Chapter 19 KELSEY’S DREAM IN FOUR-PART HARMONY
Chapter 19
K ELSEY ’ S D REAM IN F OUR -P ART H ARMONY
I notice Zachery giving me space as the hot young man from Durango and I simultaneously try the dill-flavored popcorn.
“Oh!” I cover my mouth with my hand. “It’s really salty!”
He crunches his. “Mine’s not. Maybe they’re inconsistent with the flavoring.” He holds the packet. “Try again?”
My mouth is flooded with salt and dill. I sputter and cough. “No, I think I need something to drink!”
“There’s a soda fountain a little way down.”
And just like that, we’re walking side by side through the fair.
“I’m Simon,” he says. “I think the popcorn is a bust.” He chucks the bag into a bin as we pass.
“I’m Kelsey. And you couldn’t have known I was going to get a salt assault.” My mouth is starting to calm down.
He laughs. “Salt assault. Are all the women from Alabama as clever as you?”
I preen at the compliment, swishing my skirt as I walk. This is going way better than Pitchfork Lodge.
EXT. PICKLE FESTIVAL—DAY
KELSEY, 25, in a sunny yellow dress complete with bow, walks along a row of food booths with her new beau, SIMON, 25.
They are clearly hitting it off, laughing at the sights as they plan the rest of their evening together.
They arrive at a green-and-white malt shop tent where THREE WORKERS, all in fake mustaches, work a soda machine and several blenders.
It’s happening!
Simon points to the hand-lettered sign over the counter. “They have milkshakes, Italian ices, and root beer floats.”
“Ooooh. I want one of everything.”
He laughs. “Anything the lady desires.”
We order a chocolate milkshake, a raspberry Italian ice, and a root beer float, each with two straws. Small round tables with stools are scattered in the grass near the tent, so we choose one.
“Which first?” Simon asks. “Are you strategic and make sure you go from least sweet to more, or weakest flavor to strongest?”
I pull all three tall paper cups near me and arrange them so my straws are together. “I like to live dangerously.” I sip from all three at once.
If flavor could be a cacophony, this would be it. I pull back. “Whoa. That was a lot!”
“Now I have to try it.” He gathers his three straws. His face contorts as he takes in a drink. “No, no, no.”
“I guess we’re even then,” I tell him. “Your salt assault and my too-sweet treat.”
“So we are.”
Our eyes meet over the cups. A gentle breeze lifts the edges of his sandy hair. His eyes are hazel.
Dang. This works. The whole thing works! Meet-cute. Banter. Classic romantic date with an old-fashioned feel.
I feel a tug, like this is how adult dating is supposed to be. Not the awkward teen melodrama. Or the look-at-me-I’m-important Hollywood version.
It’s nice.
“Where are you staying?” Simon asks.
“Here in Dillville.” Simon seems like a dream, but I know better than to point out that my B and B is across the street.
“We drove down for the evening.”
“Is Durango far?”
“Just over an hour. Practically nothing in Colorado time.”
I almost quip that this might get you five miles in LA traffic, but remember I’m not from California on this trip. Small town all the way.
Zachery walks along the line of booths, still at a good distance. I recognize his stance, his energy, even in his hat and shades. A young woman leans over her counter, holding up a ball for him to knock over pins. She’s into him.
I suppress my flash of annoyance and focus on Simon. “I grew up on a dairy farm that was miles from anything. I understand Colorado time.”
“I bet you do.”
We settle on me drinking the milkshake, and Simon tackling the root beer float. The Italian ice is good, but doesn’t fit. I’m amused that he indulged me.
“Was the popcorn the worst thing you’ve had here?” Simon asks.
“So far. But there’s a booth with chocolate-covered pickles that might give that popcorn a run for its money.”
He scrunches his nose in the cutest way possible. “I think I might skip that one.”
“Same.”
We sip our drinks, watching the people go by.
“You ever make up stories about strangers to pass the time?” he asks.
“Do I?” I can’t believe he’s asked this. “All the time!”
He leans in. “What about that elderly woman there? She looks fit to be tied with the man buying pickle lemonade from her.”
I glance at the stand. “Oh, I bet they were in love in high school.”
“But he ended up dating her older sister,” Simon adds.
“And when they broke up, she thought she would finally get her chance.”
“But he up and married a girl from another town!”
We both erupt into laughter.
“You’re good,” I tell him. And I mean it.
“So are you.”
We grin foolishly at each other. I sip my milkshake and realize when it makes a slurping sound that I’m done.
“The quartet is about to sing,” he says. “You want to go listen?”
“You bet I do!” We drop our cups into the trash and head toward the stage. We pass Zachery at his booth, but he doesn’t turn to look at us.
Simon waits until we’ve passed to say, “Looks like someone is trying to tempt your brother away from his girlfriend.”
“Figures.” I decide not to elaborate, as I don’t want to perpetuate the story that he’s my brother. This is going to bite me in the butt later.
I did not think this through. Zachery’s words from our rom-com watch party come back to haunt me: You really want to start a lifelong commitment on a lie?
I have to fix this. “Hey, by the way, Zach and I call each other sis and bro, but we’re not technically brother and sister. He watches out for me, you know, like a brother.”
“Okay. That’s cool.”
My relief is intense. I’ve fixed my mistake. I won’t do anything like that again.
And maybe, if this goes well, I won’t have to.
We arrive at the stage. A smattering of people sit on the risers to wait. We take a spot at the end of a row.
“Folks, we’ll get started in a moment,” one of the men says, clearly the baritone based on his voice.
Simon props a foot on the bench in front of us, and I realize I haven’t assessed his outfit. It didn’t even occur to me.
This is good. Maybe I’m already starting to shed my LA ways.
But the back of my head does the calculation. Old Navy shirt, $25. Levi’s 501 jeans, $55. Vans, $60. He’s going to spend more on food and drinks today than he did his clothes.
Stop it, Kelsey. Just stop. Be Alabama. Not California. Your dress was $25 at a Target in Birmingham circa 2018.
You can take the girl out of Hollywood, but it’s sure hard to take the Hollywood out of the girl.
Even so, I’m determined.
The shortest man of the four, somewhere in his midfifties, steps up. Instead of talking, he sings the words, “Are you ready?” His voice is higher than I expected as he holds out the last syllable.
More people come forward to sit down.
The second man arrives and adds his lower voice to the first. “Are you ready?”
Then the third walks to his mike, his sound even lower. “Are you ready?”
The last man is heavyset, his green vest stretching over a mint-striped shirt. His voice is incredibly low, and when he adds his deep “Are you ready?” the crowd starts to cheer.
They launch straight into a quick-tempo rendition of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”
Simon looks over at me with a huge smile, and we join in as the audience starts to sway in their seats. The voices resonate deep in my chest.
I feel happy.
It’s about time.