Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Spencer
“Hold still so your head doesn’t fall off.” For the tenth time, I slather the parrot’s head with glue and then press the beak against it.
“Do you think it will work this time?” Benji stares up at me, his big blue eyes hopeful.
I’m not sure why Carter thought it would be a great idea to let all the kids choose their favorite animal to dress up as for the Valentine’s Day play.
This whole thing has been chaos from the jump. He wrote the play around the kids’ chosen characters, which changed daily—because they’re kids. Last night was the dress rehearsal, which was basically improvised pandemonium, even when they managed to stay somewhat on script.
He needs a new school secretary since the last one got married and moved to Boston. She helped him organize his harebrained ideas. He is losing his mind running the school without help.
“It will work this time.”
My phone dings. I ignore it. The last time I answered it was some kind of prank. I bet Peggy and the ladies are drinking again. They love to mess with me.
There’s a tug on my arm, and Benji’s beak clatters to the ground.
I choke back the curse that wants to fly out of my mouth.
“Mr. Spencer, the cupid isn’t here yet.” The tugger is Chloe. She is in second grade with Benji. She is missing her front teeth, and she’s wearing a rainbow shirt with a sparkly purple mermaid-fin-shaped skirt.
Cupid is James, the first grade teacher. We needed someone to actually represent the holiday.
“He’ll be here.” I pick up the beak and slather more paste on it. This thing is going to stick if I have to coat the whole damn kid in glue.
“Actually, he won’t be here.” An adult voice this time, Carter. The school principal and the reason I’m here wrangling small children instead of where I should be, holed up in front of a fire at home.
I’ve known Carter since I was eight and he was five and we lived next door to each other.
He used to beg me for my pudding cup every day.
His lunches were always full of gourmet wraps, sushi, or spiced meats and cheese imported from Europe.
He has those same pleading dark brown eyes now, just a couple decades older.
“What do you want, Carter?”
He props his shoulder against the wall. “You may have noticed, there’s a giant storm happening outside.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
He adjusts his glasses, a sure sign he’s gonna ask me for a favor. “And James is stuck out on his parents’ ranch.”
I sigh. “And?”
“And . . . you’re the only one who will fit in his costume.”
“Absolutely not.” I’ve seen the costume. I’ve mocked James for the costume. I’m not wearing that costume. “It’s a sheet and some wings. You’ll fit in it. Anyone will fit into it.” There must be another way. “What about Tom?”
“Tom’s sick. That’s why I called you to help me with prep.”
I release the beak and it stays put. Finally. I point at Benji. “Do not move for five minutes and don’t let anyone run into you.” I turn to Carter. “I don’t even know the lines.”
“The role is a lawyer, so it should be a piece of cake for you. We have the lines printed and taped to a notebook you can hold while you’re being all legal-like.”
Benji pats my leg. “We need you, Mr. Spencer. The play won’t work without Cupid. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re our only hope.”
Dammit. How do I say no to that?
“Fine.” I point at Carter. “You owe me. Where’s my sheet? Do I at least get a bow and arrow?”
Under the glare of the stage lights, a youthful Santa with a slightly askew white beard bangs a gavel against a wood table. “How does the defendant plead?” she asks.
The defendant is a pink rabbit.
The plaintiff is a shark.
I’m sweating in the flesh colored unitard underneath a sheet-turned-toga that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
At least I managed to convince them to ixnay the diaper.
Why does Cupid wear a diaper anyway? It’s weird.
A baby being the arbiter of love when he can’t even control his bowels? Makes zero sense.
I am choosing to ignore the fact that the unitard under my sheet is covered in red hearts and kiss marks.
We’ve been through a variety of scenes that don’t really have any cohesion or plot, and, thankfully, I wasn’t in all of them. But I’ve been taking turns playing director and child herder behind the scenes when Carter had to be on for his scenes as an eagle.
I adjust my sheet and shift the bow and arrow over my shoulder. “Not guilty, Your Honor.” I cross the stage and hand Santa some blank papers. “Here is the proof that Little Bunny Foo Foo is innocent and did not bump the,” I check my notes, “lobster on the head.”
The lobster stands, one claw thrusting in the air. “He didn’t bump me, he tried to boil me!”
The audience laughs.
Benji the parrot enters stage left, waving around a lightsaber. “The lobster pancakes are mine!”
Okay, wait a minute. How did we get here? Is this in the script? I surreptitiously skim the upcoming lines on my notepad. Oh, thank god, it’s nearly over.
The Santa judge pulls out a Captain America shield from under her desk. “Unhand that crustacean!”
Chaos erupts on stage.
I crane my neck to the shadows backstage. Where the hell is Carter?
He rushes out in the center of the melee, attempting to break apart some of the more energetic battles. Eventually, he turns to the audience. “And they all lived happily ever after,” he shouts over the noise.
The curtain swings closed.
Finally.
I extract a rabbit and a pirate who are battling with fake swords. “Come on, everyone. Time to get your things and find your parents.”
I make my way backstage, herding the kids in the general direction of the dressing room.
The lobster flies past me, red limbs flailing, scrabbling down the stairs.
Carter is at the door of the dressing room, and he slaps my shoulder as I pass. “Thanks, man, you’re the best.”
“I know.”
“Your phone’s been buzzing away.” He motions over to the cubby where I left it with my clothes.
I pick it up. There are five missed calls from Jerry. He lives down the street from me, behind the inn. I hope everything is okay.
I call him back, but it rings a few times and then goes to voicemail.
“New girlfriend?” Carter tugs the costumed head off a tiny elephant.
“So many new girlfriends, it’s hard to keep track.”
It’s a running joke between us. Surrender is a small town. Between the two of us, we’ve basically established that we need to move if we ever want to date again. All the women in town are either old enough to be our mothers, we’ve known them since we were six, or they are only here for a season.
“It was Jerry calling.”
“He probably wants you to start shoveling his snow.”
Chloe pats my arm. “Mr. Spencer, will you help me with my boots? My mom is waiting for me outside.”
I crouch down to help Chloe, patting her blond head when we’re done before she scampers back through the door in the main backstage area where parents are appearing to collect their children.
“Excuse me. Coming through. I gotta find Spencer, you seen him? Hey, you seen Spence?” Jerry’s loud voice booms, even over the deafening noise only a few dozen children can create.
Carter steps out of the way as Jerry enters the room, tugging someone behind him.
The loud hum of voices simmers down to a dull roar. My ears ring.
Every cell in my body comes to attention, zeroing in on the someone he’s dragging along with him.
Her blond hair is unbound and damp, flowing a bit wildly around her face. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. Her eyes lock with mine, bright blue and sharp, despite the gray smudges underneath.
Holy shit.
It’s her.
She’s here.
Vivien Hart.
Heat rises, filling my face. My heart makes a sudden and valiant attempt to bounce its way out of my chest.
Carter is talking to Jerry, saying something, but I don’t register the words.
That wasn’t drunken geriatrics calling and saying ebullient fart, that was Vivien Hart. My stomach drops.
I wasn’t sure if she would show up after we sent notification of her inheritance. She disappeared from the public eye years ago, at least according to what people say online.
Not that I stalk her online or anything, but I did look her up after Beverly died. It was my job. But she’s Vivien Hart. She’s famous. Someone like her would send an assistant or a lawyer or a manager or something.
I have to play it cool. I have to play it professional. She’s my client. I have to pretend I didn’t accuse her of saying ebullient fart and then hang up on her.
I drag my eyes away to check the room behind her. Only familiar kids and a few parents. All locals, people I recognize. There is no one with her, except Jerry. She came to Surrender alone?
My gaze shoots back to her.
She’s frowning at my costume.
Of course. I meet Vivien Hart, the Vivien Hart, for the first time, and I’m dressed in a unitard covered in hearts and kisses like toddler pajamas.
She’s even more gorgeous in person. Even though she’s frowning, and she has handcuffs on.
Wait. Handcuffs?