Page 33 of Beauty and the Beard

“Thank you. I’m happy that the message reached you.”

“How come you’re in our tiny town, Sasha?”

Violet folds the magazine carefully and presses it to her chest.

“Well… a vacation. You have a lovely town.”

“Would you ever come back here? Our drama club has open nights and it would be so cool if you could come.” Sparrow, a tiny waif of a thing, speaks in a voice larger than her body.

“I’m not into acting. I just pose for cameras.” I hold up my camera case. “I love photography, though.”

“Our teacher told us drama class isn’t always about learning a part in a play. It’s finding out your strengths and what you’re capable of. It’s overcoming fears.”

Sparrow’s eyes speak to something beyond those words, and I find myself nodding.

“Your teacher is right. If I come back, I’ll think about it. I do like it here.”

“There’s only one high school. The information is on theFacebookpage. It’s easy to find if you change your mind. We meet during the summer, without a teacher. Some of us need it.”

Mitchell looks away after that comment and my heart aches for whatever he’s going through.

“I’ll do that. I need to get going. It was so nice to meet you all.”

“Wait!” Sparrow pulls out her phone. “Can we get a few photos?”

Squishing all together, she snaps a few selfies and I leave them to sort through all the photos we took. With only twenty minutes until Pete returns, I change course and head to the drugstore photo booth again.

After eating dinner in the lodge, I head back to my cabin alone. Leaf was busy being host, but he smiled and waved as he tended to his guests. Not wanting to interrupt his flow, I left quietly, completely stuffed with Millie’s lasagna.

After slipping into a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, I light the citronella candle on the porch and make myself comfortable on the porch swing. The moon is bright tonight, but I have a book light and with a fuzzy blanket tucked over me, I let the swing sway as I turn the pages of another romance book.

I’m not sure how I started reading these kinds of books. Perhaps it was when I was looking for proof that relationships could be full of tenderness and real love. Or most likely, thecover was something to catch my eye. My read tonight is titledThe Cockpit, and the dreamy silver fox of a man on the front had me reach for my wallet without even reading what it was about.

More than once, my hand wiped away the wetness on my cheeks while reading about the thoughtful gestures by each of the characters. Do men like this actually exist? Could Leaf surprise me with love letters if I went away with the promise to return?

The night grows late, and it’s after midnight when I place my bookmark and stare out at the calm lake. Most of the lodgers get up at the crack of dawn for fishing trips or hiking excursions. It’s quiet because they all went to bed hours ago and I wish so badly for Leaf to appear again. If I knew where the entrance to his suite was, I’d go knock on his door and hand deliver the next card and photo I printed for him right now.

Rising with my book and blanket, I blow out the candle and pause when I hear footsteps drawing closer.

And there he is.

“Is it too late to come in?”

Leaf stands in the shadows off the porch and the sound of his voice wraps around me like a hug I so desperately want.

“No.” I breathe. “I was just heading in myself.”

When he steps closer, my gaze drops to his hands, and he puffs an awkward breath.

“I wanted to bring you flowers, but I couldn’t get away to go into town in time to do it. Then I wanted to bring you some of your favourite potato chips, but we were out.” He steps closer and thrusts his hand forward. “So I picked some daisies from the field across the road, and I hope you like them.”

The flowers shake in his grasp as he waits for my response. Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I step towards him.

“Thank you.” I take the four spindly stocks with their missing petals and blotchy yellow centers and let the wetness freely spill down my cheeks.

“They’re perfect, Leaf. Really.”

“Don’t cry, Sasha.” Large thumbs wipe my cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I don’t want to see you cry.”

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