Page 3 of The Cul-de-Sac War

“I need to find my costume designer,” she said. “And I have about, oh, two minutes to get back onstage.”

“So, tons o’ time.”

“Loads,” she said, her eyes flashing back at his with a smile.

“Well,” he said, resting his arms on the railing as he scanned the empty parking lot. “I’d venture a guess she isn’t out here. But if you’re looking for a quick fix, I have something in my truck that might do the trick. It’s across the street, but I could be back in forty-five seconds.”

She paused, her foot hovering over the third step down.

Glanced down the brick wall leading to the front of the theatre, which was growing farther away by the second.

Turned back to him.

He gave her another smile. The kind of companionable smile that said, Hey, let’s go on an adventure. The kind the first kid gave the other kids when he convinced them to jump off a bridge, and they did.

Her gaze followed his across the street, past the sixteen-foot bronze A Midsummer Night’s Dream fountain, up the stairs, to the unseen truck in the other parking lot a football-field length away. She pressed her lips together.

The clock was ticking. She knew Evie may or may not still be at the gift shop. Even if she was, how long would it take for her to work her magic?

She looked back to Chip. “You really think you can fix it?”

He shrugged. “Fix a dress with zero seamstress skills in forty-five seconds? Sure. Who couldn’t?”

Bree raised her brow at his confidence. Part of her knew it would be better to push on toward Evie, but a bigger part of her wanted to see him try. “Make it forty?”

A spark lit in his eyes, as though she didn’t realize exactly who she had just challenged.

And that was how thirty-six seconds later, the mysterious man in a fine gray suit was racing across traffic while Bree stood at the top of the metal platform, shouting numbers across Main Street.

“Thirty-seven!” Bree cried, and two shoppers turned to see who was making the commotion.

The man’s tie flapped over his shoulder as he reached the bottom of the stairs, grabbed both sides of the railing, and heaved himself up three at a time.

“Thirty-eight!” Bree’s voice rose higher.

Chip leaped up four stairs. His toe clung to the edge of a step, and he wobbled. He balanced and jumped another three.

“Thirty-nine!” Bree called, bouncing on her leather slippers as she watched him now halfway up the staircase.

She hesitated, just a hundredth of a millisecond, before opening her mouth for the last number.

As Bree drew a breath to call out, the man reared back and lobbed the camo-green duct tape in the air.

“Forty!” Bree cried as the duct tape bounced, rolled, and landed on her slipper.

The man collapsed onto the steps five feet below her, sprawled out, his chest heaving.

She laughed, several beads pinging on the platform as if in amusement. The two shoppers smiled slightly at the two bizarre strangers and moved along.

She nudged the duct tape onto its side and hooked it with her toe.

“You know, I didn’t think you had a chance against that minivan.”

“Never underestimate a competitive person.” His head popped up, and before she knew it, he was standing on the step below her, eyes shining. He picked up the duct tape. “Especially a bored competitive person.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve made myself clear.” Bree pressed the fern firmly against her chest with one hand and put out the other. “I’m Bree Leake, extremely competitive person, turns explosive when bored.”

He took her hand with an easy grin, held it for a moment longer than expected. The crinkles along his smiling temples grew deeper, then he blinked and they were gone. “So,” he said, letting go and holding up the duct tape. “Shall I?”