To finish the scene, I found gold stars, glued them to string, and taped them to the wall above the window so they cascaded down above the display at differing lengths. Using the laptop, I printed quotes from the play onto white cards and propped them against the fairies.

A few hours later, I stepped outside in the pleasantly sunny May afternoon and took in the effect of what I’d created. It wouldn’t win awards—in fact it looked like six-year-old me had done it—but it was whimsical and made me smile.

I wondered if it would make Roane smile.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I snapped at myself.

•   •   •

As focused as I was on preparing the bookstore for opening (and trying to distract myself from invading thoughts of a certain farmer), I completely forgot to eat lunch. Deciding to dine at The Anchor, I left for the pub before seven o’clock. My belly rumbled furiously at me, and I felt a little light-headed.

Dressing for the evening had been tricky. I didn’t want to encourage flirtation from Roane, but I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear without thinking about how it would affect the farmer. I loved tailored shorts because I had long legs. Where most of my female friends complained of cellulite on their thighs, it didn’t plague me on that part of the body. My legs were slender but well formed and strong. As I neared my late twenties, the dreaded cellulite did appear, but it attached itself to the wings of my arms and my belly. A lady couldn’t win. However, she could choose to embrace the positives.

I mused over the decision to wear my favorite clothing item or stick with jeans.

Would Roane think I was showing off my legs for him?

Would the locals think I was a silly American who didn’t know how to dress for cooler weather?

Ludicrous. I lived in Chicago. I knew cold weather.

Finally deciding the whole purpose of this trip was to embrace the things I wanted and liked, I pulled on a pair of black tailored shorts, a plain green crew-neck T-shirt, which I tucked into them, a short black blazer with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a pair of slouchy green leather ankle boots with a low heel. I had a bruise on my left knee from today’s fall, but it wasn’t too bad once I applied a little concealer.

I released my dark hair from the ponytail I’d worn during the day and wore it in loose beachy waves so the caramel ombré highlights were noticeable.

Studying my image in the full-length mirror, I stuck my hands in my shorts pockets and bit my lip. I did not look like I was venturing out to a pub in Northumberland.

Yet I looked like me.

Snapping a mirror selfie, I sent the photo to Greer with the text message: