Page 104 of Lovetown, USA
My stomach drops. “But you said they were ready.”
“Yes. I didn’t realize the records are restricted.” She busies herself shifting papers around on her desk. “I’m really sorry.”
“That’s public information. I have a right to—“
“As I said,” she interrupts firmly. “There’s nothing I can do.”
My blood is boiling at this point, but I know there’s no point in arguing. I head back to the car to brainstorm another angle.
I’m sitting there staring at the doors, thinking about my options when the clerk emerges, leaving for the day, by the looks of things. Without thinking too much, I grab a few folded bills from my wallet and step out.
“Excuse me,” I say, catching up to her. She glances around nervously as I press the cash into her palm. “Please.”
Her hesitation only lasts a moment before she exhales, pulls a thin folder from her bag, and hands it over.
I nod my thanks and rush back to my rental, hands trembling as I open the file. My eyes skim the pages, and the words leap out at me, bringing everything into focus, rearranging everything I though I knew.
What I see makes my stomach twist.
This is worse than I imagined.
35
Column
Dr. Handsome and theCurious Case of My Beating Heart
By Lane Washington
I guess I should warn you that the column is going to be a little different today. Less investigative, more…butterflies.
Ew.
I don’t even know who I am anymore.
But we have to talk about Dr. Handsome.
I’d been approaching my encounters with him like a lab experiment. Observe. Record. Dissect. He was charming in theory, but I had all of my defenses up. Because—and I’ll be transparent here—the last time a man charmed me like this, I ended up jobless, hopeless, and jaded.
But I think something’s shifted. This man really is romantic. Not over the top, romance novel romantic. It’s more thoughtful and subtle. The kind of gestures that make you pause mid-coffee sip and wonder if maybe, just maybe, the town’s magic is working on you.
He baked for me.
From scratch.
And took me to volunteer.
He remembered little details about me, like how much I love petit fours, information he gleaned by reading everything I’ve ever written.
I know.
Hold on. I’m not gone just yet.
I’ve always prided myself on my skepticism. It’s what makes me a good journalist. It’s also my armor, especially nowadays. But there’s a lightness in the air around him that makes me wonder if it’s safe to let my guard down. He listens. Notices. Remembers.
He makes me smile.
So what do we think, readers? Is it him? Or is it Lovetown?
