While Ransom microwave-popped their corn, Harlow considered her upcoming weekend. She had too much to do. She made a couple quick posts to the Fourth Wall Theatre’s various social media pages, asking for volunteers. Then she opened a fresh email and grabbed her phone to find Mike’s text. Architect guy.
   She typed the words, Dear Jack Bentley.  It always felt awkward, starting an email to someone she didn’t know. How formal was too formal? How informal was informal enough?
    “Who is Jack Bentley?” Teagan’s voice cut into her thoughts for the second time in five minutes.
    She swiveled her chair to face her sister-in-law, who lounged on the opposite end of the couch. “How did you see that from there?” This woman’s daughter would get away with nothing.
    Teagan’s eyes grew cartoonishly round. “That is the most Heartcast Man Name I’ve ever heard. Does he ride horses or does he work too many hours at some undefined big city ‘Business’?”
    “I have to assume…neither?”
    “You’re corresponding. We need to determine if he’s a Heartcast good guy or a Heartcast bad guy.” Spoken so quickly. As if it were obvious.
    “That’s not real.”
    Ransom sat down with the bowl of popcorn, munching and still not-quite-uninvolved.
    “Answer this,” Teagan said and shifted forward on the couch. “Does he roll his sleeves up to his elbows or does he slick his hair back?”
    Harlow didn’t know the answer and had to point out, “Someone could do both those things.”
    “Ridiculous. Bare forearms mean good guy. Slickedback hair means bad guy. This is TV Shorthand 101.”
    Ransom paused his chewing and casually pushed his sweatshirt sleeves up to his elbows.
    Harlow dipped her chin. “These are not good things you’re saying.”
    “Why are you emailing a person named Jack Bentley?” Teagan demanded. Her voice sounded so much like a lawyer in a network drama, it almost made Harlow laugh.
    “I’m trying to see if he’ll volunteer to help with the set construction. I don’t know anything about him or his sleeves.”
    “Would you say he’s a love interest?”
    “I would never say that. There’s no such thing as a ‘love interest’ in real life. Anyway, I got his email address from Mike. He’s probably a grandpa. Or married. Or a married grandpa.”
    “He most definitely owns a working ranch.”
    “Where do you think you live?”
    “You’re right.” Teagan nodded, and then squealed for no reason. “He’s probably a chef. I’m so happy for you.” She got a mouthful of popcorn. “You should start your letter ‘My dearest Jack.'”
    “Don’t try to help me.” She looked at Ransom, who sat now scrolling through his phone with a considerable Hmm lip. “What are you doing?”
    “Googling him,” he said. His silent Hmm shifted into a silent Huh. “There are a lot of Jack Bentleys.”
    “Just start the movie.” Harlow smirked a grin about her family with her back to them so they couldn’t see.