Blue-Eyed Soul

...Aleks turned to face Remey on the couch, pulling a sheet of paper from the folder. “So I guess first of all is figuring out when you want to do the concert. The festival runs for four days, December 14th through the 17th. Here’s a list of each day’s events, starting with the fireworks display and culminating in the lighting of the town Christmas tree in front of St. Agnes’ Church at the center of town, followed by my students’ winter performance at the high school.”

Remey took the sheet of paper, smiling as he read. “Wow, lots of stuff. Sleigh races, a snowman village…” He broke off with a laugh. “Wait, what’s a cardboard sled race?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. It’s for kids twelve and under. They make sleds out of cardboard, paper mâché, duct tape and paint. Then they race. Everybody gets a trophy, for best design, most spectacular crash, stuff like that.” He grinned. “It’s lots of fun.”

Remey let out a soft sigh and smiled. “I feel like I tumbled into Bedford Falls or something. Where’s Jimmy Stewart?”

Aleks’s brows furrowed. “Oh. Well, yeah, it’s probably not your thing, but you’re not required to be there for any of it, only the concert part.” He imagined it probably sounded very trite to someone used to red carpets and film premieres.

Remey glanced up at him, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that. I think it sounds charming.” He let out another sigh, tilting his head. “Why don’t you like me, Aleksander?”

Aleks straightened. “What?”

Remey gave him a knowing look. “I’m not stupid. You’ve made it pretty clear since the second I walked into Carl’s shop you wish I’d go away. Why?”

Aleks lifted a shoulder. “I don’t dislike you personally, Remey. I don’t like having my town overrun by paparazzi clogging up the streets, littering everywhere, and hanging around asking people questions about you. There’s probably some parked outside right now, with their telephoto lenses trained on my windows, trying to figure out why you’re here.”

“I get it. Believe me, I do. I don’t like it, either, but I’ve learned to live with it. They’ll get bored eventually, when they realize I’m not doing anything interesting here. Except for when I’m touring, they’re nearly always there. I’ve always looked at them as the tradeoff for getting to have my dream career.”

“For you, maybe. But how do you think they affect other people?” Aleks asked. “Maybe in L.A. it’s different. They’re everywhere anyway, so no one notices, but Haven isn’t like that. I don’t want them to ruin my town. There are a hundred small towns like Haven in New England. Why mine?”

Remey sighed, taking a long sip of his wine, then looking up to meet Aleks’s eyes. “This is going to sound corny. I was in this area about…I don’t know, maybe six months ago. And my tour bus—we had a new driver—took the wrong turn off the highway and got lost. So he stopped at a visitors’ center to get directions, and a couple of the guys and I went in. I saw a postcard, with a picture of the town square in wintertime. I’m not going to tell you it called to me or anything, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Every time I wanted to relax, I’d picture it in my head and imagine I was here. And after about two months, I started looking for a house here.”

Aleks sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m not blaming you. Not personally. You can’t control them. I get it. But what’s normal to you is a nightmare for the rest of us. How relaxing is Haven going to be for you, for anyone, with the media focused on us twenty-four/seven? Doesn’t it strike you as ironic that, in trying to get away from it all, you’ve brought it all with you?”

Remey pursed his lips. “Maybe. I’d hoped it’d take them a while to figure out where I was.”

“They were here practically before you were. Are you sure someone didn’t leak?” A publicist, maybe? It sure did seem like good publicity—Remey Dufresne holed up in some cozy little New England town for the winter, playing at being a real person.

“Someone did leak where I was actually.”

Aleks’s brows shot up. “They did? Who?”

Remey gave him a sheepish look. “Me...”