Pam, Barb, and Cheri appeared from the other side of the stage, carrying bundles of fabric that would soon be the costumes for the actors and feigning grumbling about how overworked they are. Pam lifted a hand to her forehead and threw her head back. “I have also been working my hands to the bone. If only someone would offer me a break.”
“Or some snacks,” Cheri added with a mischievous cackle. “A truly benevolent director would provide us with finger sandwiches and doughnuts.”
“Too bad you don’t have a benevolent director!” Tasha yelled. “You’ve just got me.” Her smile was wide, and Stella could see the Baldwin family resemblance.
Stella laughed and turned to Sam, voice low. “A break? I kind of assumed I’d be done for the day.”
“I know. She’s a tyrant,” Sam said at full volume, his smile widening to a grin when Tasha began to protest.
“You better watch yourself, or you’re off my crew, Sam Warren.”
“Is that so? Well, if you know another handyman who will build you a trolley for free, then give him a call.”
There was a long pause before Tasha responded. “Have I told you how much we appreciate you recently, Sam? Because, boy oh boy, do we love and appreciate you. You do great work. Feel free to take a break, as well. You’ve earned it.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sam chuckled while the three women once again erupted in faux anger from off stage. Sam turned to Stella. “Would you like to take a break with me? Don’t tell anyone, but I packed myself a picnic lunch, and I have more than enough to share.”
As if on cue, Stella’s stomach growled. She’d been so focused on painting that she didn’t have time to remember she never had a proper lunch. And as good as Vivienne’s almond croissant had been, it was not filling all on its own.
“Should I take that as a yes?” Sam asked, eyeing her stomach.
Stella elbowed him. “Yes, but only if you promise not to be ornery.”
Sam stood back and extended an arm to usher Stella toward the back door of the theater. “I make no such promises.”
8
Sam wasn’t kidding when he said he had enough lunch to share. His picnic could feed half the cast and crew. He’d packed a footlong sandwich loaded with slices of ham and turkey, provolone cheese, and enough veggies to satisfy both of their daily required servings of fruits and veggies. Plus, he also had a bag of washed red grapes and two chocolate chip cookies.
“Were you really going to eat all of this by yourself?”
“This is what I eat every day for lunch.” When Stella’s mouth fell open, Sam laughed and pulled out paper plates and napkins, handing one of each to Stella. “No, I actually thought I’d try to get Tasha to sit down long enough to eat with me. It’s been a while since she and I had a sit-down talk, and I wanted to see how she is doing.”
“Oh, well I can find my own lunch if you had plans. I don’t want to intrude on—”
“You’re not intruding on a thing,” Sam said, patting Stella’s hand gently before going back to divvying up the food. “You saw her in there today. Did that look like a woman who was going to slow down to eat? I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t eat a bite until dinner. She’d probably skip dinner, too, if Georgia didn’t force her to eat with the family.”
Sam said he’d never been married or had children, but Stella couldn’t help but notice that he talked about the Baldwins as though they were his family. And based on the little bit of interacting she had seen between them all at the Duke Saloon last night, they were comfortable enough around each other to seem like they were more than neighbors.
Drew had said Sam was friends with his dad before he left the family, so what did that mean for Sam and Georgia’s relationship now? Was he still friends with Georgia? Or was it something more? Georgia did say she had a new man in her life, and though Stella had no right to feel any sort of way about it, the thought that that man could be Sam made her lose her appetite.
Sam had forgotten a knife, so he ripped the sandwich in half, and Stella took the smaller of the two pieces, which was still more than she would ever be able to finish. Then, Sam dumped a pile of grapes on her plate, handed her a cookie, and pulled out a glass bottle of water with condensation dripping down the side.
“This is clean, I promise,” he said, filling a paper cup for each of them. “I hate plastic water bottles. The water is the same stuff running through my pipes at home, but more expensive, so I just take this around with me. It does the trick.”
Stella thanked him for the lunch, and they ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the stretch of green space behind the theater. Without realizing it, Stella had actually painted a scene much like this one on the backdrop inside. There were bundles of red and orange flowers growing around a bench and at the base of a gazebo across the grass, and honeybees were buzzing around them, doing their work.
“So, you’re close with the Baldwins?” Stella asked. The question felt clunky after such a long stretch of silence, but Sam handled it seamlessly, wiping his forearm across his mouth to clear away sandwich crumbs.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve been a friend of the family for a long time.” He hesitated, as though weighing whether he should say something or not. “They’ve gone through a hard time recently, so I’ve tried to be there for them.”
“Georgia told me her husband left them unexpectedly.”
“Georgia isn’t shy about sharing the details, but it isn’t my story to
