19. Daphne

19

DAPHNE

"Are you sure you don't mind us using the farm as home base? Mrs. B said we were more than welcome to use the boarding house."

Aunt Rhonda tsked as she shook her head and dried her coffee cup. "Vera has more rules than an all-girls Catholic school. She wouldn't approve of men traipsing in and out at all hours."

"Men?" I questioned.

"You said you were having meetings for men to be on the show."

"We're holding auditions at Southern Comfort."

Aunt Rhonda's expression dropped.

"Is that why you said we could use the farm?" I asked.

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "Nothin' wrong with a front row view of eye candy."

My lips curled in a grin. Aunt Rhonda was brutally honest with no shame. Something I'd always appreciated and was told she'd inherited from Granny Moore.

"Do you want me to see if Ms. B would be okay with?—"

"No, no, no! You and your friends are more than welcome here."

A loud honking interrupted our chat. I hurried to the front room and looked out the large bay window in time to see dust flying off the wheels of a black SUV with tinted windows as it pulled to a stop.

"They're here!" I shouted to Aunt Rhonda, who was still in the kitchen.

Davina Lee was out of the car first. Her long, straight, jet-black hair fell to her waist and shimmered in the afternoon sun. The glossiness in her locks was Pantene-commercial worthy. She wore white slacks, a mint green shirt, and camel-colored ballet flats, giving her an air of effortless glamour.

Her style was an enigma to me. As a makeup and hair stylist, she dealt with foundation, blush, concealer, bronzer, and contour on a daily basis. All of which were items that, if it were part of my occupation, would end up on my clothes. But somehow, she never wrinkled or stained.

She was magic.

Next out was our segment producer, Lydia Hopps. Her shoulder-length brown hair curled at the ends, framing her sweetheart-shaped face. Today, she had on her ‘uniform' consisting of jeans, a shirt, and clogs. On someone else, it would have looked like she wasn't trying, but on her, it worked. Her gold jewelry and black-rimmed glasses elevated her casual look.

And the third musketeer was our Director of Photography, or D.P., Phil Reeves. Standing at six feet five inches tall, three hundred pounds, with a bald head and dark brown handlebar mustache, he was easy to spot in any crowd. He wore his signature flannel with a T-shirt, jeans, and Timberland boots.

The ‘crew' were people I'd worked with from my first day at Pulse . They'd all been with the network since its inception twenty-five years ago, and I felt honored that they'd let me into their clique.

I cringed as the trio walked up the steps. "Do you all hate me?"

The only member of the crew who liked to travel was Davina, but her love of adventure was limited to traveling abroad. She wasn't a huge fan of domestic travel. Phil hated to travel and had walked down the aisle just last month; his bride owned a chain of boutique lingerie shops in Southern California, so she couldn't just up and leave with him. And Lydia was a creature of habit who appreciated her home comforts.

"We know it was Alexandra," Lydia assured me as she pulled me into a quick hug.

Davina greeted me with her trademark European double kiss, then stepped back and scanned my face. "You look tired. Have you been sleeping? Drinking enough water?"

As a makeup artist, she was always the first to notice signs of exhaustion and dehydration.

"No and no," I admitted as Phil enveloped me in one of his famous bear hugs.

"I hope Mabel's not upset."

Before meeting Mabel, Phil had been a confirmed bachelor. At fifty-four, he was sure that he'd never marry. But like George Clooney, he met his Amal. The pair were the textbook definition of the odd couple. Of opposites attracting. Mabel stood five feet tall on a good day and was a hundred pounds soaking wet. Phil was a big ol' teddy bear. Their wedding cake topper was Belle and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast .

"She'll be fine. She knows I'll make it up to her when I get home."

I grinned and patted him on the back.

"Come in, come in!" Aunt Rhonda called out from the screen door. "Don't let out the bought air!"

Today was an unusually hot day in Firefly, and I convinced Aunt Rhonda to put on the air conditioning because I didn't like her coloring. She appeared pale and clammy. She tried to convince me that she was fine, but I told her that I had a migraine and asked if she wouldn't mind if we ran it, and she agreed.

I made introductions, and after supplying us all with sweet tea, not the kind served at the stand, the non-alcoholic variety, Aunt Rhonda excused herself to go have a lie down before work this evening.

We spent the next hour setting up the ‘war room' in the dining room, talking about what differences the show would have since the location was Firefly and not the city. We also covered what we were looking for in casting. We'd just finished finalizing the shooting schedule, pending permits, when Lydia got a text.

"Ernie's waiting for us downtown. He got us all tickets for the trolley, to location scout."

"Ernie's here?" I asked.

Ernesto Mendez was my favorite PA. He'd started on the show as an intern a couple of years ago. He was now a production assistant and one of my favorite people. He was the definition of not judging a book by the cover. He looked like a young Mario Lopez, complete with dimples and muscles. But unlike a lot of people his age, he wasn't obsessed with his phone or social media. In fact, I wasn't even sure he had a TikTok or Instagram account. He loved history, cooking, architecture, black-and-white films, jazz music, and his hobby was woodworking. He made all the crew oak memory boxes with beveled edges, and our names burned into the top as Christmas gifts last year. He was the definition of an old soul. I met his parents when they came to visit from Idaho, and they said that he was born an eighty-year-old man.

"Yep." Lydia stood. "Let's go."

After I ran up and checked on Aunt Rhonda, who was peacefully napping upstairs, we all piled into the SUV. Phil was in the driver's seat. Lydia was beside him in the passenger seat with her camera out, filming the town as we drove through it. Davina and I were in the back. We quickly found a parking space and spotted our PA. Ernie was waiting for us beside a white and red pole that had a Trolley Pickup sign on the top of it.

"This town is so quaint," Ernie observed as I pulled him into a hug.

Davina and Lydia both agreed with his assessment as a bell dinged and a trolley pulled up.

"Perfect timing," Lydia observed as we all climbed aboard with about twenty other passengers.

A man stood at the front of the trolley holding a PA mic. He was wearing a black conductor hat and bow tie, a white button-down shirt, and red suspenders.

"Hello, folks. Welcome to Firefly Island Trolley Tours. My name is Stewart, and it is my honor and privilege to be your guide today. First up, do we have any out-of-towners?"

Davina and Ernie both lifted their hands in the air, along with at least a dozen other passengers. Lydia, Phil, and I all kept our hands at our sides. None of us liked being the center of attention.

In the front row, there was an elderly couple from Toronto. Behind them were three rows of women who were part of a book club from Dallas. A family of six from Seattle was in front of us. Once everyone whose hands were in the air shared where they were from, the trolley pulled away from the curb, and Stewart began his spiel.

"Firefly Island is an idyllic small southern town with a breathtaking coastline and this charming trolley system, which served as the only island transportation for the first ten years. As we tour the town, you'll notice a web of picturesque canals and bike paths, enjoyed by locals and tourists alike. Firefly Island is also renowned for its deep-sea fishing and its beaches that light up nightly with lightning bugs. Today you will see our world-famous downtown area, which includes both historic and arts districts. Also along the tour is the tallest Ferris wheel in the East, located on Firefly Pier. But first up, I'm sure most of you are here for Abernathy Manor. This estate is regularly on "The Top Ten Most Haunted Places in The U.S." list and has been featured on several paranormal investigation and reality shows."

As the tour continued, I tried to pay attention to what Stewart was saying, but ever since he'd mentioned the lightning bugs on the beach, I couldn't stop thinking about my boat ride and what happened after the boat ride.

That night had been so special, so perfect, and if I had left yesterday, as planned, it would have always been those things. Now…now I didn't know what was going to happen. There was a very good chance that the memory of my ‘perfect night' was going to be tarnished.

Harlan had left so abruptly when I ran into him last night at Southern Comfort, and I hadn't seen him all day today. Well, except for when I spied on him from the upstairs bathroom window while he was running his classes this morning. But other than that, nothing.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting him to do…he didn't owe me anything. We weren't dating. He didn't even have my phone number. Still, I'd hoped that he might show up at my aunt's house or maybe get my number from someone and text me.

But then what? What if he had come over? I didn't want my aunt to know anything had happened between us. I didn't want anyone to know. When I went inside the bar last night, Zoe and Nadia gave me the third degree about what was going on between us. I told them nothing, because that was the truth.

Nothing was going on. Nothing could go on. We were practically strangers. We lived on opposite coasts. We wanted opposite things in life.

Those were the facts. My head knew that. My heart and hormones were not convinced.