Two sales and a single drawn-out sigh. Yet again, Rory was at a loss as to why the damnable T-shirts weren’t selling. Even at her most critical, she judged herself a good artist. She put a lot of work and love into what she did and yet, the products refused to move off the shelves.

If she was to have any chance of paying off the property bills, she needed sales and a lot of them. Rory carefully packaged the two T-shirts that had sold yesterday for shipping. She had more than fifty of these still in stock. At least a hundred more of many other designs lay in the basement too.

Lizzy had suggested putting up a stall by the beach and selling these for a discount, but Rory just didn’t have it in her. She wasn’t a hustler; never had been.

The whole idea was to sell the stuff on the internet, where people could judge her art in their own sweet time. So far it had barely worked. For the hundredth time, Rory redid the math. Same old numbers appeared in her head like unwanted old school friends at a ten-year reunion. Uncomfortable.

“I am starved,” Lizzy remarked as she finished filing her nails. It was close to midday and Rory had already been contemplating closing the bookshop for lunch. No walk-ins yet.

“Do you think this new color looks good? I hope Mickey likes it when I meet him.” Rory wasn’t sure if Lizzy really asked a question or if she was talking out loud to herself. It wasn’t a surprise to her that Lizzy had been talking nonstop about the band, especially Mickey. Lizzy considered getting Mickey’s number a serious achievement. She really did expect to go out with him again. Rory didn’t have it in her to tell her otherwise.

When she noticed Lizzy staring at her with an eyebrow raised, she realized that the question was indeed for her.

“It looks nice. Everything looks nice on you, hon.” She smiled gently. “Don’t worry about what Mickey or anyone else thinks. As long as you like it, it’s all good.”

“Yeah…” Lizzy paused in contemplation. “But I still hope he likes it. He’s so sweet and talented and oh my God…so hot!” She exclaimed. “My God! I still cannot believe it. Me and Mickey Nicks!” And Lizzy was off to fantasy land again. Rory saw no point in arguing.

“Why don’t you go home and grab some lunch. I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours or so. I’ve got some errands to run. ”

A couple of days passed since the eventful afternoon with the band. A couple of days since the love story of Lizzy and Mickey had begun, in Lizzy’s own head at least.

Rory was shy to admit to herself that she had been thinking about Arsen as well. She found it strange at first as she had never been attracted to celebrities like Arsen, but she figured that this was why rockstars were so popular and had hundreds of women lining up for them. They were charmers and knew how to make people fall for them.

She wondered if Arsen’s ankle was any better, whether he and Mickey had gotten into a big fight, and whether Arsen’s car was fixed yet. If nothing else, at least these thoughts had taken her mind off her sister’s wedding and all the stress that came with it.

While waiting at the shipping company’s office, she randomly decided to check out Mickey Nicks’s Instagram. She had been curious if he had put up any pics of her house. Rory had stopped checking her own Instagram long ago as she barely had any followers and all the pictures from the awesome lives of people she knew just got her down.

Mickey’s Instagram had tons of pictures taken in the last few days. He had put a picture of him in her grandmother’s living room with the caption Haunted House. He’d also put up a picture of the food they ate and claimed to have cooked it himself. Haunted house? Didn’t take much for her to be infuriated at this man.

Forget it, Rory, not your headache, she reminded herself. It’s not like I have to meet any of those guys ever again.

Rory took a deep breath and felt the fresh air enter her lungs. It had rained a little that morning and everything felt so clean. The roads, the trees, and even the air that surrounded her. Once done with the shipping, she leisurely cruised around in her station wagon with no hurry to get anywhere on time. On a whim, decided to visit Martha at the bakery. One can never have enough cupcakes in the house.

A smile came upon her face as she saw the old bakery sign that Martha had carried over to her new location. Childhood memories of cycling with her grandmother to fetch goodies from Martha’s bakery came rushing back into her mind. Grandma Colleen was strict and no matter how much Rory begged, she would not let her have sweet stuff. That was only reserved for Sundays.

You won’t find your Prince Charming if all your teeth fall out, she used to say. She’d then hand Rory the money and let her pay Martha, something Rory loved doing as it made her feel like an adult. Martha, for her part, would always sneak in an extra sweet bread or an eclair for Rory, knowing that Colleen was unlikely to hold out once the bubbly child started making cute faces.

Just as Rory was about to pull into the parking space, she thought she saw a familiar face across the road.

The board that said Mike the Mechanic with its familiar rust patterns stood high above the terrace of his shop. Right under that sign stood Arsen Ford, his right hand placed firmly on a walking stick. He wore tight dark-wash jeans that stretched over his body enticingly, and a tight black T-shirt. His hair fell over his face before he raked it over his head again.

It was a dilemma. Should I go say hi to him? No, that would be weird. But why? He was a guest in my house and it is only polite to say hello. Oh God, he’ll think I’m just a groupie or something. No, we’re friends… or are we?

A million thoughts raced through her head as she sat in her car wondering what to do. In the end, she decided to walk up to him on the pretext of asking about his ankle. Rory wished she had put on something better than just a pair of shorts and casual flats. Her loose white top was probably making her look bloated, and it was only at the last moment that she thought of loosening her hair that was tied up in a messy bun.

“Hey.”

Arsen turned around slowly as he heard her call out to him. A playful smile came onto his face.

“I know you,” he said.

“Oh, do you?” She decided to play along.

“Yes. Aren’t you the cat lady with fifty cats who chases around kids on the street with a broom?”

Rory laughed and hit him playfully on his arm. Arsen made a pretend hurt face.

“Hurting an injured man. Is this the kind of hospitality you people show to tourists around here?” He feigned shock but a grin remained plastered on his face. Rory found it hard to resist his infectious smile.

“What are you doing here?” Rory asked.

“Well, I am at a mechanic’s, so clearly I must be grocery shopping.” That smart-aleck smirk was back.

“Aren’t you the sarcastic one today?”

“Just today?” He winked and once again Rory smacked him playfully on the arm. Stop it, Rory!

“I decided to come take a look at the Ferrari and see how fast I could get it back. I have kinda grown attached to this car.”

“I’d think a celebrity like you would have an assistant do this for you,” Rory said.

“In LA maybe, but not here. I wanted to get out of that house and get some fresh air,” Arsen replied. Rory noticed the stress he put on “that house,” and it wasn’t hard to see that he wasn’t really enjoying his time in that luxurious villa, wherever that was.

From the corner of her eye, Rory noticed a flash. Across the street from them, a car stopped and a bunch of people started taking a tall woman’s pictures.

“What’s going on there?” she remarked absentmindedly.

For a split second, there was a look of apprehension on Arsen’s face as he shifted on his feet. Then he turned and laughed it off.

“Paparazzi. These guys really have nothing better to do.”

Rory felt foolish now. Of course, I should’ve figured it out. Paparazzi. Arsen, however, seemed distracted.

“Listen, Rory, I’m done here. Can we go someplace and get a cup of coffee?” he said as he put on some sunglasses and looked once again to where the tall, blonde woman was walking on the sidewalk. Rory thought she saw a hint of recognition in his eyes, but didn’t think it’d be polite to inquire.

Besides, Rory was taken aback by his invitation. She had merely come to say hi to him. Coffee, with Arsen? Say no! Say no right away.

“Actually…” she started, “I know just the place.” Goddammit, Rory!

“Great. Let's go.”

“Aren’t you worried about the paparazzi following you and taking your pictures with me around? Do you really want more rumors flying about you? ‘Rock god Arsen Ford Seen With Plain Jane Townie.’” Rory joked.

“I don’t live my life on their terms. They can click away all they want for all I care. And besides, you are no Plain Jane.” There was a flirty gleam in his eye that sent a flutter through her heart.

“Look who the cat dragged in!” Martha exclaimed as she saw Rory enter the bakery.

“Hey, Martha.” A smile instantly came upon Rory’s face as the old woman’s positive energy hit her.

Martha came out from behind the counter to hug her. While they said their hellos, Arsen stood awkwardly by the side, looking around at the charming cafe. He had tied up his hair and was trying to maintain a low profile. Rory wondered if the fare here would be up to his standards. But she didn’t care; she had to get her fix of Martha’s delicacies.

“Martha, this is my friend Arsen,” Rory said.

“Hello, Arsen. Looks like you got yourself in a mess there,” she said, pointing to his limping foot and the walking stick. Martha, nosy as always, Rory chuckled.

“Well… just a small accident. Nothing serious.”

“That’s good to hear. You kids are just in time. I just pulled out a new batch of pound cake and some hand pies. Wait, let me serve it to you while it’s hot.” With that Martha rushed back toward the kitchen.

“She seems quite a handful,” Arsen smirked.

“Don’t say that.” She stopped herself from hitting him on his arm just in time. “She is a very nice lady…. even if she is a bit nosy now and then.”

The cafe was nearly empty, with just one other couple sitting at a table, munching away. They grabbed a table for two right at the end, as Arsen did not want to be in the direct line of sight of any paparazzi that might be hovering outside.

“This place has the best stuff ever. My grandmother used to bring me here when I was a child and Martha here has practically known me my whole life. Wait till you taste the cupcakes.” Rory was excited at the prospect of sampling the goodies that were about to be served to her.

“I don’t like cupcakes,” Arsen laughed.

“How can anyone not like cupcakes?” Rory gasped.

“Because… they’re gross.” He wrinkled his nose in a mighty cute way.

“Cupcakes are gross?” Rory raised her eyebrows. “You are a weirdo.” She laughingly hit him on the arm.

“If you keep slapping my arm like this, I’m going to need a cast for that, too.” Arsen gestured, making Rory laugh only to notice Arsen’s piercing gaze focused on her face.

“You came here often with your grandma?” Arsen said as he looked at the menu.

“Ever since I was a child.” Rory smiled. “Back in the day this island wasn’t a travel destination. The streets were safer and everyone knew everyone. So Granny and I used to cycle together all the time. She was my tourist guide and would tell me stories about the people and the landmarks as we cruised slowly around.” Rory was lost in a different time.

“That sounds like a happy childhood.” Arsen smiled.

That’s because you haven’t met my parents, Rory wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Vacations here were the highlight of my childhood, yes. This bakery used to be at a different location, much closer to where I stay. I’ve spent hours running around on trails, playing silly games, and getting myself injured in the process,” Rory laughed.

“I bet you were a handful. I bet your grandma got sick of you,” Arsen teased.

“No way. She loved me,” she protested.

“Of course she wouldn’t tell you, but secretly she was annoyed,” he grinned at her.

“Excuse me, mister. Are you trying to say that I am an annoying person?” She raised a brow.

“Only sometimes,” Arsen winked.

Rory raised her hand again to hit him on the arm and then remembered what he had said.

“You, mister, you… you are a handful and some more,” she stuttered a little through her words. Handful and darn cute, Rory thought, as his deep dimples caught her attention again.

“If I wasn’t such a handful…and some more, then you probably wouldn’t be sitting here having coffee with me.” His eye gleamed as his hand reached out toward hers. It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it that made Rory’s insides tingle. She was thankful when Martha interrupted.

“Here you go, kids. Fresh from the oven.” She hurriedly put down some pound cake, a bunch of cupcakes, and some hand pies along with two cups of cappuccino. Then she pulled herself a chair from one of the nearby tables, much to Arsen’s surprise.

“How have you been, kiddo? Quite a storm the other day, eh?” Martha asked.

“Nothing unusual for us, right?” Rory replied politely, itching to dig into the cupcakes. Arsen meanwhile had already cut a piece of pound cake and was munching. How rude!

“I hardly see you around here anymore. I see more of that silly friend of yours than I see of you.” Martha started to complain but then stopped. “Look at me yapping while the food gets cold. Dig in, kiddo,” Martha said. Rory picked up a cupcake, wriggled her nose at Arsen, and took a big bite. To hell with eating like a lady.

“Arsen, how long have you lived here?” Martha inquired.

“I don’t live here, just visiting,” Arsen said while munching. So much for eating like a gentleman too, Rory mused.

“I see. For how long?” Martha asked.

“As long as fate intends.”

“But you must have a time period in mind?”

“Time is nothing but an illusion. Don’t you think?”

The coffee Rory was drinking almost snorted out of her nose as she chuckled at how easily Arsen was evading these invasive questions from Martha, something that she herself had always struggled to do.

“What do you do Arsen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a garbage contractor,” he said, without missing a beat. His eyes met Rory’s. Oh, that twinkle in his eye.

“That’s nice. You must make a nice living with that. Don’t you worry though that some of that garbage might get stuck in your long hair? I imagine short hair would be better for such a job?”

“Well I have people who work for me, but then I always tie a scarf around my head,” Arsen said convincingly.

“You better be washing that scarf daily,” Martha chuckled and nudged Rory. Being the homey kind, all Martha could think about was cooking, cleaning, and running things in the household or in the bakery.

“It gets tough. Especially during the rain. We can’t get the trash wet, you know, or it becomes a lot messier,” Arsen continued.

“I can imagine.” Martha was deep in thought; surely a picture of what Arsen was describing was forming in her head.

“We struggle with our garbage disposal here too. Often we have to throw out leftovers when heavy rain ruins sales. I tell you it's quite a chore,” she continued. “Maybe you have some ideas on how I can make the process easier?”

Arsen was taken aback for a moment, but he didn’t let it show. Rory chuckled, waiting to see how he would dig himself out of this hole.

“How about giving it to a homeless shelter?” he said. Rory was impressed with how quickly he came up with a reply. Martha nodded in agreement.

“Funny, I never thought of that before,” she wondered aloud. Rory’s eyes caught Arsen’s and a secret smile passed between them. Their very own secret joke. Soon enough, Martha was off, heading back into the kitchen to supervise something or the other.

“Garbage contractor?” Rory laughed. “But that was a good idea, to give food the homeless shelter. I didn’t know that a bad boy rockstar could be so charitable.”

“When you have seen real hunger, you realize the value of food,” Arsen said with his eyes glued to his coffee cup. Rory was sure that he was speaking from experience, and as much as she wanted to hear his life story, she decided not to prod any further.

“You have a lovely house. It just radiates a positive energy,” he suddenly said. Rory was surprised by his choice of words. That is exactly how she had always thought of her grandmother’s house.

“Thank you. I think so too.” She picked up a piece of cake but then put it back silently, the thought of attempting to fit into the bridesmaid’s dress coming back into her mind.

“It sounds great too,” Arsen said.

“Um?” Rory was confused.

“The house. It sounds great.”

“Sounds great? Do houses make any sound at all?” Rory laughed.

“I meant the acoustics,” Arsen smiled. “When I was playing the piano, the natural reverb of the room was making the instrument sound much better than it actually is. No offense,” he added.

“None taken. I was quite surprised myself about how good the piano sounded. The last time it was played, it didn’t sound anything like when you played it.” Rory got self-conscious as the compliment slipped out of her mouth, but Arsen was lost in his own thoughts.

“It sounded really warm… and rich,” Arsen said in a low voice, as if making a note to himself. Rory took another sip of her coffee.

“We came to this island to write new music. Don thought that if the band took a break from the LA scene then maybe we could focus on getting some work done. So far it’s been a disaster. Apart from the all night parties, we haven’t done anything in that villa that we are paying a fortune to rent.” Arsen looked her right in the eye as he told her this.

“Why? What’s wrong with that villa?”

“Nothing is wrong. It's gorgeous, luxurious, has a studio built in… but there is something missing. The vibe is just not right for the magic to happen. For music to be made,” he added in a wistful tone.

“I am sorry to hear that. I can’t say I know your pain, but in a small way maybe I can relate to it.” She tried to sympathize.

“I’ve barely touched an instrument since I’ve been in that villa. Neither have I wanted to. I was certain that I had carried my writer’s block over from LA, and at one point, I was a miserable enough to give up playing music altogether. But that day in your house, my hands just flew on the piano. Music just spilled out of me.”

Rory didn’t have to be reminded of that. Sounds of that afternoon were still fresh in her mind.

“I was completely lost in the sounds of that piano, like one can get lost in the sounds of rain on a summer evening. I was just overwhelmed with music inside of me and a hundred ideas rushed through. As if the life that had been sucked out of me was being replenished again. It was the magic that I had wanted to feel for so long. That magic makes me write songs. It compels something inside of me to wake up and make music.”

Lost in his own words, Arsen was longing for that creative inspiration. For themes, for the right sign, or the elusive muse. Rory was mesmerized by the passion for music that shined in his eyes. The energy of his voice, and the utter obsession he had with creating music.

“I’m happy you found your muse again.” She smiled at him.

“The muse is the house that the music was played in,” he replied, a slight smile showcasing his pearly whites.

“Meaning?” she asked. Arsen paused for a good minute and then spoke up.

“Rory, would you rent out your house to me?”