Page 20 of I Just Want to be Yours

margot

My boss,Karah, looks me up and down with mild concern. Her salt and peppered pixie cut and green pencil skirt makes her look like an elegantly aged Tinker Bell. “I know I asked you to stay on, but are you sure it’s not too much with the semester starting?”

She’s asked me this at least six times already, and every time, I assure her I can handle it. It’s not like this isRolling Stone.Destination Tampais a small magazine with a dedicated group of local readers, mostly retirees who wouldn’t know how to unsubscribe if they wanted to.

Not to mention, I could use the money. Jackson offered to pay for my trip to see him, but I want to do this myself. He has enough on his plate, and I know he doesn’t have much money left over after pitching in for studio time.

“It’s three days a week,” I say with a reassuring smile. “I’m not exactly burning the midnight oil when I come here.”

She purses her lips, still unconvinced. “But you’ve stacked your other two days with a full load of classes.”

“Karah,” I say with a tilt of my head. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll let you know.”

She points a finger at me playfully. “You better.” Changing gears, she adds, “When will you have the small business feature done on that local bookstore?”

Glancing back at my computer, I say, “I was just going over my notes. I’ll have it done by the end of the week.”

“Great. We should be able to put it in this month’s issue then. Have it to me by Monday.”

“You’ve got it,” I say with a grin.

She taps the door frame before waltzing away, and I’m left alone in my tiny office. Glancing out my one window at the rear parking lot, I see one of the pizza delivery drivers walk by. We’re located in a plaza, crammed between a pizza place and a dental office, so my people watching is mostly limited to the delivery drivers who park in the back.

The office may be small, and the walls may be a dingy yellow color, but Karah and her team really make this place feel like a home. She’s flexible, everyone has a positive energy, and this guy Derek always brings in his leftover culinary masterpieces. Seriously, the guy should be a chef, not an editor.

I’ve loved working here this summer, and I’m excited to stay on board as an “extended intern” as Sarah calls it.

My phone vibrates on my desk, and I look down to see a message from Rae.

Rae:

Braden said he’ll bring home stuff for pasta tonight. Are you good with eating over there?”

Margot:

Is it that pesto pasta he makes?

Derek might not be the only culinary genius. Sometimes Braden makes dinners I’m convinced could draw a crowd.

Rae:

I think so. Do you want me to tell him that’s what you want?

Margot:

. . . It wouldn’t hurt.

She doesn’t text back right away, so I give her time to relay my message and turn back to my computer.

The bookstore feature is my most recent project, and I’m still waiting for the owner to email back her responses to my questions. I’d rather wait until I have all the information before I start writing, so I look over the store’s Instagram page, compiling a group of photos to send to the owner to approve for use.

I’ve scrolled back to the store’s grand opening by the time I get another text from Rae.

Rae:

He says if you want pesto pasta, he’ll make pesto pasta.

Margot:

---