Page 27 of Beauty and the Beard

I’ve deleted a few emails and was about to delete the ones from Moe’s friends, but Roman’s question stops me. Scrolling, I find one from Moe himself. When I read the email, my hands curl into tight balls, fingernails biting into my skin.

Sasha:I just read it. Can he do that?

Roman:I’ll ask my lawyer. You just enjoy the away time and don’t feel guilty, okay? You’re not letting him bring you down farther.

Moe is a bastard of the highest order. He wants to sue me for breaking my contract last year when I broke my arm. Even though he fired me and broke the partnership himself, I was stupid and have no physical proof. He claims I didn’t show up for work and cost him several hundred thousand dollars in lost revenue. He threatens me with this after I found a bank statement that clearly shows he’s been stealing from me for years.

At first I was worried he’d blacken my name in the fashion world and no one would want to hire me. But it was the opposite. Once he was no longer my agent, more offers were made to me. Moe didn’t like that he had no control over me anymore. He was afraid I’d talk. And I did. He stole more than just money from me. When I confessed to a friend in law enforcement about what Moe had done, she had me in front of a lawyer, spilling my guts.

He abused me and my trust for too long. I was willing to walk away and forget, but he crossed a line that I was afraid to speak to anyone about. Sex with a minor is frowned upon, especially when he was supposed to be my guardian.

Sasha:I’ll try to. Leaf will be busy this week, so I’m not sure how much of him I’ll see. But there’s a bookstore across the street and I’m going there next. I’ll enjoy my time here. It’s a beautiful town.

Roman:I should probably get out of bed, too. Keep in touch. I already miss you!

After signing off with Roman, I get the young man’s attention at the cash.

“Is there a place that prints photos here? From a memory card?”

“Yeah! The pharmacy on the next block over has a machine near the greeting card section. I’ve used it a few times, decent quality.”

“And where is the best place for groceries?”

The young man holds up a finger and disappears briefly in the back room. When he returns, he holds a map and a booklet.

“I’ve been meaning to get a little holder for these. I often get people here asking the same questions.” He flips open the map and circles the places I’m asking about. “You won’t get lost. And if you need a place to drop some bags off while you wait for Pete to return, I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Oh! Thank you! That would be wonderful.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Sasha by the way.”

He grins and takes my hand in a sure grip. “I’m Caleb. This is my shop. Well, my dad and I own it together. He’s the one that made the brownies.”

“You’ve been so helpful, Caleb. Thank you.”

Stepping out into the late morning sun, I walk the path Caleb highlighted to reach the pharmacy first. A small bridge spans the river that snakes through town and I pause at the side, staring down the lush green slopes of the river banks. It’s just as serene here as it is at the lodge.

I’m about to keep walking when a family of ducks swims out from under the bridge and I can’t wipe the sappy smile off my face at the fuzzy ducklings. It reminds me of a park my mom used to take me to. We’d feed the ducks our bread crusts, even though we weren’t supposed to. I even petted them a few times. When I was older and learned bread wasn’t good for them, itbroke my heart, but at the time it was one of the happiest things we did.

Once they’ve swum out of sight, I keep walking. The beautiful street is lined with flower boxes and hanging planters from every light post. Storefronts are old stone or brick with old-fashioned wooden signage. It’s quaint and warm, like a quilt someone’s grandma made.

The pharmacy surprises me. There’s nothing sterile about the place. The door jingles when I step inside. A faint odour of lemonPinesolstill lingers from last night’s cleaning and a country music station plays softly. The card row is easy to spot and there at the end is the photo kiosk.

“Can I help you with anything?”

An older gentleman with greyish hair and a kind smile pokes his head out from behind a one-way mirror.

“Oh! You scared me.” I laugh. “I’m just here to print some photos.”

He smiles and nods. “Not many people print them anymore. It’s all digital this, cloud that. Nothing beats seeing that photo in a frame or in your wallet, though.”

Unable to help myself, I nod and agree.

“Exactly! Sure a photo fades, but pinning that photo of your crush to your pillow? You can’t do that with a phone.”

He cocks his head with a chuckle. “You don’t look old enough to talk about pinning photos to pillow cases, son.”

Dipping my head, the heat flooding my neck, I nod.

“My mom always said I had an old soul.” Clearing my throat, I gesture to the machine. “I’ll just get started then.”

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