Page 32 of Bittersweet

Liam mumbles something about getting over to the table he’s selling from and lopes off.

“Sorry about him.” The line for street corn moves, and Alana and I are almost at the window to order.

“It’s okay.” But I see the flicker in her eyes of her guard going up. “I’m going to go enjoy these and watch some fishermen. Have a good day, you two.”

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” I call out, not caring who hears me.

“Okay.” Cassandra smiles shyly.

For a woman who commands a lot of the country’s attention, whether she wants it or not, I find it refreshing that she hasn’t changed much from the kind girl I used to know.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble.” Alana giggles as we step up, one away from ordering.

“What?” My voice holds so much guilt, but it’s not like I’m going to come out and talk about my sex life with my sister.

“When the whole family finds out you’ve been boinking Cassandra Mauer, I want to be there.” She rubs her hands together.

“Stop it.” I roll my eyes but don’t tell her she’s hit the nail on the head.

“Wait, you two really are doing the horizontal hula?” Her mouth is practically on the pavement. “I was just hazarding a guess. The sexual tension rolling off you two was enough to light a fire in the river.”

“Why must you use the most annoying euphemisms?” Finally, we’re called up to the window, and place our orders, then wait to the side to collect them.

“So you’re really fucking Cassandra Mauer?” she whispers.

“We’re not … Jesus, I donotwant to talk about this withyou,” I hiss. “But if you need some confirmation, yes, we’ve been spending time together. Or I’d like to be spending more with her.”

“Dad is going to kill you.” Alana’s eyes shift to where my parents sit.

“Dad needs to get over his Butch blood lust. Cassandra is a completely different person than her father, and it’s not up to Dad who I see.”

My sister raises an eyebrow. “Come on now, we both know that last part isn’t true. We’re a close-knit family for a reason. He might be dead wrong about her, but you’re really going to start something up with someone Dad will never approve of?”

Her words hit home and are way too harsh in the middle of a daytime festival about catching gross-tasting fish and eating out of food trucks.

But it doesn’t mean she’s wrong.

15

CASSANDRA

The following afternoon, I head to the playhouse to meet with Wilson and talk about a workshop he’s thinking about putting together.

Walking back into the building that houses the theater makes me giddy because it’s been such a long time since I’ve acted or worked with other actors. Truly loving what I do and what I’ve made a career out of has never been the problem; once I’m on set and dialed in, I absolutely adore my job. It’s all the other bullshit that I can’t stand.

So, to be sitting on a stage with scripts in my hand, talking about marking and timing and what Wilson is looking for with the children playing these roles … I’m getting even more excited than I was.

In the back of my mind, I’m also thinking about how signing on for this workshop, even though I insisted he pay me nothing, means that Hope Crest is a more permanent layover than I’d originally thought. Actually, the more time I spend in this town, the less I want to leave. Even with its obvious gossipers and the people who despised my father, there is something comfortable about resting my feet here, so to speak.

Working at the playhouse means I’ll be here longer because Wilson let me know it’s about an eight-week commitment. With the house coming along, I only need to contact a real estate agent to start the listing process. Then offers and the closing will hopefully follow shortly thereafter. And then I’m floating again, without a tether or a purpose.

So maybe I’ll wait to list the house, at least until this workshop is over. With the improvements I’ve made, it’s actually livable, and the animals give me some sort of companionship. Even though I haven’t heard shit from the cops about my break-in because I’m assuming they’re not looking any further into it, I feel less shaken up than I did. It was probably two idiot teens who won’t pull that crap again.

With the new locks, the security system I had installed, and the arsenal of pepper spray and knives I now keep stashed in various places, I feel better. I also feel more secure knowing Patrick is right over the hill and would come running if I called.

“You look stunning.” Wilson looks me up and down as I walk into the theater.

He’s sitting on the stage with piles of papers around him. Today he has on black cargo pants paired with a fire engine red blouse. He looks so pop-punk cool that I suddenly want to ask him to be my concert buddy.

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