Page 77 of In This Moment

For the next few hours, she got a site up and running, with a bio page and links to her socials. Since it was a blog, she changed her Instagram name to the new blog name and made it a professional account. As her fingers flew over the keyboard writing her first piece, a sense of euphoria washed through her. Finally, she was in the right space, at the right time, doing what she was meant to do. It was crazy how at peace she felt with her decision.

Laughing, she closed the laptop and stood to stretch.

And realized how dark the library had become. As in, pitch black.

A glance toward the window, and she pressed a palm to her forehead. Night had fallen without her being aware.

She packed her things, and checked her phone. The besties had texted an hour ago to make sure she was okay. She replied, apologizing for taking so long to respond. Graham had messaged, too, roughly an hour after she’d left The Gazette. She hadn’t noticed.

I’m sorry about earlier. We need to talk about the newspaper and us.

Alrighty, he’d apologized. That was a start. Yet, her belly grew uneasy with the other part. Typically, that kind of blanket statement preceded a breakup. She didn’t want to end things.

Opting not to text back, some things were better done in person, she slung her bags over her shoulder, thinking maybe she’d stop by to see Graham if he was still awake. They could discuss what had happened and work it out.

Hopefully. Worry clawed her belly that he might not believe her about Gunner’s offer.

If he didn’t, then he never really knew her at all.

At the door, she took in the darkened confines of the library from the threshold, and smiled. “Thanks, Katherine. I promise, we’ll make you proud with the renovations.”

Chapter Nineteen

Unable to sleep, Graham rose from bed well before the sun and showered. After feeding Twain, he checked the forecast, noting it would be clear skies today. He hoped that was an omen for all things, and not just the weather report.

Regardless, he could take the dog with him to work. Which technically didn’t start for another six hours. Three a.m. was not his friend.

He’d texted Rebecca.

She hadn’t replied.

He’d knocked on her door.

She hadn’t answered.

And the lights had been off all night at her place. A fact he knew only because he’d been stalking the house from his window. Unapologetically. She’d probably spent the night at Scarlett’s or Dorothy’s, having a men suck rampage. He wasn’t sure where else she’d go.

Despite realistic assurances in his mind, anxiety cranked his gut.

She had every right to be angry. He’d implied an ugly accusation of her, even when he’d known better. He’d stuck his foot in it. A habit he’d done often with regards to her, but that ended now. She was not the crux of his mistakes. She hadn’t been the one to leave him for the wolves in Minnesota. She was not a representation of all the bad luck he’d faced.

It was time he let go of his baggage.

From day one, she’d bolstered him. Baked cookie advice regarding issues with the mailman. Menu suggestions at the bar on the cusp of him insulting the town. Feeding him ideas about The Gazette. Killing herself helping him to transform the newspaper. Offering encouragement. Translating southernisms. Listening with an unbiased ear about his scandal. Charming his parents. Hell, charming his damn dog. Aiding in getting his mojo restored. Introducing him to her friends so he felt less alone in a new town.

Frankly, if not for her, he’d be screwed. She’d made him human again, had reminded him of his worth, and gave him his life back.

He was wrapped around her little finger, and he didn’t care. He was…happy. She made him happy. Which was something he’d not been able to claim for far too long.

He’d hurt her yesterday, and it was inexcusable. He couldn’t grovel if she kept ignoring him, though. It was driving him out of his damn mind.

Pouring coffee into a travel mug, he eyed the dog. “Let’s go for a walk before we head to the office.”

Twain danced in circles.

Laughing, he grabbed his keys and phone. “Come on, then.”

It would still be a couple hours before daybreak, and he enjoyed the quiet as they departed the subdivision, heading toward town, Twain trotting beside him. Everything was still, not a soul about, and once again, Vallantine enchanted him. It was an interesting mix of tourism and small town living. Quirks, but not the kind he’d stereotyped in his head.

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