Chapter Nineteen
Chapter
Nineteen
Ramona couldn’t stop shaking.
She wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline from officially meeting Noelle Yang, or the fact that Noelle was perfect and lovely and asked about her life, or the fact that Dylan had no idea about this said life, at least not anything that Ramona really wanted or dreamed.
But Noelle Yang .
Ramona also couldn’t stop smiling. She leaned against the hallway wall, half watching the scene, half replaying the admittedly very short conversation she’d just had with her actual hero.
Her fingers itched to create something—a tea-length dress covered in tiny solar-powered lights, chiffon underneath that rustled when the wearer moved, a gentle shhh paired with the sparkle and shine. That was what she’d put Eloise Tucker in for her big party that took place toward the end of the book. Off-white satin with a blush-pink, light-infused swirl over the whole dress, capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, like a queer Audrey Hepburn.
It was perfect, this picture in her mind. She knew a large part of a costume designer’s job was to simply select existing garments that fit a character—but Noelle designed plenty of her own pieces too, and that was what Ramona loved most. That a piece that existed because Ramona made it so, the creation, drawing and sewing into being.
As she watched Dylan and Blair act out their roles, Dylan perfectly flustered and unsure, Blair like a comet on its sure path, her chest felt like it was full of sparklers, that excitement and longing that she just couldn’t shake.
And she didn’t want to. She let her mind wander, dozens of designs taking shape in her mind, rich fabrics for Mallory and simple elegance for Eloise. Then she drifted off into other books she’d loved, queer stories that she could see so clearly on the screen, the clothes that surrounded the actors bringing them to life, making them real , the magic of a simple blazer or pair of jeans or the most elaborate suit or dress her imagination could conjure. It was magic, and she—
“Hey,” Dylan said, suddenly beside her and beaming. Sweat dotted her brow, but her smile could’ve lit the entire room. All around them, things were being broken down, crew packing up. Ramona glanced at her watch and realized hours had passed while she stood in the hallway, daydreaming.
Because that’s all it really was…a daydream.
Wasn’t it?
“You’re done?” she asked Dylan.
Dylan nodded, still grinning. She took both of Ramona’s hands between them. “And I kicked ass and I want to go celebrate. You with me?”
Ramona felt that same sparkly sensation in her chest—because she wanted this too.
“Yeah,” she said, squeezing Dylan’s hands. “I’m with you.”
Dylan wouldn’t tell Ramona where they were going. After they left Clover Moon, she sent Ramona home with instructions to wear something comfortable, which for Ramona meant a pair of mauve overalls with a black tee underneath, cuffed over a pair of lavender Docs with flower-shaped buckles.
“At least give me a hint,” Ramona said after Dylan picked her up in her rental car. They drove out of town and hit I-93 North.
Dylan shook her head. She was dressed in light-wash jeans and a maroon tee with Lonely Only for You in white script across the chest. “You’ll love it. Is that enough of a hint?”
“I also love hot dogs with mayonnaise, so…not really.”
Dylan laughed. “Are you serious? Mayonnaise?”
“It’s delicious!” Ramona said. “Mix in a little ketchup too, some salt and pepper. A delicacy.”
Dylan shook her head but kept smiling. Ramona smiled too, glanced out the window. It was early evening, the sun just starting to spread gold over the summer trees, turning the green leaves a softer yellow. It was lovely, and Ramona felt a swell of excitement as they headed deeper into the country.
She hadn’t been on a date in so long. With the excitement of the set and Noelle, it hadn’t truly hit her until now that she was on a date at all. Not just a hookup with Logan, which usually featured a cold beer seconds before they tumbled into bed, but a real date.
With Dylan Monroe.
Ramona nearly laughed. It was absurd, really, that she, this small-town waitress, would be on a date with an honest-to-god celebrity.
Maybe slumming it a little will calm Jack and Carrie’s wildling down a bit…
The gossipy article’s words came back to her like a hand to her face, swiping the smile right off. She went quiet, focused on the scenery out the window. She wasn’t even sure where they were. She’d lived in New Hampshire all her life but, honestly, didn’t venture beyond Clover Lake very often, and if she did, it was south to Concord or Manchester for the bigger shops or the airport. She led a small life, and nothing made that more apparent than sitting next to Dylan Monroe.
“Almost there,” Dylan said softly, smiling at Ramona as she turned off the interstate, as though she could tell Ramona was a bit caught in her feelings.
“And there would be?” Ramona asked.
“Nice try.” Dylan turned onto a secluded state road, which they stayed on for about a mile before turning left at a wooden sign that read The Earthstars .
“What’s this?” Ramona asked, the dirt road bumping under the car’s tires.
“You’ll see.”
“Earthstars are actually a type of mushroom,” Ramona said.
“Is that so?” Dylan asked. The trees started to clear, and Ramona saw a flash of red up ahead.
“They’re one of my favorites,” she said. “Their name is really cool, but they also have this beautiful shape, like a flower and a starfish combined, and…they…”
But she trailed off as the trees completely cleared, revealing a red wooden building—more like a large cottage—nestled in the forest, green trees hugging the structure. A sign arched over the top of the teal front door.
The Earthstars Museum
“Wait…” Ramona said as Dylan pulled into a parking space. There were a few other cars in the gravel lot, and Ramona noticed there were tiny hand-painted mushrooms along the wooden railing that bordered the path to the door. “Is this…”
She looked at Dylan, who was watching her and smiling pretty damn smugly.
“Is this a mushroom museum?” Ramona asked.
Dylan’s smile widened. “I think it might be.”
Ramona glanced back at the building. “I didn’t even know this existed.”
“It just opened a few weeks ago. I found it on the internet during my lunch break today,” Dylan said, setting the car in park and unbuckling her seat belt. “You want to go inside?”
Ramona laughed, unbuckled her own belt. “Um, yes.”
Inside, it was cozy and cool, decorated in a cottage-core style, and Ramona couldn’t keep her jaw in place. Dylan paid for two tickets at a tiny glass booth, and the wide-eyed teenager working there handed Dylan a museum guide in the shape of the quintessential red-and-white fly agaric mushroom. She handed it to Ramona, who spent a good ten seconds marveling at the details on the glossy front cover.
“I think there’s even some information inside,” Dylan said.
Ramona laughed again. “Sorry, it’s just so pretty!”
Dylan’s shoulder pressed against hers. “So…you like it?”
Ramona locked onto those icy eyes, and her breath did something bubbly in her chest. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I love it.”
Dylan exhaled, a sweet smile on her lips. “Good.”
Ramona nodded. “Yeah. Good.”
She had to look away then, Dylan’s gaze too intense and her lungs too lighter-than-air to get a decent breath. Instead she took in the museum, which was two stories and all honey-colored wood, from the floors to the guardrails by the displays to the ceilings. This first level was mostly one large open room, and all around the perimeter were glass cases full of local flora and fauna and, of course, fungi.
Ramona opened the guide, searching for some of her favorites.
“Oh my god, they have a basket stinkhorn!” she said.
“They have a what?” Dylan asked.
“And a Cordyceps !”
“Okay, why don’t we—”
“Holy shit, a violet-toothed polypore.”
Dylan laughed, then Ramona felt her take one of her hands, twine their fingers together. Ramona’s breath caught, but she couldn’t seem to move her eyes away from the mushroom guide.
“Let’s walk,” Dylan said.
As Dylan started to lead her into the main room, she noticed the teen in the glass booth had their phone surreptitiously pointed in their direction.
“Dylan,” she said, but Dylan just kept moving, and so Ramona let herself be led inside the magical world of mushrooms. She still couldn’t believe this place existed, not an hour from her own house, and that Dylan had found it.
For her .
Ramona’s stomach had joined her chest in that bubbly feeling—Dylan had researched, remembered that Ramona loved mushrooms, and found something that was purely Ramona .
She couldn’t think of the last time someone did something like this for her. Truly just for her, because Ramona didn’t think Dylan was also obsessed with fungi.
Her throat felt impossibly thick all of a sudden, her fingers growing sweaty around Dylan’s. Still, Dylan held on, leading her to the first display and stopping.
“Tell me about this one,” she said.
Ramona focused on the mushroom behind the glass, a brilliant orange yellow growing from the trunk of a tree that the building itself seemed to be built around.
“Chicken of the woods,” Ramona said.
“Did you say chicken ?”
Ramona laughed. “Isn’t it cute?”
“It looks like a brain.”
“It’s edible! But don’t eat a bunch at first, because a lot of people have stomach issues with them.”
Dylan snort-laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
Ramona grinned. “Not appetizing?”
“Did you hear my brain comment?”
Ramona just shook her head as they wandered to the next display. There were several other people in the room, fellow mushroom enthusiasts, but Ramona also noticed they were paying a lot of attention to Dylan, a few phones out, whispering to one another.
“I think we have an audience,” Ramona said quietly.
Dylan lifted her brows, looked around the room. Then she waved at everyone, smiling beatifically. “It’s fine,” she said. “Part of the gig. Better to just acknowledge them once, then ignore them. What’s this one?” She motioned to the next mushroom, but Ramona felt uneasy, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling from the attention.
“Um,” she said, trying to focus on the mushroom, which wasn’t hard once she realized what it was. “Mauve parachutes.”
“You do realize you just said that in the same tone one might coo over a new puppy.”
Ramona nudged Dylan’s shoulder. “Just look at them. These are actually my very favorite mushroom.” She pressed closer to the glass, staring at the tiny, flowerlike fungi with the mauve-colored umbrella-like cap, delicately fanning over a thin, darker pink stalk. They grew on the forest floor, usually in bunches like a bouquet.
“They look so vulnerable,” Dylan said.
“They do,” Ramona said. “But they’re really tough. They shrivel up when it’s dry to wait for rain, then they open back up to life. They have marcescence.”
“Mushroom newb over here.”
Ramona grinned. “It’s a mycological term that indicates reviving ability.”
“So they basically die…and come back to life?”
“Sort of. And look.” She tapped on the glass. “They’re just so beautiful. Like flowers. They’re also called purple pinwheels. And nature just made that. It’s a miracle.”
She knew her mouth was hanging open, like she was watching an eclipse or some other rare phenomenon, but in a way she was. She sighed happily, ready to move on, but when she looked at Dylan, Dylan was looking right back at her, her own mouth open a little too.
“What?” Ramona asked.
Dylan just shook her head. “Nothing. Just…” She shrugged, then took Ramona’s hand again and ambled with her to the next display. She let Ramona prattle on and on, even seemed interested, and when they left two hours later and headed for a local fast-food restaurant that purportedly had the best seasoned fries on the East Coast—all researched and discovered by Dylan—Ramona felt like she was a kid who’d just visited her favorite theme park.
Or…maybe she was a small-town girl who’d just experienced the best date of her life.