“Easy to say when it’s not your reputation that’s getting attacked.”
“Again, that’s why we’re here.” Travis pops the last bite of his croissant in his mouth before tossing his coffee back. He smacks his hands together, remnants of the flakiest croissant I’ve seen anywhere flying in the air. We both watch in slow motion as a rogue flake manages its way across the table, floating through the air and landing on my lower lip.
“Seriously,” I say, pointing to the flake.
Travis laughs. “Sorry. But they’re good—and it was chocolate cinnamon. Holy smokes, the perfect blend of sugar and pastry to start the day.”
I grab my coffee and take a sip as Travis’s phone beeps. He stares at the screen with a look of dissatisfaction that makes my toes actually curl.
“Well.” He sighs heavily. “Our favorite reporter has now taken her fight to social media.”
He turns the phone around to show me. “I don’t get it. It’s only social media.”
Travis shakes his head. “No, my friend, she’s sharing her story about you on social media now. She’s been given the power to be on apps like TikTok and Instagram, so she’ll reach a whole new audience.”
I’m clueless when it comes to this stuff. “She has a paper. That’s enough audience, isn’t it?”
“Demographics, my friend. Newspapers are losing their base, so they branch out to other channels to get their stories out and to stay relevant.” He shrugs. “It makes sense, it just sucks that she’s the one who’s in charge of running the sports socials for theAthletic Edge.”
I’m starting to get it. “So, she can put more things up about me that are negative if she wants to?”
“If by things you mean content, then yes. Anyone else I wouldn’t question this, but her actions haven’t been likened to journalistic integrity, at least not lately. She’s loving the fact you got into a fight with a teammate.” He slides his phone back in his pocket. “And a beloved player at that.”
“Beloved.” I try not to choke on my croissant. “Smoke and mirrors, that guy.”
“One thing at a time. Let’s get you settled in and start clearing your head, then get you out to the rink so you can do what you do best.”
Pushing our chairs back from the table, I stand up, aware that a few more heads are now turning our way. But I’m not going to even look back; I need to look forward from thismoment on. You get one chance at a career like I want, and I can’t mess up again.
Following Travis down the street, I know I need to keep my eyes on the prize: while I’m here, I will stay focused and keep my career steady. There’s a lot riding on this for me.
THREE
Riley
“So, let me make sure I’ve got the details straight. You got in a car with a stranger, ordered him around, and, surprise, it turns out he’s one of your brother’s sports clients,andhis best friend?” Georgie throws her head of thick, full, honey-blond hair back and laughs. She’s not only one of my absolute best friends, but she’s also the owner of the Pages and Prose Bookshop, where I work right now in Sweetkiss Creek. “I’m gone for one day, and I miss all the fun. Also, isn’t that how horror movies start? She gets into a car with a stranger…”
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before taking a day off,” I manage to grunt. She can tease me all she wants; it’s not like I didn’t chastise myself plenty last night when I thought about the fact that the whole part where I got into a car with a stranger could have gone very wrong.
“Hey, look,” I say, all nonchalant and stuff because it’s time to change the topic of conversation. “They caught the person who’s been stealing underwear off of people’s clotheslines.”
Georgie gasps, quite dramatically as a best friend should when you reveal a tidbit like that, and comes to stand beside me. “No! Who was it?”
“Miss Pippy.” Pointing to a photo on my phone, I giggle. “It’s a cat. Seems she’s been stealing them and dragging them to a hiding spot in her owner’s garage. Says here that her owner was looking for some old paint and found a pile of panties.”
“Can you imagine going into your garage and finding some weird collection of random underwear?” She giggles, heading to the storeroom behind the counter and appearing a moment later with an unopened box in her hand. “I would die if I was one of the women who had their undies stolen.”
“Not just women, this cat had no boundaries. She took all the undies. At least the kids will probably get theirs back.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know about you, but when I was little, my mother insisted on writing my name in my underwear.” Looking up, I find Georgie staring at me with a strange expression. “What? Didn’t your mom write your name in yours?”
“I mean, if we were going to camp or something, but not just to write our name in them,” she says, slicing open the box and pulling back its flaps, revealing all of the pretty new books that had been delivered.
“But, now, you’ve got bigger panties to fill.” She shoves the box my way. “All yours to get onto the shelves.”
Rolling my eyes, I start pulling out different titles, lining them up in order of genre on the counter so I can be a little more cohesive in my movements. When I started here part time a few months ago, the first thing I did was to organize Georgie’s shelves so they were a little more strategic. Not that she didn’t have a good system, but things can always be improved. I broke down her shelf groupings by genre first. Then, while alphabetical is the way most folks stock books, I changed the top shelves so they contain staff and book club picks, then bestsellers in that genre on the next shelf down. The shelves below those are stocked alphabetically. Makes it more fun for us because we getto talk about our favorite reads and the local book clubs get involved, too.
