“I was thinking of hopping in my car and hitting the open road, but some incompetent mechanic still has my car, so I’m free as a bird.”
Sam shook his head and began another slow clap. “Wow. The jokes keep coming.”
“I’m here all night, ladies and gents,” Stella said, laughing and bowing deeply to her audience of one. The only audience she cared about.
Tasha put Stella to work soon afterward, ending her comedy routine.
“I don’t know how long you’ll be here, so we have to do as much as we can,” she said, handing Stella a list of sets she could paint along with light sketches she’d done of possible backdrops. “Feel free to use these as a guide or make up something else. I trust your vision.”
It felt like a large amount of trust given how short a time they’d known one another, but Stella was determined not to let Tasha down. Maybe she’d even have to drive back for the performance so she could see it. Willow Beach was only a few hours away from home. She could drive down for a weekend to see the play. To see Sam.
The thought filled Stella with a flurry of questions, and she threw herself into her work to avoid coming up with answers.
The rest of the cast swirled around her, running through rehearsals with the cast members who didn’t have to be at work on a Monday, blocking out scenes, and getting fitted for costumes, but Stella barely noticed any of them. She’d forgotten how much she could get lost in a painting. The way it could turn her mind off.
As a single mom, the opportunities to turn her mind off were few and far between. She was always needed. Or, at least, she needed to be prepared to be needed. Right now, though, she could focus all of her energy on the task at hand.
Sam had already built the wooden porch protrusion for one half of the set. It was attached to the background and had been painted white by other stagehands, but the house still needed to be painted. Stella opted for bright yellow shingles with white trim around the fake window. She painted signs of wear and tear around the wooden frame and outfitted the railings with dings and scratches to make the house look lived in. They were small details, but it would help sell the scene to an audience.
When she was finished, Stella moved to the other side of the set, painting a blue Victorian-style house. She painted forget-me-nots and daisies and unplucked weeds in the flower beds and put brown patches in the grass lawn between the two houses. She added trees with circles of shade on the grass, and she couldn’t help but remember her first date with Sam. Their picnic in the grass had been unplanned and awkward, but she remembered it fondly. The memory had taken on a shiny quality in her mind, as did all of her memories involving Sam.
Even the constant delays with her car felt romanticized, the way rain the day of an outdoor party becomes funny years later. Except, Stella thought it was charming now, in the moment. It had brought her to Sam and Georgia and Tasha and Melanie and Drew. Even Vivienne, Pam, Barb, and Cheri. Alma and Gwen.
The list of people Stella had come to care for or believed she could come to care for had grown significantly in only a few days. It dwarfed the list of friends she had back home.
She wished she could stay.
A low whistle from behind her made Stella spin around. Drew was standing there, hands on his hips, admiring her artwork.
“Tasha and Melanie were right. You’re very talented,” Drew said. “I offered my services, but Tasha saw all of the art projects I brought home from school over the years and declined.”
Stella laughed. “I bet your mom loved them. I still have all of Jace’s artwork in a box downstairs.”
“It is artwork only a mother could love.” Despite his admission that Tasha didn’t want his help, Drew grabbed a paintbrush and began drawing individual blades of grass along the edge of the house, following the pattern Stella had started. It was a difficult job to mess up, so Stella didn’t stop him.
“Are you in the play, too?”
“Oh no.” Drew shook his head, looking horrified. “I do not have the acting gene. That’s all Tasha. She recruited me to do lights. Ashley is helping with costumes, though. She bragged once about making all of her own Halloween costumes over the year, and Tasha never misses an opportunity to exploit someone’s talents for her own gain.”
Stella laughed. “Some people would call that being a good leader.”
“I guess I wouldn’t know. I’m not much good at being a leader or being led. I’m hardheaded that way.” Drew didn’t speak bitterly. He made the comment with a sense of happy self-awareness.
Stella, however, knew that people didn’t always see themselves clearly. She had a feeling Drew was one of those people. “I can’t speak from experience, but I know someone who thinks the world of you. He seems to think you can do anything you set your mind to.”
Usually, she’d be hesitant to tell someone else’s secrets—even if they were positive secrets—but Stella knew Sam wouldn’t mind. He clearly loved the Baldwin kids.
Drew smiled to himself. “Uncle Sam doesn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. He’s special that way. Kind to a fault.”
“He’s honest though,” Stella said. “He wouldn’t say something if it wasn’t true.”
Drew lowered his paintbrush and turned towards Stella, brow raised. “I’d ask how you feel confident enough to speak to Sam’s character, but I already know the answer.”
“Oh?”
“Sam has had many good words to say about you.” Drew’s mouth quirked up in a smirk, and his eyebrows wagged. Stella
