was how thirty-six seconds later, the mysterious man in a fine gray suit was racing across traffic while Bree stood at the top of the metal platform, shouting numbers across Main Street.
“Thirty-seven!” Bree cried, and two shoppers turned to see who was making the commotion.
The man’s tie flapped over his shoulder as he reached the bottom of the stairs, grabbed both sides of the railing, and heaved himself up three at a time.
“Thirty-eight!” Bree’s voice rose higher.
Chip leaped up four stairs. His toe clung to the edge of a step, and he wobbled. He balanced and jumped another three.
“Thirty-nine!” Bree called, bouncing on her leather slippers as she watched him now halfway up the staircase.
She hesitated, just a hundredth of a millisecond, before opening her mouth for the last number.
As Bree drew a breath to call out, the man reared back and lobbed the camo-green duct tape in the air.
“Forty!” Bree cried as the duct tape bounced, rolled, and landed on her slipper.
The man collapsed onto the steps five feet below her, sprawled out, his chest heaving.
She laughed, several beads pinging on the platform as if in amusement. The two shoppers smiled slightly at the two bizarre strangers and moved along.
She nudged the duct tape onto its side and hooked it with her toe.
“You know, I didn’t think you had a chance against that minivan.”
“Never underestimate a competitive person.” His head popped up, and before she knew it, he was standing on the step below her, eyes shining. He picked up the duct tape. “Especially a bored competitive person.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve made myself clear.” Bree pressed the fern firmly against her chest with one hand and put out the other. “I’m Bree Leake, extremely competitive person, turns explosive when bored.”
He took her hand with an easy grin, held it for a moment longer than expected. The crinkles along his smiling temples grew deeper, then he blinked and they were gone. “So,” he said, letting go and holding up the duct tape. “Shall I?”
She turned to face the door, feeling her cheeks warm as he stood behind her.
She heard a ripping sound as he tore off half an arm’s length of duct tape. She looked over her shoulder and saw him kneeling on the platform, folding the strip of duct tape inside itself. He reached into his back pocket, unsnapped a pocketknife, and looked up. “Now, how much do you care about this costume?”
She was alone, on a back-lot staircase, with a stranger wielding a knife. She didn’t want the moment to end. Her survival instincts were nonexistent.
Sixty-two seconds later, Bree held still in her camo duct tape–strapped dress as the man stood behind her, close enough that she could smell the aftershave on his neck. But something else was there too. More natural, more subtle. Authentic scents of cool pine, of the Appalachian Mountains in the distance.
She felt his breath release on her shoulder as he slipped his pocketknife into his back pocket and stepped around to face her on the small platform.
“All done,” he said with a satisfied grin.
She smiled back. Her voice was not her own as she heard herself say, “Thank you.”
Titania’s lines echoed down the hall.
“Well, I’ve gotta—” Her words faltered. She tipped her chin toward the stage. Half of her body wanted to stay. The bizarre suggestion swept in and out of her thoughts. I don’t need this job that much. What if we just left it all and went for ice cream? A high-school track? An equally insignificant and isolated stairwell?
She wasn’t sure, but she sensed he felt it too. Their scene closing. The time for their bizarre meeting, their sudden moment, to come to an end.
And the reluctance. At least for her. She dared a quick, deeper glance to his eyes, searching for some clue.
“Good luck.” He smiled. Then set the duct tape in her hand. “In case you need some backup.”
She held it up. The moment had passed. It was time to move on.
She put on an overbright smile as she pulled the door open. “Thanks.”
Twenty seconds later, she floated onstage to deliver her important line.
She stopped beside Birdie—in this moment, Cobweb—fellow fairy and closest friend in the six months since she’d moved to Abingdon, Virginia.
She dipped her head toward Titania.
Met her gaze.
Opened her mouth.
Sensed the hushed auditorium.
Took a breath.
“And I.”
Done.
She stepped back, the brave line given its due in the spotlight.
While the scene continued, Bree couldn’t help scanning the shadowy audience