Chapter Seven
The Arrival of Scott & Carlisle
There was a knock on the studio door.
Allison Scott stood outside.
Flora’s best friend from grade school.
“IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!” Allison shouted, dropping her backpack and hugging Flora.
They hadn’t seen each other since Flora left for France. The week Flora got back, Allison was visiting her great aunt in Wisconsin. “A real thrill.”
Allison was tall—almost six feet—slender, and pale. She was a blonde-haired, green-eyed, poetry reading, fifth grade teacher, with an affinity for astronomy and the Revolutionary War.
She and Flora had become friends in the fourth grade while her parents were divorcing.
Allison never seemed to have enough food at lunch, so Flora started sharing.
A few weeks later, Mrs. Woodhouse noticed Flora had lost weight and panicked that she’d found one of her diet magazines, only to realize that Flora was sharing her lunch with a less fortunate classmate.
So, Clara started having the kitchen pack two lunches—one for Flora and one for her lost friend.
“Who are these people?” Clara exclaimed when Flora confessed her best friend Allison wasn’t getting lunch. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know. They are getting dihorsed so they forget to pack food.”
“Getting what?”
“Dihorsed,” Flora repeated.
“De-horsed? What’s that?” Clara asked.
“Her dad and mom don’t live together anymore.”
“Oh, I see! That’s divorced. With a V.”
“Her mom is a Pilates instructor, and her dad is a fireman.”
“Interesting…” Clara said, nodding. “I can see the problem already.”
Flora and Allison had been friends ever since. The trip to Paris was the longest they’d ever gone without seeing one another. Even in college they’d stayed close—Allison was in San Francisco and Flora in Berkeley. So, of course their reunion was full of a lot of talking.
“Oh my gosh, Flora. He’s so cute!”
Flora had set her photos of Paris, Alexandre, and Vogue on the table and Allison was sifting through them.
“I know…” Flora said, handing her an iced matcha.
Allison took a sip. “Ooo, that’s good—and you’re not talking to him?”
“No. He broke up with me because it was too painful and he didn’t want to get closer. I’m not sure I’m going back to Paris, you know? So it makes sense.”
“I guess… maybe he could come here?”
“Kinda doubt it. He belongs in Paris. I just don’t really know where I belong.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Allison sighed. “I just hope you don’t leave me here to teach fifth grade while you travel the world. I can’t believe all I did was visit my aunt on a cranberry farm and you were in Paris for nine months. Talk about unfair.”
“Enough about me,” Flora said, waving her hand dismissively. “Tell me your news. How was that date with that guy? Fred?”
“Awful…” Allison groaned. “He’d just broken up with a girlfriend of three years.
Talk about rebound. I told him he needed to process that emotionally before trying to start something!
He said he was ready but then proceeded to talk about his ex all throughout dinner.
By the end, I just paid for it and left.
I’m not sure he noticed I was gone. I’d bet he was still there talking to the walls about ‘Claire’ when I was at home in my pajamas. Men!”
“Oh my gosh, Allison! That’s awful!”
“No kidding. I think we should just become nuns—”
There was a slow clopping noise now.
Allison stopped talking and peered out the window of Flora’s room. She stared longer than Flora expected her to.
“Who is it?” Flora asked.
“Is—is that Finn? I haven’t really seen him since we were in high school. It’s been almost seven years, I’d say.”
Flora pushed the curtain back further. He was in the lane outside—which was currently more pink roses than it was a lane—leading his horse, Desolation Wilderness, back towards the stables. Deso was a gorgeous horse.
The estate was home to a rare collection of horses that people came from around the world to see.
Both Finn and Roman rode and were decorated riders, but Finn rode more often than his brother.
From what Flora knew, Finn liked animals—which had never made sense in light of the rest of his personality—and put a lot of effort into making sure his horses were well.
Right now, he was patting Deso in the lane, as sweaty and unkempt as Flora ever remembered seeing him.
She shrugged. “Yep. That’s Finn.”
“Woah…” Allison whispered.
He looked up briefly, likely feeling he was being watched, and obviously saw someone looking because he sort of squinted to see who it was.
Flora moved away from the window at the exact moment he looked, thinking about how she needed to develop the photos from yesterday before he dropped by and paid another visit.
She was rummaging through her camera bag when Allison turned abruptly.
“Can you re-introduce me to him?”
“What?” Flora looked at her, confused.
“I want to meet him.”
“Meet him? Why?”
“Have you seen him, Flora?”
“Allison, about one minute ago you said we both should be nuns.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Good grief. Well, I have to develop these photos for him. It should be done soon. You could pretend to be with me, and then I could arrange a meeting that way.”
“Oh my gosh, I owe you one,” Allison said, excitedly. “But then again, maybe I don’t?”
“What owed favor did I just cross off?”
“This one!”
Allison handed her a ticket.
Flora’s eyes grew huge. “Allison! Are these tickets to see Saint Ghost?”
Allison nodded, gleaming. “I thought about how we were just planning on hanging around here—which is always fine because I was seldom allowed to visit back in the day because we were too noisy. But I was online when they announced this show, and they were decently priced. They’re playing tonight in the Mission District!
We get to see the one and only Wilder Fairfax sing live. ”
“What?!” Flora jumped up and screamed. “This is so amazing! I have the perfect outfit for it too. Wow, you’re right. You don’t owe me anything. I’d trade Finn for Saint Ghost any time.”
Saint Ghost was a new band out of Los Angeles but their lead singer and guitarist, Wilder Fairfax, had quickly become one of their favorite rockstars.
Plus, Saint Ghost wasn’t just your prototypical pop-band with lame lyrics about being brokenhearted—they were genius rock and roll savants who could have been on stage with Jimi Hendrix and fit in.
Wilder Fairfax also had to be one of the cutest guys anyone had ever seen, so it was no hardship.
“Okay, so now that we have that all settled,” Allison said, cheeks pink with excitement.
“Let’s go say hello to Roman, deliver your get-well card, and then we can go hike for a bit before we get ready and head to San Francisco.
I’ll need approximately three hours to get ready. What if Wilder Fairfax notices me?”
“From the dark pit with thousands of other screaming fangirls?” Flora deadpanned.
“Don’t crush my dreams.”
The girls were out of the studio in about twenty minutes, chattering like monkeys about Saint Ghost and how if Wilder did notice either of them, they were set for life.
Though, the Wilder Fairfax conversation derailed as they approached Roman’s new residence—he’d been relocated to the cottage outside of the main house so nurses and doctors could go in and out without traipsing through the hallways.
Mrs. Woodhouse made it very clear that she did not want anyone scratching the new paint or bringing in “Mad Cow Disease or some such nuisance.”
They crossed the bridge over the small koi pond in front of the cottage. Flora knocked on the door, worried Finn or his mother might be inside. They weren’t, luckily. The same nurse who had seen her a few days ago looked at her handmade card and let her in, slightly unwillingly.
“Roman?” Flora asked, quietly.
Allison tiptoed in behind her, curious to see what was going on.
Roman was still on heavy pain medication. He cracked an eye open and gave her the goofiest smile possible.
“Hi, buddy,” Flora said softly, as if he was a wounded puppy. “How are you feeling?”
He sunk down into the sheets and grinned at her.
The nurse hovered nearby, clearly not sure if this was allowed.
“I made you a card,” Flora said, smiling. “I’m going to put it here for you whenever you feel well enough to read.”
“Flora?” he asked slowly, still grinning.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Flora was pleased he knew who she was, even with the heavy pain meds. This was remarkable considering just nine months prior he would have mistaken her for a gypsy goat herder.
“How do you fe—”
“Did the dry cleaners take your car?” he asked, face still goofy, but very concerned about her nonexistent car.
Flora snorted, unable to keep a straight face now. Allison’s attempts at holding back laughter failed and she let out a noise that sounded very similar to an elephant. Roman joined too—though he had no idea what was so funny.
They were shooed out moments later by the nurse, laughing even louder as they crossed over the bridge and began to repeat what he said.
The giggles traveled across the lawn.
Mrs. Woodhouse peered out her window to see where the racket was coming from. She was prepping for her dinner party and didn’t need any trouble.
She squinted. It was Flora and her blonde friend—she couldn’t remember her name—laughing their heads off about something.
Out of nowhere, she got a strange nervous feeling. Clara was convinced she was gifted with some sixth sense for when trouble was brewing. This was that feeling.
Finn emerged now from the trail, coming back from the stables, helmet under his arm.
He was walking on a mission, as always. The blonde girl saw him before Flora did and grabbed her, whispering fervently.
Flora merely laughed, pushed the other girl lightly, and waved her hand.
The conversation was clear even yards away and out of earshot.
Clara imagined it went something like:
“Oh my gosh, is that Finn Woodhouse?!”
“Huh?”
“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute! Oh my gosh. Wow! Can you introduce me to him?”