Page 45 of Deceiving Grier

I hadn’t, actually. My plans had always been fixed on New York. I’d been working towards that goal since my first year. Still, I knew better than to talk myself out of something before I even knew what it was.

“Maybe,” I said, “if the right opportunity came along.”

“One of the lead reporters for the Saltwater Gazette is retiring. There’s going to be an opening there, and I think you would do well in the role. I could recommend you if you think you might be interested.”

Internally, I deflated like a balloon, but I did my best not to let it show. I’d been hoping he’d been working his way around to telling me about an opportunity at one of the dailies in Portland or Salem. The Gazette was Saltwater Cove’s community paper. I’d wind up writing about local events like fairs and bazaars or town bylaws, and feel-good human-interest stories.

The same type of stories I was writing now for the university newspaper. Those weren’t the kinds of things I wanted to write. I wanted to write important pieces, articles that would have an impact.

Besides, local community papers were a dying breed.

“I’m not sure,” I said, carefully. I didn’t want to burn a bridge. After all, it was a job right out of college in my field, and without my Mackenzie story, I had nothing to make me stand out from the crowds of other wannabe journalists fresh out of university descending on the Big Apple with the same plan I had.

“It’s not really the sort of writing I envisioned for myself,” I said.

“I’ve taught you for the past four years. I’ve seen the stories you gravitate towards,” Olson said. “I know you lean toward stories with a social conscience.”

Grier would probably beg to differ.

“I would like to write about things that mean something,” I admitted.

“Don’t think you can’t do those things working for a smaller paper, or that you can’t reach people.” He pushed back his thick glasses, sliding down his nose. “Take some time and think about it. I won’t need an answer for a few weeks.”

I thought about Olson’s offer for the rest of the day, and I was still thinking about it when I pulled into the driveway at home that evening. Obsessing over my future probably should have been a welcome distraction from obsessing about how to fix things with Grier. Unfortunately, whether or not to take that job felt like an equally unsolvable dilemma. Did I take the safe route? A job at the Driftwood Gazette was not what had wanted or what I’d been working toward, but it was a job in my field almost guaranteed and a hell of a lot more certain than jetting off to New York with nothing but my charming personality to recommend me.

I’d be settling though, and I had seen firsthand how well settling had worked out for my mother. With a sigh, I got out of my car and climbed up the steps to the porch. I pulled open the front door and nearly collided right into Grier, stopping just before I hit his solid wall of chest. I could smell the fresh spice scent of his aftershave, feel the heat of his skin even through his shirt. It cost me everything not to pull him against me, bury my face in his neck and press my lips to the sensitive skin just under his ear.

Instead, for a minute, we both just stood there looking at each other, neither of us sure of what to say. The sight of him, even after just five days, was like an oasis for a starving man trapped in the desert. Something in my chest twisted painfully.

He looked gorgeous—he always looked gorgeous—impeccably dressed, light hair neatly swept back from his face. He wore a thin, V-neck sweater the color of jade that brought out the green in his eyes and dark jeans. Yet despite the polished veneer, I could see the dark smudges beneath his eyes—a telltale sign I wasn’t the only one not sleeping—and his face looked leaner, his cheekbones more pronounced. I hoped he was eating enough.

“Hey,” I said, my voice sounding entirely too breathy, needy.

“Hey.” He stepped back from the door, so I could come inside, gaze shifting away from me.

“Look, I know you’re pissed,” I said.

He snorted and rolled his eyes, but still avoided looking right at me. I pushed on, desperate for him to just listen. “And you have every right to be, but can we just talk? I shouldn’t have done what I did, and I’m sorry. And I should have told you everything, I know that. I wanted to.”

The words were tumbling too quickly from my mouth, turning my voice high and manic. Even I could hear it, but this was the first time I’d seen him in days. I didn’t want to lose this chance to talk to him, to grovel.

“I can’t. I have a date,” he said.

“Oh,” I uttered, as if his admission hadn’t hit me in the stomach like a fist, thrusting the air from my lungs. “Anyone I know?” I don’t know why I asked. I must have had a masochistic streak I wasn’t aware of.

“It’s really not any of your business,” Grier told me, voice flat and emotionless.

Each word felt like a tiny dart pricking my skin—in part because it was true. Grier and I had stood at the threshold of something real, but it was doomed from the start, all because of me. What he did now really was none of my business. “Okay. Just be safe.”

I turned away to make my way to my room, where I could spend another night staring at the ceiling and regretting my life’s choices.

“Tyler Innes.”

I stopped and looked back at Grier. His throat jumped, and he met my gaze for the first time. “That’s who I’m going out with.”

Of course, Tyler Innes. Grier and I had only started messing around because he’d been insecure about his lack of experience to go out with Innes. Now though, Grier had experience, so why wouldn’t he go out with the guy he’d been interested in all along?

Shit. The thing was, back then I’d barely known Grier. The idea of him and someone like Innes didn’t turn my insides cold. Now, Ididknow him, and Tyler Innes wasn’t right for Grier. I didn’t think so just because I hated the idea of anyone else’s hands on him.

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