Page 26 of Redeeming Melodies

"News really does travel fast here."

"So does coffee," Riley said, gesturing toward the small coffee shop he'd just exited - The Daily Grind, according to its weathered sign. "Want to grab a cup?"

I eyed him skeptically. Last time Riley Stanton had offered "just conversation," it had ended up splashed across three different racing magazines. "And why would I do that?"

“Consider it penance for that piece I wrote about your 'erratic behavior' last month."

Something in his tone caught me off guard - an honesty I wasn't used to hearing from him. The Daily Grind looked nothing like the sleek cafés where reporters usually tried to ambush me. It was small, cozy even, with mismatched chairs and hand-painted local art on the walls.

"Fine," I found myself saying. "But the minute you pull out a phone or notebook, I'm gone."

"Deal." He held the door, triggering a small bell overhead. "Beth, another coffee please. And whatever my friend here wants."

The barista - Beth apparently - looked up from wiping down the counter. Her eyes widened slightly at seeing me, but she just nodded. "The usual spot, Riley?"

"If it's free." He led the way to a corner table partially hidden by an overgrown potted plant. "Best seat in the house. Good sight lines, easy exit, nobody can sneak up behind you."

I raised an eyebrow as we sat. "You sound like you're planning an escape route."

"More like remembering when I needed one." He settled into his chair, something shifting in his expression. "That's why I picked this place when I moved back. Reminds me why I left the circuit."

"Moved back?" The coffee arrived - strong and actually good, nothing like the overpriced stuff at press events. "What happened to your fancy office in Charlotte?"

Riley's mouth twisted. "Traded it for a desk at the Oakwood Grove Gazette. Better coffee, worse pay, but at least I can look at myself in the mirror now."

"The mighty Riley Stanton, giving up the racing circuit for small-town news?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "What's the real story?"

"The real story?" He stared into his cup. "The real story is that I got tired of being part of the problem. Got tired of turning people's lives into clickbait. Got tired of..." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."

"Just like that?"

"Not exactly." He met my eyes. "Remember that piece I did on Tommy's school? The one where I quoted his teacher about his 'troubled behavior'?"

My hands clenched around my cup. "Hard to forget."

"Yeah, well. What I didn't put in that story was how scared he looked. Just a kid trying to get to his classroom, surrounded by vultures with cameras. Vultures like me." He shook his head. "Went home that night and couldn't sleep. Kept seeing his face, thinking about what the hell I'd become."

The raw honesty in his voice made me uncomfortable. This wasn't the Riley I knew.

"Came home," he corrected. "Different thing entirely. Started writing about stuff that actually matters. School board meetings, local fundraisers, old Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning tomatoes."

"Sounds riveting."

"More than you'd think." He leaned forward. "You know what I wrote about last week? The high school drama club putting on West Side Story. Interviewed every kid in the cast, wrote up their bios, made them feel like stars. Those kids' parents bought out every copy of the paper."

"And that's enough for you? After the racing circuit?"

"It's real." His voice carried conviction I'd never heard from him before. "Those kids, their families, this town - it's all real. Not manufactured drama or clickbait headlines. Just people living their lives, trying their best."

I studied him, trying to reconcile this version of Riley with the man who'd made my life hell. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I recognize that look you've got. Same one I had when I first came back - like you're running from something but don't know where you're going." He leaned back, gesturing at the town beyond the windows. "Oakwood Grove has a way of helping people find their way back to themselves."

"I'm not lost," I protested automatically.

"No?" His eyebrow raised. "Then why are you hiding in a small town instead of facing whatever sent you running?"

The question hit too close to home. "Careful, Riley. Your reporter is showing."

---