The faster my feet move, the harder I have to concentrate on making sure they return back to the ground, like I could just shoot right up into the sky with all this building momentum. There’s an ache running all the way down to my toes, just begging me to push myself off the ground and soar. Since this summer, my whole body’s biology has changed entirely and my head is having a hard time catching up. It’s like I went through puberty for the second time, but this time instead of boobs, I gained the ability to fly and enough trauma to last me through college at least.
“Hey, girl!” someone calls.
“Now is not the time for pickup lines!” I shout back.
The path ahead of me clears and I can see the source of the voice, the one person refusing to budge. They’re either the nicest person ever or looking for a reason to get run over. “Hey, girl!” they call again, and this time I can hear that they are definitely talking to Bumble and not me.
“Incoming!” I shout as my body collides with theirs, sending us both flying onto the dirt ground.
Bumble finally, mercifully stops, taking a moment to lick my head before greeting our guest.
I sit up. “Bumble, what got into you?”
The person sits up as Bumble collapses into their lap. “Bees,” they say before taking off their sunglasses and baseball cap. “She was being chased by bees.”
I look over my shoulder to see a small swarm of bees dispersing, people swatting them away.
The stranger who was kind enough to literally stop us in our tracks is small, but has a solid frame with tightly muscled arms and wears an effortlessly cool black T-shirt and slouchy jeans. Something about them is so familiar, like I’m having déjà vu.
I gasp. “Oh. My. God.” This is way more impossible than déjà vu.
“I know,” they say. “Poor thing.”
“You—you’re Dakota Ash. The Dakota Ash.” My chest is seizing. Is this a heart attack? Is this what it feels like?
Dakota stands, shaking the dust off her pants, and holds a hand out to help me up as the crowd around us begins to mill about again, the action mostly over.
I stare blankly at her hand for a moment too long before taking it.
She smiles as she puts her Ray-Bans on again and tugs her red baseball cap back over her short hair, which swoops all to one side, showing off her buzzed scalp on the other side. She’s only a year older than me, and somehow, she’s cooler and more confident than I can imagine myself ever being, let alone by this time next year. “Maybe don’t say that name so loud.”
“You’re Dakota Ash,” I whisper.
She grins, somehow charmed by how big of a fool I am in this moment.
But OH MY GOD DAKOTA ASH. THE DAKOTA ASH. STAR OF THE GROVE. I am silently screaming on the inside. I bite down on my lips to stop myself from saying anything I’ll regret. Matt is going to die. We both are. RIP us. We’ll be buried side by side. Our headstones will read: They died as they lived: consumed by fandom.
I say it again. “You’re Dakota Ash.”
“I know,” she says. “And who’s this sweet girl?”
I stand there in silence for a moment, begging my brain to compute. That is a question. Deep breath. Questions have answers. Deep breath. That is a question I can answer.
“I’m F-faith,” I stutter. “Oh wait. No. This is Bumble. She is very sweet. I mean, I can be too. But mostly Bumble is the sweet one. The sweet girl.”
Dakota holds her lips in a tight line, like she’s trying not to smile. She motions to my T-shirt. “And is she available for adoption?”
“She is! Bumble is looking for a lifelong companion who will take her on adventures with them like hiking and picnics. She’s playful, but the true way to her heart is through belly rubs and rawhide,” I say, reciting Bumble’s online bio. “She’s in perfect health and only suffers from a—”
“Bee allergy,” Dakota finishes. “I read about her online.” She squats down and Bumble immediately rolls over, baring her belly.
I can’t believe I’m talking to Dakota Ash about pet adoptions and that all these people are just walking around us like two pebbles in a stream. She read about Bumble online. How wild is that? And that she’s here! In Glenwood! Wait. I have so many questions. “Dakota,” I say. “Miss Ash?”
She pops back up. “Dakota. Please.”
I nod. “Dakota. I don’t mean to pry, and I promise not to, like, call the paparazzi or anything—not that we even have paparazzi in Glenwood—but what are you even doing here? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Glenwood is a pretty okay place, but there’s not much to see.”
Dakota glances over her shoulder before taking a step closer to me. “Can you keep a secret?”
3
Can I keep a secret? If she only knew!
I nod feverishly.
“We’re here in preproduction and scouting a few locations for external shots,” she says.
“Here? In Glenwood? You’ve got to be kidding.”
She chuckles. “That’s television. You go where the budget takes you, and the dollar always stretches a little further in places like . . . well, the Midwest, which is why we used to film just outside Chicago, but we yada yada tax law changes, so we’re giving Minnesota a shot.”
I take a huge gulp of fresh air. “I don’t mean to freak you out, but I’m a really big fan.”
Dakota nudges me with her elbow, like she’s about to clue me in on some inside joke, like we’re just two old friends, when Matt finally catches up, panting. “There you are,” he says. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
But then he freezes, his eyes widening like saucers. “Ho-ly. Shit. HOLYSHIT.”
My pupils bounce frantically as I try to communicate to him to keep his cool. This moment feels like a firefly—I’m lucky enough to catch it, but if I’m not careful, I could kill it. Trust me, I’m a serious fangirl, and containing my squee is no easy feat, but the last thing I want to do is scare Dakota away.
Dakota clears her throat and holds out a hand. “Holy shit is what my mom calls me. You can just call me Dakota.”
His jaw snaps shut and he takes her hand. “Right. Of course. Sorry, it’s just that you’re—”
Dakota drops down into a squat, nuzzling her head against Bumble’s. “Totally hoping that no one has claimed this sweetie,” she says.
Something in my stomach flutters. She likes dogs. And not just cute little dogs that conveniently fit in your purse. She likes big, bungling dogs who take up half your bed and whose drool leaves little puddles. Dogs who take up just as much of your house as they do of your heart.
“She is,” I say, finally remembering that I’m the authority on adoptable dogs here. “She’s totally available to a good home. One where she can be active.”
Dakota smirks. “Well, I did just rent a place. Nothing fancy. But there’s a big yard.”
“She’d love it,” I say.
Matt clears his throat. “Not to ruin the moment or anything, but I should probably get back to my booth, and I think Ches has her hands full back at yours.”
I deflate a bit.
“Maybe you could give me some info on Bumble here?” asks Dakota.