Page 22 of In This Moment

“Well, it looks great. I’m speechless.” For more reasons than redecorating.

“I appreciate that. Thank you. If you don’t like something, just let me know.”

He doubted that would happen. “I sure will.” She’d knocked out quite a few things on their list for today. “What’s the plan, Obi-Wan?”

The canary chirped quietly in the background.

“Well,” she said through a sigh, “I figured we’d let Dorothy and Scarlett copy the headlines or various parts of the newspapers. They can bag and board them for the boxes to list for sale. I was going to work on the website and building an email list.”

He nodded. “I need to get tomorrow’s paper ready to go to print, but if we’re announcing the changes in Friday’s edition, we should work on that.”

“Sounds good. Have you talked to Joan and Jefferson?”

Damn. “No. I’ll call them now.”

“See if Joan can do a quick product review and ask Jefferson if he can write up an article on the high school’s upcoming baseball season. We can add it to Friday’s edition.”

She was quite brilliant. “Good thinking.” He glanced at the boxes. “Let me help you bring down the rest of these for your friends, and then we can get to work.”

By the time they’d lugged all the old print boxes down, his office looked like an episode of Hoarders. Dorothy was working on copying, utilizing both printers until Scarlett was able to join in. Rebecca was at her desk on the other side of the glass wall, doing whatever juju she deemed fit to save the Gazette.

There was a constant flurry of motion. Humming and page shuffling and beeping and clacking of keys. The canary chirping a tune. Though he’d worked in a newsroom his whole career to date, it had been a long while since he’d been a part of it. A strange sense of melancholy washed over him that he’d never be a true journalist again. Not in the way he’d envisioned.

A sigh, and he picked up his desk phone to call Joan, then Jefferson.

To his utter amazement, both parties seemed almost relieved to be shifted from part-time to consignment, and to be working on something specific. Graham should’ve thought of that sooner, should’ve been a true editor and doled assignments instead of wallowing in self-pity. Though he was grateful, it shouldn’t have taken Rebecca to light a fire under him.

He’d do better. Be better.

Pulling up his program for the printing press, he uploaded the info he had ready to go, shifted a few things for space, and sent it off. Sad. Two pages of meaningless filler. Just like it had been the past two months.

Come Friday, that would change. Thanks to Rebecca. He wondered if his attraction to her was based on gratitude, but shook his head. He’d been drawn to her before she’d interviewed.

Leaning back in his seat, he stared through the glass barrier between them. Despite the fragile appearance of her frame, she seemed like one tough cookie. To lose her parents at such a young age, even if she’d had a doting grandmother, had to have been immensely difficult. Probably lonely. And to leave a small town, where there was certainty and comfort and a shield from the outside world, to venture out into the great unknown? Hopes and dreams as companions? Titanium spine, this one. She didn’t seem to take crap from anyone, himself included. Smart and creative. Tenacious and more than a little stubborn.

He didn’t know how he got so lucky at this point in his deadend career to have her as an employee, but he’d take it, for however long it lasted. When he’d accepted the job, he’d assumed it’d be a breeze compared to the hustle of a huge city. Following leads, generating stories, forever climbing to stay above competitors. Deadlines and zero sleep and meals from a paper bag on the go. More than one relationship had gone down in flames as a result of that pace.

How wrong he’d been. Running the Vallantine Gazette was harder. Much harder. Rebecca had been right. Small town papers were a whole different class and speed. The sections often found in other prints would have no bearing here. Some remained, but he hadn’t had his thumb on the pulse of the community long enough to know what to attempt. Not to mention, his staff didn’t have the experience.

So, he’d done nothing.

That changed now.

Mercy, she was lovely. Elegant, regal neck. Blonde strands bordering on caramel. Lean, lithe frame. She had her back to him, so he couldn’t see her facial features, but her eyes could stop time. And that mouth. It begged to be kissed.

He dragged in a ragged breath. Office romances were not a good idea on a great day. She’d given no indication she had any sexual interest in him. He’d be wise to remember both.

The chirping of the canary made him blink, pulling him from his thoughts.

The quietness of the room intruded the fringes of his consciousness, and he swiftly glanced at Dorothy. Who’d obviously caught him staring at Rebecca, if her faint smile and raised brows were an indictor. A subtle nod, and she resumed copying, paying him no mind, leaving him to wonder if her reaction had been acknowledgement or approval.

She was a gentle one. Calm. A presence in itself. Natural red hair, curvy shape. He hadn’t known her long, if merely in passing, but he liked her so far. Intelligent and honest. Sincere and intuitive.

Why couldn’t he be attracted to her? No complications there. She was pretty.

But there was no gut punch, wind from his sails, or rug out from under him holy-shit sensation like with Rebecca. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon if he had a week and ten writers. He’d met the woman all of a few days prior. They’d barely grazed the surface of conquering personalities. The pull didn’t make a lick of sense.

Later. He’d analyze it later. There was work to be done.

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