Page 103 of Driven Daddy

I laughed. “Only you would saydisturbinglike it’s a good thing.”

“Considering Nolan’s sculptures go for seven figures, there’s a fair bit of interest in his work. Add in an accident that almost killed him, and now he owns a haunted house on the lake…” He trailed off as if his brain was already working on an angle. “I think there’s a hell of a story there. If I can convince him to work on it.”

As an author myself, I knew just what it was like to get that spark of an idea out of the blue.

Considering he was suddenly quiet, I figured it was something he was going to have to work around in his mind. Me, I just wondered if there was the good kind of chocolate in the sweets shop.

“When does the shop open?”

“Halloween, I think. I have an invite for the grand reopening if you want to go.”

“Depends on the level of chocolate he’s got going on inside.”

Penn laughed. “Knowing Nolan’s wife, I bet the good stuff.”

“I’m in.”

I expected to feel weird about making future plans with Penn, but oddly, it just felt good.

I wasn’t sure what to think about that. He made looking ahead seem so easy. I needed to have a plan for my plans with a backup plan.

And here I was freestyling a change to a calendar that had been planned months in advance.

What the hell was happening to me?

Penn parked and I climbed out of my side before he could come over to open my door. Rolling with it, he just held his hand out for mine, and we walked toward the front doors.

The school bus full of kids from the aforementioned field trip were filing out of the double doors. We were early, and we stood to the side to let the rest of the elementary-aged kids go by. While waiting, I read the placard about the history of the paper.

Built in 1893, Wainwright Publishing Industries was founded by Heathcliff Wainwright with the first printing of the Crescent Cove Daily in the same year.

It was a stately building of sandy-colored stone and iron-framed glass. It looked to be four floors, at least that showed to the outside world. I had a feeling the printing press probably took up a large portion of a basement level if the age of the building was a clue.

Another car pulled up as we were waiting. The sleek silver BMW definitely suited Penn’s best friend. He climbed out in one of his killer suits. The Scotsman certainly knew how to dress. This one was a faint plaid gray suit with a sky-blue shirt and a silver tie set off his silvery blue eyes.

“Glad to see you know how to put a suit on, Penn.” He said by way of greeting. “Rita, you look stunning.”

The slight burr to his voice gave me a little extra boost. “Thanks.”

“Get your own.” Penn pulled me into his side.

I elbowed him. “You’ll end up going home with that overnight bag with talk like that.”

“Overnight bag?” Larsen whistled. “Getting serious.”

I didn’t want to think about that just now. The nerves were already starting to bubble up in my stomach. Considering I had a history of throwing up before big meetings, I needed to get my mind off it and keep moving.

Still attached to Penn by the hand, I dragged him toward the doors.

Inside Wainwright Publishing’s lobby were massive, printed panels that gave a brief history of the printing press, as well as a few magazines they used to publish in the late 70s into the 80s. Another panel described the true crime podcast that Asher produced and voiced.

The lobby smelled of the sunflowers that flanked the wide stone visitor station in massive marble vases. An older woman in a navy dress and a paisley scarf manned the desk. She smiled politely. “May I help you?”

I stepped closer to the desk. “Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Wainwright.”

She looked down at her slim laptop. “Ms. Savage?”

“Yes.”

---