Page 65 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“You hacked the AV guy’s account?” I asked in a stunned whisper.
“I like to think of it as ‘borrowing information.’ Anyway, I annotated it myself. The production team’s got power cables running too close to the eastern path—total accessibility nightmare, by the way. And they didn’t factor in a proper emergency egress. But don’t worry, I fixed it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You got yourself on the payroll yet?”
“Working on it,” she deadpanned, clicking her pen.
I chuckled under my breath. “Appreciate you both showing up.”
“Of course,” Mitch said. “I mean, I have no idea what I’m doing, but always happy to help.”
From across the grass came Andy, wide-eyed, face full of wonder as he scanned the hive of activity, all for his son. He clapped me on the back. “Hey, big guy. Maggie said you need help. Figured I’d better pitch in, seeing as my boy’s the reason this circus is parked in the middle of our park.”
The mention of Dean hit me like a wrench to the ribs. The idea of having to tell Andy about me and Dean made my stomach flip. I forced a nod and tried not to let my face give anything away. “Glad you’re here, buddy.”
A moment later, Bo Harlow came striding across the grass with his usual too-much swagger, wearing his trucking aviators and a leather jacket. He jerked his chin at me in greeting.
“Heard you’re lookin’ for some extra muscle,” he said, cracking his knuckles like he was hoping I’d say the job involved breaking kneecaps.
“I’m looking for people who won’t scare the tourists,” I replied.
Bo grinned. “No promises.”
Behind Bo, Brooks wandered over at the cautious speed of a man who regretted every decision that had led him outdoors today. His trousers were already dusty from the walk across the park, and he looked personally offended by the existence of morning dew. Under one arm, he cradled a thick sci-fi novel—hardcover, naturally, the kind of book big enough to double as a weapon if things really went south. His other hand was shoved deep into the pocket of his cardigan, sleeves already pushed up like he’d prepared for battle but fully expected to die in the first wave.
“Maggie ambushed me,” he announced, his voice as flat as the expression on his face. “Cornered me right outside the bookstore. Told me I was ‘on the team’ now, not that she gave me much of a choice.”
He held up the clipboard she’d apparently forced on him, turning it slowly between his fingers like it might bite.
“Apparently, you need me to… I don’t know… hold this. Or something.”
“You’ll make it look good,” I told him.
Brooks sighed, long and theatrical. He tucked the book under his arm and gave the clipboard a grudging little shake, like he was testing its structural integrity. “I hate outside,” he muttered. “It’s where the bugs live.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team, champ.”
His only response was a glare.
Lastly, Madeline arrived, looking calm and prepared as always—neat ponytail, sensible shoes, cooler bag of sandwiches tucked under one arm like she was leading a field trip.
“Morning, Harry,” she said warmly, being nothing but her usual self. I knew she wasn’t about to telegraph last night’s news to the others. I trusted her.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “Oh, by the way, I just saw Maggie asking if she could play with one of the laser lights. I think we need to implement the buddy -system.”
“Good idea.”
I glanced around at the crew I’d managed to scrounge together. Mitch, rock steady. Ginny, small but terrifying. Andy, strong as ever, big heart to match. Bo, cocky but useful. Brooks, miserable but compliant. Madeline, calm and practical.
And Maggie—chaotic, clumsy, and way too enthusiastic.
God help me.
“All right,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get to work.”
DEAN
