Page 62 of A Little Luck

“That can’t be everywhere.” Mom acts like she’s seen a ghost.

“And yet it is,” I deadpan. “Behold the power of the internet.”

“I think you’re both taking this the wrong way,” Jemima argues. “It’s a good thing. You’re famous, and I bet you get a lot of new subscribers!”

“That’s just what Mom said.”

“I have to go.” Mom hurries out of the office, but I exhale heavily.

“This is how history is written. I’ll be forevermore the person who published those headlines.”

Jemima’s nose wrinkles, and she starts to laugh. “At least you’re famous for something funny.”

“Is it funny, though?”

The door opens again, and my heart jumps when Adam enters the room. A smile curls his handsome face when he sees us laughing.

“Glad to see everybody’s smiling.” His low voice is so attractive, and Jemima walks over to where he’s standing at the front counter.

“Hey, handsome! Do you have breaking news to report?”

She blinks her eyes at him, puckering her velvet-red lips as she speaks, and I think about what Drew said about jealous feelings being normal.

Is it normal to want to assign her a story in Alaska?

As if I have a budget for travel.

“Actually, it’s possible I do.” Adam straightens, placing his large hands on the counter.

Jemima’s eyebrows lift, and she glances over her shoulder at me.

I walk to where they’re standing, curious now. “Let’s hear it.”

“Raif Jones has a pretty interesting solution to the wild hog situation.” He pauses as if for dramatic effect. “He wants to break into the free-range pork market.”

My brow furrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Who’s Raif Jones?” Jemima’s nose wrinkles.

“Town bad boy. You’d love him.”

“Is he as hot as you are?” Her voice is sultry.

“Nobody is,” he quips.

“You can say that again.” She puts her elbows on the countertop, batting her lashes, and I fight the urge to pull her hair.

“Can we get back to the breaking news, please?” An edge is in my tone, and I don’t even care.

Adam’s eyes narrow, and I know he caught that. Thankfully, he continues his story without calling me out.

“He shot one of the pigs on his property and decided to have it for dinner. He claims it’s pretty good, and now he has the idea he’ll hunt them, partner with a local butcher, and sell the meat to specialty stores as free-range pork. He even floated the idea of combining it with Terra’s pickles.”

Twisting my lips, I evaluate the newsworthiness of this solution. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I was pretty stoked to discover Raif Jones had ambitions beyond riding his motorcycle and racing dogs.”

“People used to say that about me.” Jemima’s voice is solemn, and for a split second, I’m lost.

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