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O
ren was behind the bar, playing the stereotypical part of an old Irish pub owner very well. He was a big man with short dark hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks—though I knew the rosy cheeks weren't from alcohol, but from the hard work of running a bar. He didn't drink, never had according to Chester.

He wasn't an overly friendly man, always a little suspicious and cranky, but he was mostly well liked throughout town. His sons, Brian and Timothy, had been a challenge, both of them choosing paths that had landed them in prison a time or two. I wasn't sure, but I thought one was still residing there.

“I see a table close to the bar. Will that be okay?” I said above the noise.

“Sure, fine,” Seth said as he smiled and was bumped by a waitress balancing a pitcher on her tray.

We threaded our way through the crowd, and as we approached the table, another man was on his way to it from the other direction. He noticed there were two of us, most likely on a date, and bowed out of the race. Seth and I thanked him as he smiled and moved on.

“That was helpful,” Seth said. “I'll buy him a drink.”

At least that's what I thought he said; I couldn't hear him very well.

We were at one of the five tables that were close to the bar. These tables were set up a little higher than the rest and were separated from the others by a thick brass railing. The other tables were all regular sized and just as packed with patrons as our higher-up ones were.

“What can I get for you?” the waitress said. She was petite and had perfected her “bar voice” so that we could hear her easily.

Seth nodded at me.

“Garlic burger, loaded, fries, and a diet Coke,” I said.

“I'll have the same, but make mine a real Coke. She's driving,” he joked.

The waitress wasn't amused, but I thought the bad joke was kind of cute. I chuckled.

“I'm not much of a drinker,” I said when she'd left.

“Me either, though if I knew you better, I might get a beer. Maybe next time,” Seth said.

I glanced over at Oren O'Malley, but he wasn't doing much of anything interesting as he simply tended bar.

The waitress was back only a moment later with our drinks.

“Here you go. Coke and Diet Coke. I'll have my eyes on you two. If you get out of hand, I'll take those car keys,” she said without a smile.

“Thanks, we appreciate that.” Seth grinned.

“I have a question for you.” I leaned over the table toward her. “What have Oren's sons been up to?”

She blinked at me and said, “Who wants to know?'

“My grandfather owns a store on Bygone. He knows Oren, and I was just inquiring for him.”

“I expect they're fine.”

“Is either of them still in prison?”

“Oren doesn't pass out their addresses to the staff,” she said.

“I see.”

“I'll be back with your burgers,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Seth looked at the man behind the bar and said, “Is that Oren?”

“Yes.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why are you curious about his sons? Don't get me wrong, I'm not the jealous type, and since you mentioned prison, I'm not sensing any competition.”

“No, no competition. It's a long story and one that seems silly to share here and now. It's all about a typewriter though.”

“Oh, how mysterious,” Seth said.

“Sorry. Tell me what you're doing as our new town geologist.”

Before the burgers arrived, Seth managed to tell me about his contribution to some mine reclamations. The mines had long ago been emptied of their resources, and the plan was to make them more like they used to be before their local ecosystems had been destroyed and the land had been dug through. It was clear he loved what he did, and I was impressed, asking if he might show me a site or two one day. He said he would—and soon, if I was up for it.

When the burgers arrived, I couldn't help myself and asked the waitress one more question.

“Didn't the O'Malleys used to own an appliance store? I think it was even located here, where the bar is,” I said.

“I've never known this place to be anything but what it is,” she said before she walked away again. I watched her go directly to Oren. It was obvious that she told him I'd been asking odd questions.

But they weren't all that odd really, were they? If we'd sat at the bar, I would have asked the same things directly to Oren.

“Let me guess,” Seth said. “You're looking for a typewriter that was sold in the appliance store.”

“Sort of, but not really,” I said, but I was distracted by watching Oren and the waitress watching us—well, me. They didn't seem to have any interest in Seth.

I waved it away and tried to ignore Oren for the rest of the evening. It wasn't easy. Every time I looked his direction, he was looking at me.

“I'm sorry. I'm not being the best date, am I?” I finally said.

“It's fine. I'm intrigued. I'd like to help, but I'm not sure how.”

From there, the date went from distracted to almost impossible. We were bumped into, sloshed upon, and elbowed more than a few times. The volume of the crowd became unbearable, and once we were done eating, I was sure we both had heartburn and ringing ears, and Seth was as ready to leave as I was.

“I'm sorry about that,” I said when we finally escaped the bar. “I should have picked a better place.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll research and find a quiet place for the next one.”

“The next one? I doubt I would want to go out with me again after that.”

“You'd be wrong,” Seth said. “Hey, I'm parked in front of your store, but I'd love to give you a ride home.”

“Actually, I live right at the top of this street. Bygone Alley is halfway between where we are right now and my house. If you're up for it, we can walk up and then you can go halfway back down to get your car. It would give me a little more time to prove I'm not a completely horrible date.”

“I like that idea.” He seemed momentarily perplexed before he smiled again, but I didn't ask about the confusion.

We walked slowly up the hill, passing restaurants; gift shops; a drug store; another smaller, even more unappealing bar; a coffee shop; and a stained-glass-window store (I always thought it belonged on Bygone Alley, but it had been on Main Street for years). We also passed one of the main theaters
used during the Star City Film Festival, which had turned into a huge international yearly festival for independent filmmakers. Star City residents mostly loved and looked forward to the festival. It certainly brought a lot of business and Hollywood stardom to the area, but it also brought lots more people, and though Hollywood types were interesting, like any other large group, there were always some less desirable visitors.

If I were to have rated my date behavior, I probably would have given myself a four, at tops a five out of ten. I hadn't been as attentive as I should have been, and the location I'd picked had been a total fail. As we sauntered up the street and I gave a mini Star City tour, I couldn't quite figure out how to bring my rating up. It was probably beyond salvage, so I was surprised that when we reached the top of the hill and my small blue chalet, Seth actually confirmed that he'd like to see me again soon.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know, it was so difficult to hear each other that we didn't have to deal with trying to fill awkward silences.”

I laughed. “That's true.”

Of course there was no avoiding the awkward moment of good-bye, but Seth did something unexpected that made my heart speed up a beat or two.

He held out his hand to shake. I laughed a little and reciprocated. But when he had my hand in his, he gently tugged me forward and kissed me on the cheek. At the moment—in fact, throughout the entire miserable date—he'd been really adorable, albeit in kind of a nerdy endearing
way. The kiss moved him up from adorable to super-almost-irresistible adorable.

I had to fight the girly urge to put my fingers over the spot on my cheek that he'd kissed.

When he turned to walk back down the hill, I forgot all about the misery at O'Malley's, and only looked forward to seeing Seth again, hopefully very soon.

M
y house had been in my family since Chester first moved to Star City. Though he and my grandmother had never lived in the little blue chalet at the top of the hill, they'd been the first ones to purchase it. They thought it would make a great rental property—what visiting skier in their right mind wouldn't want to stay in the small blue house that was high enough on the hill to have a view of the Star City valley below and the mountains beyond? And not only were the views and the access to all the town's amenities great selling points, but so was the access to the slopes. There was a ski-in-ski-out point up two houses and around a small curve.

Once my father had been old enough to have a place of his own, he'd become the chalet's renter. He and my mom had lived there though Jimmy's birth but needed more space
when I came along, so we moved into a house in the valley, close to all the schools. A few years ago and long after both Jimmy and I had grown up and left home, they purchased a condo in Arizona and a condo in Salt Lake City. I didn't think their snowbird lifestyle would last, and I missed having them close by. Jimmy and I had frequently discussed when we thought they might be back to Star City full time.

After we moved to the bigger house, the chalet had reverted back to being used for tourists—all of them giving it rave reviews regarding its charm and location. When I was old enough, I moved in. Chester didn't want to worry about what would happen to it after he was gone, so he told me I could only live there if I bought it from him. That was an easy decision, and I didn't pay nearly enough for it.

I loved Little Blue.

The main level was mostly just one big open space except for a couple pillars and a breakfast bar that separated the front living space from the back kitchen area. A window-walled dining room also extended out from the side of the kitchen and couldn't be seen from the living room because it was tucked behind another wall. The dining room offered a perfect view of the biggest, most challenging slope at the resort. You could have dinner with friends and watch experts elegantly ski down the hill or brave novices roll down it. I'd yet to witness a serious injury, but I'd cringed and held my breath waiting for someone to stand up again a time or two.

I had the original dark wood floors polished and the inside walls painted a light cream color. The furniture was contemporary, not woodsy like the furniture in most of the
log-cabin-type chalets in the area. There were windows everywhere, one on each side of the front door, and along the sides and back of the house. There were also two skylights on the peaked ceiling over the bedroom loft. Though the ceilings were low on the sides of the loft, the full-floor setup made for a fairly spacious bedroom where I had the most comfortable queen-size bed ever invented, a half bathroom, a walk-in (though not deep) closet, and a seating area. On clear nights, I spent a lot of time either in bed or on a chair looking up at the stars through the skylight windows. There was a reason we'd been given the name Star City, and on clear nights that reason was bright and breathtaking.

I'd barely had time to kick my shoes off by the front door when a knock startled me. I figured it must have been Seth, and I thought it was kind of cute that he'd wanted to see me again only a few moments after we'd said good-bye.

But it wasn't Seth.

“Clare?” Oren O'Malley said as I opened the door.

“Mr. O'Malley?” I said. I looked around behind him, but there was no sign of anyone else, including Seth.

“Yes. Can I come in?”

I wanted to say no, but there probably wasn't any harm in letting him. My family knew his family, even if we weren't close enough to visit either of Oren's boys during their incarcerations.

“Sure,” I said as I stepped back.

Oren's steps were short but not terribly slow. His big body somehow looked more like it was scooting rather than
walking as he made his way to my couch. He sat down with a gigantic plop and sigh.

“Did you walk up here from the bar?”

“Yes, I followed you and your date. Who is he? I've never seen him before.”

“A friend,” was all I said as I took a seat in the chair next to the couch. Our families definitely weren't close enough that I thought my date's identity was any of Oren's business.

“He likes you. You like him?”

“Mr. O'Malley, what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why you were asking so many questions about me and my family and my past business.”

“I didn't think I was asking anything that should warrant being followed home.”

“Any questions rouse my suspicion,” he said as he sat back on the couch and rubbed his finger under his nose.

“I just wondered about your family's past businesses and if you all sold typewriters, particularly if you sold one to Mirabelle Montgomery back in the day.”

Oren looked at me a long moment and then laughed. It was a big belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes.

“Clare, either you're making that up, or you certainly like to add drama to something that would warrant no drama whatsoever. Why didn't you just come up to the bar and ask me these questions?”

“Because you were busy and you kind of scare me.”

After another moment of study, he laughed again. It wasn't as big as the first laugh, though.

“Why in the world would I ever scare a Henry? Your grandfather and I have known each other forever. He knew my father.”

“He might know you and our families know each other, but I don't know you all that well,” I said.

Oren nodded and I realized that he did everything big. Even his nod was bigger than a regular person's nod.

“True. Mostly. You know my boys though.”

“I do,” I said, hoping I didn't give away my feelings for those boys in my tone.

“Why were you asking about them?”

“That was just my curiosity. I'm sorry. None of my business really.” I hadn't in any way tied one of the O'Malley boys to the body behind The Rescued Word, but their past behavior made me wonder. I didn't want to be that honest with Oren.

“I know they've not been the best of boys, but they will get better,” he said.

“I'm sure.”

“No, really, Brian's been pretty good for two years now, and Timothy will be released from prison very soon, maybe in the next couple of days. He's a new man, Clare. In fact, and you're going to think I've gone off my senses, but you might want to consider getting to know Brian a little better. A date or two wouldn't hurt. A couple dates never hurt anyone. If you're not serious about the guy from earlier, that is.”

Or unless Brian has become some sort of serial killer.

My imagination got the best of me for a moment, and Oren's sudden matchmaking ideas were unexpected.

“We'll see, Oren. I went to high school with Timothy
and I think I knew Brian a little. He went to school with my brother. I don't think either Brian or I thought of each other in dating terms.”

Brian had been a miniature version of Oren but goth: all Irish eyes and ruddy skin, but with black clothes and black-lined eyes. He and I had never even had a conversation I could remember, let alone a flirtatious glance. Even though he was in my brother's class, they never hung out either. Jimmy was the clean-cut football player; goth hadn't been part of his high school world. I'd seen Brian around town (when he wasn't in prison, of course) a time or two since high school but probably not in a few years. He'd lost the goth look but gained a dangerous edginess that gave his eyes a mean slant. I hadn't struck up any conversations with him after high school either. I felt a little sorry for Oren and what I interpreted as his hopes for his boys to settle down and into something more normal. I wondered how many bar patrons he'd considered as possible dates for his sons.

But even if it was a character flaw on my part, I couldn't find it in myself to leave the past behind. There was no way I could date someone who'd spent time in prison for auto theft and check fraud. Twice, if I remembered correctly. I was pretty open-minded, but not quiet that open-minded.

Also, there was that geologist and our potential future friendship to consider. No, I wasn't going to date Brian.

“Ah, fooey,” Oren said. “You're both grown up and look at life differently than when you were young 'uns. I'm telling you, Clare, there might be something there. Keep him in mind.”

I nodded as ambiguously as possible.

“All right, well, let's get back to the typewriter business that started all of this in the first place. You want to know what, now?”

“I guess . . . First, did O'Malley's Appliances sell typewriters? Maybe used ones?”

“Sure, probably, I think I remember that.”

Why in the world hadn't I just gone up to the bar to ask Oren these questions? They were harmless, if handled directly. In fact, an even better idea would have been to call Oren during the bar's quiet time and ask him over the phone. I'd turned this all into something it hadn't needed to be.

“Any chance you sold one to Mirabelle Montgomery?” I said.

Oren didn't laugh this time, just smiled and shook his head a little. “Clare, I suppose that if Mirabelle Montgomery bought a typewriter during the time that O'Malley's sold typewriters, there's a good chance we sold her one. Do I know about that particular moment? Do I still have any sort of sales records from back then? No, my dear, I'm afraid I do not.”

I grimaced. “I know. It was stupid of me to think that it was possible.”

“Why is this something you need to know?”

“Mirabelle has had a typewriter for years. It's an old Underwood, and I'd like to see if we can track down more of them. I know collectors.” It was a believable lie. And I really did know collectors.

Oren shook his head. “Check out the Internet.”

“We have, and we will some more. Look, Oren, I'm
sorry I was so weird. I really didn't mean to be. You're right, I should have just come up to the bar and asked you about the appliance store. There was no need for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, and if I wanted to know about your sons, I should have asked you that directly too.”

Oren rubbed his chin, and like all his other movements, this one was supersized and kind of rough. I wondered if he hurt himself, but he didn't act as though he did.

“There's something you're not telling me, Clare Henry. Any chance I can get it out of you?” He smiled a too-toothy smile, trying to make me think he could handle being jovial just fine.

This time I laughed.

“No, I'm not hiding anything. Except, maybe I should tell you that I did kind of like that guy I was with. I should probably exhaust that romantic avenue before Brian and I get engaged or anything.”

“I see how you are,” Oren said jokingly. “Well, we'll give this new fella a little time, but I'm going to plant the seed in Brian's mind.”

“Sure.”

Oren's departure was friendlier and less suspicious than his arrival. I watched his funny short-stepped shuffle as he made his way down my porch steps and then the sidewalk back toward the bar. He reminded me of a Weeble, and I was glad he didn't fall down. I didn't think I could get him upright on my own.

It had been a full day, and I was tired enough to crawl into bed without giving Seth, Oren, Chester, Jodie, or the twinkling stars above another thought.