Once he was alone with Moxie, Tavington returned to the record player. As Marigold had observed, the music was infectious although most of it came across to him as obnoxious and nonsensical. A highly intelligent man, Tavington extracted a great deal of pleasure in trying to piece together the stories of the musicals based on their soundtracks alone. The underlying reason for his fascination with this strange new mechanism, however, deserves some elaboration:

In less than twenty-four hours, he went from fearing nothing to fearing everything. He dreaded his next encounter with the world outside and spending time with something other than this fear shut his overactive mind down for a while. If the noises from passing cars outside and mighty aircrafts making their descent into Charlestown weren't drowned out by something pleasant, he probably would have suffered a panic attack.

Curiosity got the better of him on several occasions while he was alone in Marigold's bungalow. Moxie watched him like a hawk, so his exploration of the space was limited to the kitchen and living room. The space was cheerfully decorated and it matched the yellow and white exterior of her home to a tee. Potted flowers dominated nearly every surface and the area surrounding the front door housed a large collection of terra cotta planters of summer florals that she'd brought inside to save from the cold. Although his life in the military kept him from pursuing it in whole, plant husbandry always intrigued him.

"Good heavens," he stated wistfully to an uninterested Moxie, "that is the finest collection of orchids I've ever seen. A symbol of fertility, if I'm not mistaken." The herb garden on her kitchen windowsill garnered a great deal of admiration as well. He carefully plucked a peppermint leaf and stuck it in his mouth, causing Moxie to growl. "Between you and me." As he glanced back at the lovingly groomed herbs, a castle-themed wall calendar caught his attention. The erstwhile days were ex'd off with a black sharpie. He saw that today, Monday, was the second of October in the year 2017.

"This still feels like a dream to me," he muttered to Moxie who could be seen crossing the living room and slipping out the doggie door. "Not only are the years startling, but that I died in January and woke up in October. I wonder what is significant about this day, if anything…"

Meanwhile, Downtown

For years, Marigold and her dear friend, Giselle Zipp made a habit of these little Monday morning excursions. No matter what they were going through, their caffeine-fueled conversations allowed them to start the week off on a joyful note. They would walk four blocks from Marigold's bungalow to a small downtown café called "Coffee n' San-tea" and discuss trivial delights while stealing indulgent sips of what was arguably the best hazelnut macchiato in the galaxy. Today shouldn't have been any different. They placed their usual orders and climbed into their usual comfy chairs with the perfect view of the quaint downtown district. The early appearance of autumn foliage was the icing on the cake of this aesthetic. Mere moments after their orders arrived, Giselle saw her friend do the most un-Marigold thing imaginable. Silly as it was, it set her off.

"We got here just in time for you to snag the last almond croissant and what do you do? Instead of shoving it in your face like I've seen you do every Monday since the last ice age… you wrap it up and stick it in your tote for some stupid guy."

Marigold slouched down in the large arm chair and inhaled the macchiato's fragrant steam. "You're very observant."

Ever the instigator, Giselle leaned in, "Don't play nonchalant with me. It's obvious that you were both up all night. No sex is worth the last almond croissant. Even if it was with that blue-eyed buffoon, Commodore Turpentine…"

They shared a quick laugh. "You know that's not his name, Zippy." Marigold teased. If anyone else used that nickname on Giselle, she'd clock them in the nose with such ferocity that their head would spin off their shoulders like a top. "You also know that I would never sleep with someone I'm not-"

"Engaged to. Yeah. Your approach to the dating scene is borderline medieval. Which explains your taste in these… mock gentlemen." She saw that her friend was about to lose patience and decided to cut to the point. "You're too sweet, Mare. You want me to shut up? Then eat your stupid croissant before it gets smushed by-"

"You know, Giselle," Marigold smirked from over the brim of her mug, "I'm starting to think that you don't know me at all. Especially to use a term like sweet-"

"You really want to play this game?" Giselle interrupted with delight, "I'll present you with three solid facts that prove beyond a doubt that you are the biggest softie in the county. If I am successful, you have the croissant and order Congressman Tonka-Truck something cruddy like a slice of carrot cake or an oatmeal raisin cookie. Deal?"

Marigold took her time responding. Giselle always proposed games like these. Her students loved them, but they wore on her friends after several outings. In a feeble attempt to escape, Marigold praised the brief, but artful saxophone solo at the end of Dion's "Runaround Sue" as it played through over the café's tinny speakers. But the song quickly ended and transitioned into Bobby Darin's suave rendition of "Mack the Knife", neither of which Giselle had any interest in commenting on. "Deal."

"One. When you remove a towel from the dryer, you hug it until it stops being warm." A wicked smile formed on the curly haired woman's face. Marigold told her this embarrassing fact last Winter in confidence and regretted it now. "But wait, there's more and this still counts as fact number one. You feel so guilty if anything distracts or pulls you away from your warm-and-fuzzy-towel-friend that you throw it back in for another ten minutes and start the whole sickening process over again. Fact number two! Are ya'll ready for this?! Your first pet was a Madagascar hissing cockroach. Most people would find that gross or creepy until they learn that you saved her from being gassed at your brother's friend's exotic animal compound and that you named her… I'll let you say it."

"Roachelle," replied Marigold as she sunk lower into her seat.

"And did she inspire a poem and soon after, a complete collection of amateur children's books about her adventures named 'The Hiss-terical Duchess Roachelle'?"

Marigold beamed, realizing that she still knew the poem word for word. "YES! Do you want to hear it?" In truth, she knew that Giselle would sooner gouge her own eyeballs out Oedipus-style than listen to any of her recitations.

"Absolutely not. I wanna give you my third fact because it is the frickin' motherload. You still have all of your ex-husband's crap in your house and haven't dared to disturb any of it since the day that bastard vanished into thin air-"

"That is not true." Marigold was bursting with pride. "The Colonel and I destroyed over half of his LP's last night when I taught him how to use my record player."

"What kind of a dude doesn't know how to use a record player? Especially one who looks like he's what? Ten to fifteen years older than you? You think I didn't notice the age difference? If you think he's more mature than Henry just because-"

"This is getting really uncomfortable, Giselle," Marigold confessed. She had a point. "Like borderline sadistic."

Giselle was obviously crushed. She didn't want to say anything painful, but when she was on a roll, filters no longer applied. Marigold understood this better than anyone else because she was the exact same way. "I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Well, throwing salt on an open wound is not the way to go about it. I know what this must look like. But underneath the surface there are a thousand working parts. It is extremely complicated." She downed the last five or so sips of her drink. Speeding up this conversation and getting home was growing in its appeal.

"Okay. But look out for yourself. Because he is dreamy."

"He isn't just dreamy. He's gorgeous." Marigold stopped herself. No filter, indeed.

"Fine, he's gorgeous. Now, have your croissant and get Captain Tinseltown a disappointing bran muffin."

While the friends were arguing lightly in line, who should step into the café but Jake Casey wearing the same finely pressed police uniform from the night before. Like these weekly meetings, Jake's appearances at the café happened like clockwork. Not only did he enjoy counteracting the stress relief that conversing with Giselle always gave his sister, that was a large part of it. But there was another element at work that I'm sure you can figure out:

"Ladies," he tipped his hat and filed up behind them while they exchanged an eyeroll or two, "what brings you to this fine café on this beautiful October morning?"

"Marigold has a special friend and I don't like him. So, I'm making her buy him the most disappointing pastries in the batch." Giselle stated, looking straight ahead and giving the barista a tiny wink. "Sorry, hun. When they are good they are very, very good. But when they are bad, they are health food."

Clearly embarrassed, Marigold stepped ahead and snapped open her wallet. "Sorry, Heather. Giselle finds anything subpar if it isn't a deep-fried Twinkie…"

"Wait-" Jake cut in front of Marigold, "you don't mean the same silly-nanny from last night?! And now she's buying him breakfast!?"

"Yep," Giselle confirmed, crossing her arms, "Before too long, she'll be making Chairman Tardis-Butt sandwiches and rubbing his feet."

At first, Marigold expected Jake would stomp out of the café, hop in his facetious black Mazda3, floor it all the way to her place and sock the poor Colonel in the face. Instead, he reached for his wallet and attempted to charm the barista with a quirky wiggle of his nose and goatee'd mouth. Think "Bewitched", but infinitely less precious.

"Let's see… two bran muffins, a slice of carrot cake, four oatmeal raisin cookies and seven of those weird little fig bar things. Does he have any known allergies? C'mon, Sis! I'm saving you a fortune here! Help a guy out a little…"

"He mentioned something about tomatoes* last night, but I'm not sure." Marigold half-suggested for the sake of shutting her brother up.

"The largest size of tomato bisque you have, an order of those nasty little fried green tomatoes and a side order of tomato slices. You know, like what you do for pickles-"

"I'm sorry, Officer," the barista named Heather interrupted, secretly pleased that she couldn't fulfill her obnoxious customer's wishes, "lunch isn't available for another two hours."

"Well, I'll just have to come back later, won't I?" He turned around and winked at Giselle who knew that all of this was to impress her and frankly, was on the verge of being sick.

"And anything to drink today?"

"Some V8. Tomato Lovers Blend if that's a thing. And two more of those damned macchiato concoctions for my mousy sissy and her gorgeous pal. If life was a chick flick, Zippy would be the sexy leading lady and Mare would be her pimply sidekick, don't you think?"

By the end of the transaction, Marigold was redder than the V8. She pulled Giselle away, certain that if the group remained there a while longer, broken noses and possibly even handcuffs would be involved—and she had a Colonel to get back to. Of course, Jake followed them out of the building and continued to taunt Giselle.

"You're my Rushmore, sweetie!" He blew Giselle a kiss before driving away.

Marigold held back a comment about hypocrisy and men referencing women's favorite movies to get under their skin. Instead, she waved him farewell from over the top of the paper bag filled will nearly every fiber-filled goodie imaginable.

"Man, he's a cutiepie." Giselle confessed sotto voce as they headed down the street. "If he had just a little more grit, I'd let him buy me a drink. But no, he's a softie just like his sister." When Marigold refused to respond, her rant commenced. "So, will you at least give me all the dirt on you and Chief TextingTeen when he finally jumps your bones? I mean, between all of your future colonoscopies? Nobody should have that much fiber."

Marigold wrinkled your nose. "Don't be disgusting. And since we're being so transparent with one another today, if you don't take the initiative and let Jake buy you that drink, you're going to miss your chance. He's completely mad about you, but is dumber than this bag of muffins and could use a hint."

"Only if you keep me posted on… you know."

Marigold agreed even though she knew that Giselle could talk just about anything out of her in the long run.

The door clicked open and Marigold stepped in, struggling for balance against the weight of the paper bag. Tavington stood with every intention of alleviating her misery, but she managed to reach an end table first. "Here's a macchiato for you and I have an almond croissant in my bag. You're probably used to really fancy stuff, but I figured if I couldn't go wrong with ordering you my favorite things…" Her hair fell into her face as she handed him the paper mug. Carefully, he accepted it.

"Rest assured, I will repay you for your kindness." He watched as Marigold hunted for the croissant that she'd hidden from Giselle. "Miss Casey?" She stopped what she was doing and looked up, their eyes locked and their proximity decreased. Tavington reached out and smoothed Marigold's pale hair behind her ear.

She turned red again. "What was that about?"

"You're so much like her. In every way."

Redder still. She turned her attention to her hunt for the croissant. "What did you think of Gilbert and Sullivan?"

"I have yet to visit them. After finishing… "Birdie" and giving "Fame" a quick listen, I did some more hunting and found myself to be rather partial to Ricky Nelson."

Marigold froze as she passed him the bag containing the (somewhat smushed) croissant. "You're joking? My mom gave me that record because she hated it. I thought I wore the poor thing out listening to "Travelin' Man" on repeat during my freshman year of college. Put it on!"

He crossed to the record player, all smiles. "I hate to disagree with you, Miss Casey, "Travelin' Man" is secondary to this track."

The needle dropped and "Hello, Mary Lou" faded in.

"You are a surprising man, Colonel." Marigold said, carrying Jake's purchases into the kitchen, bit by bit. "So, I was thinking about showing you around town today. Unless you have any objections." He followed, munching happily on the croissant with Moxie at his heels.

"You're not at all interested in finding out why I am here?"

Marigold turned. This was either a fantastic question or a revolting chat up line. Since she was beginning to believe that he was who he claimed to be, she went ahead and jumped. "If you have any ideas, Colonel, I'd love to hear them."

"I was looking at your calendar and noticed that today is 2nd of October. I left 1781 on the 17th of January. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

She looked across the room at Henry's bookcase. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose. Let's do a little research…"

Several hours of hunting and the answer was right under their noses the entire time. Marigold kneaded her temples, going over what Tavington had just said.

"I think I need to step outside." She confessed. "Moxie is due a walk, anyway." When he offered to go with her, she snapped in defiance. "I'll be back in five and we can finish this conversation, okay?"

He sat down by the record player and that was where she and Moxie left him without looking back. Halfway down the street, Marigold looked over her shoulder to make sure he hadn't followed, reached into her pocket for her phone and found Giselle in her contacts.

"Okay, Butthead, I need you to listen to this whole message and call me back when you're not too busy shaping young minds. You might think that I'm crazy at first and it's completely acceptable to be a few steps behind because I've spent all day trying to convince myself that I'm not crazy. But I'm not. Do you follow? The man that you met this morning is from the year 1781. I made you sit through Kate and Leopold twenty times, same principal. You think that's strange, just wait for the next part… so was Henry. Except he didn't go by Henry back then-" an incoming call cut her off. When she saw who it was coming from, she slid the screen to accept. "Giselle? I really need to talk to you right now."

"No," came Giselle's urgent voice from the other end of the line, "I need to talk to you. Something terrible… earth-shatteringly terrible has happened at the school. You need to stop what you're doing and get down here."

Author's Notes: Quick question- is Tavington out of character? I keep trying to weave some explanations for his behavior into this story and I'm sure (hopefully) that it makes sense when placed in sequence with the last story in the "series". He's always struck me as multifaceted, complex and almost split-personality'd in a way; all of that on top of his devotion to Annabelle/Marigold and the guilt that you he carries for her "sacrifice" in my previous fic makes for a weird situation. Wow. That was long. My point is I adored him in the film and want to do his character justice and am concerned that I'm watering down his complexity with my portrayal. Anyway. Reviewers, I can't thank you enough for taking the time to leave your feedback- I'm thrilled to hear that my weird brand of humor is getting laughs and that my Kate and Leopold reference caught on in the previous chapter. It's just the cutest film ever.

*Shameless OA reference because Mr. Isaacs in those glasses is… mmmm…