of the world. Have you considered, perhaps, the touch of a sunset?”
“A sunset?” Mr. Richardson’s brow furrowed for a solid minute as he stared up at the ceiling.
“Yes. Perhaps a changing sunset?”
Mr. Richardson pursed his lips.
Finally, uneasily, Chip said, “Or perhaps—”
“A sunset,” Mr. Richardson repeated. “The movement of dawn to dusk.” He dropped his head and stared at Chip. “The changing of the stars. An Appalachian sky.”
“Well,” Chip began.
“And the murals across the walls would represent the changing of the seasons, the local life of the town.” He dropped his head. His voice fell to a whisper as he looked into Chip’s eyes. “But do you think it’s possible?”
Chip recognized that look. It was the look all his clients had when they thought something they wanted was within reach. And all they wanted was to hear their dream was possible.
Chip gave his most confident smile. The smile that nine times out of ten solved whatever problem was standing in his way. “Absolutely. I think that is a terrific idea.”
And frankly, it was. It really was.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Richardson repeated, as though hearing the words but not yet registering them. His eyes shifted to the stage, where cast members were gathering. “Absolutely.”
Suddenly Mr. Richardson swept up Chip’s hand in a hearty grasp and started pumping. “And of course, with a ceiling like that we’d have to change the color of the seating—”
“The seating?” Chip’s smile dimmed.
“And the carpet, and the walls, the lobby, and . . . We’ll have to start from scratch!” He let go of Chip’s hand and started moving backward. “Mr. McBride, thank you! I’ve got to get on this directly!”
“You’re doing what?”
“Jotting these notes down! Calling the architect!” He nearly tripped on one of the seats as he backpedaled up the aisle.
“But—”
“You will be in attendance for the bid meeting on the twenty-fifth, won’t you?” He was already at the back row. “You think you can make it?”
Chip’s smile melted. “The bid meeting?”
“Yes. The bid for the renovation,” Mr. Richardson replied, barely pausing at the door. “You’ll make it, I hope?”
Chip tried his best to hide his disappointment.
The man wasn’t going to offer him the job.
The man was still going to make him sit around a table with the other top businessmen of the area—and perhaps beyond—forcing him to compete against the best in the industry.
Against his father and family.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Chip replied, forcing himself to sound at ease.
“An Appalachian sky!” Mr. Richardson shouted this time, then pushed the door open.
Chip stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, then turned at the sound of voices on the stage.
“No, it’s flap-heel-toe-heel, flap-heel-toe-heel, and then Maxie Ford.”
Chip lifted his chin as he saw Bree and Birdie, the other girl who had frequented her porch the past week for practice and went over for the weekly card game at Mrs. Lewis’s.
They both strode across stage in full fairy regalia.
For a moment it jolted him, seeing her dressed like the first time they’d met. Like she was a completely different person. Like she had transformed back into that fun, spontaneous girl walking light on her toes without a care in the world. The first version of Bree.
“Yes, but I thought that was after the leap-toe-heel—”
Bree halted.
He caught her eyes and her face shifted into a scowl. An impressive transformation.
As her face was crumpling, his brightened. A genuine smile crossed his face as an idea, fully formed, popped into his head. An idea so delicious Bree would never see it coming.
* * *
Three solid hours later, the curtains rose for the final applause. As the crowd stood and cheered, Chip watched Bree come in on the fairy train behind the queen and take her place on the stage beside Birdie and the rest of the cast.
Chip waited as Bree, with green-glimmering cheeks and eyes, clasped hands with everyone and took a bow.
She scanned the room, looking for her family.
And her eyes stopped on him.
He wished he could capture the look on her face as she spotted her stepfather and mother, clapping and standing next to Chip. He held up the sign just below his chin.
GUESS WHO’S COMING TO FAMILY DINNER?
* * *
“Oh, Chip sweetie, you don’t have to wait here. I don’t know why she’s taking so long.”
Chip and Bree’s parents had stood in the theater’s foyer for forty-five minutes, making small talk while waiting for Bree to appear. Forty-five minutes was all it took to upgrade him from “Chip” to “Chip sweetie.” He could only wait to