Page 35 of In This Moment

She took the rest of her lunch break skimming through messages, answering a couple questions, and deleting spam while munching on a granola bar. More than once, she could feel Graham’s gaze on her, and a twisted sense of giddy empowerment washed over her.

The afternoon proved less busy up front than the morning, though stragglers had moseyed in. To keep sane, Rebecca created folders for Artist of the Day, Weather of the Day, and recipe submissions, numbering them in the folders to coordinate with details for attribution. She also made a list of Announcements that had dropped in her inbox from the schools and a few townsfolk to send to Graham. Once the emails were off to him for the Monday edition, she popped over to the social media accounts and scheduled posts to run all weekend with open-ended teasers like they’d discussed. They had virtually five hundred new followers on Twitter and Facebook.

Without turning around, she called updates over her shoulder to Graham.

“Nice! Great work.”

Pleased with herself, she smiled, and opened a blank Word document.

Typing clacked behind her. “Hey, I’ve got the Wordsearch, Garden, and Health Tips ready.”

“Awesome. I’m writing a quick book review now. Once the bookclub gets going, the reviews can be more of a collective response.”

“Nifty. Joan and Jefferson’s stuff is in. I need the Weather Report for all weekend, along with the Horoscopes.”

“On it.” She minimized the document and pulled up her browser instead, copying deets. “Done. Emailed.”

“Thanks!”

She stroked the dog’s soft multi-colored fur and whispered, “Nice to be appreciated for a change.” And it truly was. Spending seven years in the corner of a busy newsroom, hardly recognized, underutilizing her talents, and feeling utterly alone had left her with a great appreciation for the contrary.

Twain sighed as if he understood, dark brown gaze adoring.

“You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

Tail wag.

Graham’s typing paused. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m talking to your dog.”

Chuckle. “Is he talking back? If so, I’m working you too hard.”

“No comment.”

Another laugh.

Based on a women’s fiction book by a Georgia author she’d just finished reading last week, she typed a quick review and emailed it off to Graham.

Done with everything on her docket for today, she opened another blank page and inserted a table for future Wordsearch topics. It would hopefully help him on those days he was inundated. She plugged the months with coordinating holidays and seasons into the headers, along with a random section, then Googled ideas for each one. Not completely satisfied, she color-coded it. After emailing it to him, she sent it to print and stood.

Twain followed her into Graham’s office.

“Who’s a good boy? You are.”

Behind her, Graham laughed while typing. “He likes you better than me. I think I’m jealous.”

“Naw. I just smell better,” she joked, her back to him, waiting on the printer to finish.

“That you do.” Type, type. “Honeysuckle straight off the vine,” he muttered in an irritated tone, seemingly to himself.

He knew what her perfume smelled like?

A glance at Twain proved he would offer no more insight for that remark than the man who’d spoken it.

She peeked over her shoulder. He was paying her no mind. “Should I switch to something with rose or gardenia undertones instead?”

Gaze on the screen, he paused, but didn’t look up. “Nope.”

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