My eyebrows lift in surprise, and I’m not the only one.

“Really?” Bob says from the end of the table, his lined face crinkling as he smiles. “Channel twelve?”

“Really!” Herb confirms. “One month from today. So now is the time for us to start thinking about what we want to showcase, or maybe brainstorm some sort of program—we’ve been given relatively free rein, which is very kind and very trusting of our brothers in media.”

“And sisters,” Veronda pipes up, and Herb nods.

“And sisters,” he agrees. He leans forward and taps the table with one finger. “Everyone start thinking, and proposals can go straight to my desk.” Then he straightens and, still smiling, waves one hand toward the door. “Dismissed!”

We all file out of the room, bottle-necking at the door and returning to our workspaces; I go to my cubicle only to grab my camera. Then, even though there’s a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about her, I pull my phone out to call India.

I don’t know why that feeling is still there. It’s not a bad feeling, necessarily. Just…weird. Anxious, maybe, or nervous. Yesterday was a hiccup in our emotional routine, an outlier, and even though I tried to behave normally, I’m not sure how well it came across.

Because the truth is…I felt something yesterday. I felt it when she danced closer to me, asking if I ever checked her out—but I felt it even more later, when I tried to let her off the hook and she declined.

She chose to keep hanging out with me, visiting romantic places around Lucky. And she did it while teasing and looking like an adorable fire-haired goddess of sarcasm. It felt…good. Surprisingly good.

But that’s okay. I’m allowed to feel that way. There’s no law saying I can’t at least enjoy myself while hanging out with my best friend’s little sister.

Yeah,I reassure myself as I head into the break room.It’s fine. Stop worrying so much.

So I press the green call button and wait for my goddess of sarcasm to pick up.

Well—notmygoddess of sarcasm. Obviously.Thegoddess of sarcasm.

She makes me wait almost seven rings before answering. “Felicia,” she says in a dry voice, and I grin.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” I say as my smile broadens. I set the phone on the counter and turn it on speaker, the volume on medium. “What has you in such a bright, chipper mood on this fine morning?”

“I’m waiting for my next appointment to show up,” she says as I open the refrigerator door with a lurch. “A Labradoodle who needs a groom.”

“That sounds…fun?” I say, bending down to grab a bottle of water since I left mine at home.

India laughs. “It is, actually,” she says. “He’s a good boy. Anyway,” she goes on, “what’s up?”

I unscrew the cap of the bottle with a click and then down three massive gulps. “Tomorrow evening, you and me,” I say when I’m done. “Crow Point. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she says, but I can hear the faint humor in her voice. “Are you going to threaten me with blackmail again if I say no?”

I gasp loudly and let the fridge door swing shut. “I would never.”

“Because I have to say,” she goes on as though I haven’t spoken, “your shenanigans have brought up a wave of fresh trauma about the Pageant Incident.”

“And I do feel terrible about that, really,” I say, screwing the cap back on my water bottle. Then I pick up the phone.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you found out about that?”

I grin, leaning back against the counter. “You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“I was there,” I say.

“Wait. You were—what?”

She squawks that last word, and I click the volume down a few notches.

“I was there,” I repeat, my smile widening. “I was interning at the paper and I went to cover the festival.” The entire town turned out for Lucky’s 200th birthday celebration, a huge affair that probably took a year to plan. There were games and local business stalls and, on the painstakingly built stage in the town square, the highlight: a pageant featuring a dramatized history of Lucky, a talent show, and several very busy dance numbers.