uh, should we say grace?” Maybe he was postponing the inevitable first bite, but ever since he’d become a Christian, he tried to say grace before his meals.
“Oh.” She looked up at him, her head tilted and her lower lip in her teeth. “Of course.” As if it wasn’t altogether foreign to her but not her everyday habit.
After he finished, he stared at the slice. Waited.
Vivien took a bite. Chewed slowly. “Mmm. This is actually really good.”
“You sound surprised.”
She lifted her shoulder in a coy shrug. “Well, you know—first-time recipe. You never know how something new is going to turn out.”
Right.
He readied his Coke and took a bite. Chewed. Drank. Swallowed.
Didn’t die. In fact, it wasn’t half bad.
Vivien took another bite, her eyes staring down at her plate.
“You’re worried about your play.” It wasn’t hard to read the stony expression on her face.
She looked up at him. “I need to figure out where in the world I can hold auditions. No auditions, no play. I’ll still have to find a performance location, but right now, I just need an audition spot.”
Boone took another bite. He actually liked the seasonings. Huh. “What kind of creative-literary venues or shops do you have in town?”
“The library. But they don’t have space.” She drummed her fingernails on the table top. “There’s the Art Colony, but it’s usually booked for weddings, classes, or special events. The bookstore…” Vivien jumped up and grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen counter, hope lighting her eyes. “Footstep of Heaven Bookstore might work.”
“I’d think a bookstore owner would be willing to help out.”
“You’re a genius.”
“You thought of it, not me. Is there enough space?”
“Yeah, we’d have to move a few displays around, but it’s in a converted house and Mona has a really cool reading area. I think we could totally make it work.” She jotted a note on the paper. “I’ll ask her tomorrow—Mona Michaels, I mean. She owns the bookstore.” Vivien took another bite of her pizza. “Mmm. Serio
usly. This is so good.”
He sat across from her, seeing the light in her eyes, and for the first time realized that he didn’t have anywhere to go, anything weighing him down.
So, this is what relaxation felt like.
He could get used to it. He took another bite of pizza.
“I need this play.” The words were quiet. Plain. They lacked all the drama and playfulness he’d come to expect from her. “I have to find a way.” She looked up at him, as if realizing she’d said it out loud, a determined set to her jawline.
And he knew she needed the play just like he needed that promotion. Because the world was watching. And neither one of them wanted to face failure.
He took another drink of soda and met her gaze across the table. Her eyes were bright with hope and gratitude and determination.
“Okay, Garbo. I’m here for five weeks. I’ll help you get this play off the ground.” He couldn’t stop himself from offering what he knew she needed. And, well, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit her company over the past twenty-four hours had made his sentence in the north woods tolerable. Maybe even enjoyable.
And anything was better than sitting still.
She tilted her head, swallowed, picked at a piece of eggplant. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I need something to do. It’ll take a lot more than reclining on my deck to read that book and helping Caleb coach to fill my days. How can I help?”
She let out a long breath, as if thinking. “Well, after I talk to Mona, we’ll need to change all the posters. Next up are the auditions. You can help me run those. Just getting the scripts out. Showing people where to go. Once it’s casted, of course, there will be some sets to build.”
Yep. Fill up that schedule because nothing made the time pass faster than a packed agenda. “I’ll do it.” He smiled.
And she smiled back.
Yes, this could be exactly the relaxation he needed.
Vivien waltzed into the Footstep of Heaven bookstore the next morning with purpose. If Mona Michaels was willing to let her use the bookstore after hours for the auditions and cast meetings, then she’d be able to get all the posters corrected in time. It would also buy her a few days to locate a performance venue.
Then Came You Page 7