Jay Hatcher produced his tub of homemade ice cream, which would accompany the cake Eva brought.
“Jay’s an expert at making ice cream,” his wife, Celia, said as she accepted a dish from her husband. “The recipes and the maker have been passed down in his family for generations.”
Jay nodded and pushed his eyeglasses up the narrow bridge of his nose. “My grandfather was the real pro. His chocolate was, as my lovely wife would say, ‘to die for.’” He laughed and put an arm around Celia’s shoulder.
“Aw, honey.” She kissed his cheek, at the same time resting a hand on her obviously pregnant stomach.
Witnessing the couple’s affection warmed Eva’s heart, yet she couldn’t ignore a touch of envy. They seemed so happy and so in love. What would it be like, she wondered, to be happily married and expecting a baby? Would she ever know?
They sat around for a while after dinner, drinking coffee and talking, and then Jay looked at his wristwatch. “Only two hours to go. Time for the next event. Come on, guys, pitch in.”
“What’s happening now?” Eva asked Kathleen, who sat next to her on a sofa.
“I’m guessing dancing.” She wrinkled her nose. “Like I want to do any of that. My ex always said I have two left feet.”
Eva scooted to the edge of the sofa. “I’d better be going.”
Kathleen gave her a curious look. “You’re not staying overnight?”
“No. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Eva headed for the kitchen, where Fran had disappeared a few minutes ago. But before she could walk through the swinging door, a voice behind her said, “Where ya goin’, pretty lady?”
Not Mark’s voice. Besides, he would never call her “pretty lady.” She turned to see Will Greer.
“I have to leave now, Will.”
“What? Before the New Year blows in? Come on, you can spare one dance.” He reached out and took Eva’s hand.
“All right…one dance.”
But one turned into two, and then three, and then Robbie Romero tapped Will on the shoulder and claimed Eva. Before she realized how much time had passed, it was eleven forty-five. She sighed. She might as well stay for fifteen more minutes. She hadn’t seen Mark dancing and figured he must be putting Sasha to bed. When Robbie went off to help Jason get the champagne ready, Eva stood in the parlor doorway, idly watching the couples swaying to the music. She smiled to herself. For all her complaining, Kathleen sure looked contented as she rested her head on Will’s shoulder.
And then, from the shadows behind her, someone placed both hands on her shoulders. She knew it was Mark before he spoke.
“I haven’t had my turn yet,” he said close to her ear.
A shiver rippled along her spine. “Who says you get a turn?”
“I say.” He moved his hands down her arms. Gripping her elbows, he turned her around and said, “How can I pass up an opportunity to dance with you without competing with your purse?”
She had to smile at the memory of their Fourth of July dance and how her straw purse had slammed him in the chest. But that night seemed aeons ago.
“Where is your ever-faithful companion anyway?”
“Faithfully waiting for me in the car.”
“Good place for it.” He grasped her around the waist and clasped her hand.
She held herself rigid. “Wait a minute. What about our strictly business relationship?”
He grinned. “No business being conducted here tonight. Just partying.”
“All right, but one dance is all you get.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re not pulling that I-must-go-before-my-coach-turns-into-a-pumpkin bit again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You ran on the Fourth. You ran the other night from my office. Now you want to run again.”
“Maybe it’s safer that way.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Then why are you insisting I stay?”
“Just shut up and dance.”
Eva clamped her jaw shut and concentrated on following Mark’s lead. The song was slow and dreamy, the kind of music that made you want to melt into your partner’s arms—if your partner was the right person. Which of course Mark wasn’t.
He guided them into the living room to join the other couples. Before the dance was over, midnight arrived and down on the beach the town-sponsored fireworks began to explode. Everyone grabbed their whistles and noisemakers and ran to the windows to watch.
Instead of joining the others, Mark drew them back into the shadows. He held her close and whispered, “Happy New Year, Eva.”
She hardly had time to whisper back before he cupped her chin and closed his lips over hers.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BACK AT WORK on Monday, Eva didn’t know what to expect as she prepared for her and Mark’s weekly planning meeting. Had things between them changed since New Year’s? Absently, she touched her fingertips to her lips, recalling the kiss they’d shared at midnight. Despite her resolve to keep her distance, she’d given in and kissed him. Okay, a kiss at midnight was traditional, but theirs was anything but the casual kiss one might exchange with an acquaintance or a stranger. Their kiss was deep and lasting and…and full of feeling. Feelings Eva didn’t want to admit she had for him.
When they’d finally come to their senses and pulled apart, they joined the others in a champagne toast. Half an hour and several dances later, Eva finally convinced Mark she needed to leave. He was reluctant to let her go, insisting she call him as soon as she was safely inside her apartment.
Now, after all that, would their working relationship have changed, too? Whatever, they had to work together for six more months. She’d finished only half of her exile. With a sigh, she picked up her tablet computer, left her cubicle and headed for his office.
Mark sat at his desk, as usual. She lightly tapped the doorjamb. He looked up. Recognition and then a smile lit his face. Eva’s tension eased a little.
“Come in, Eva.”
She crossed the room and sat in the chair by his desk.
“Have you recovered from our big night out?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. That group sure knows how to throw a party.”
“They do. You were probably smart to cut out early.”
“Yeah. I missed all the cleanup, didn’t I?”
“Hey, I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Their gazes held for a moment. Then he broke eye contact and cleared his throat. “So, ah, we’d better get down to business.”
“Yes…business.”
He studied his computer screen. “Here’s what I’ve got for our next issue.”
They were no more than five minutes into their discussion when his desk phone rang. He picked up the receiver. “Yes? Is that so?” His gaze slid toward Eva. “Sure. I’ll send her out.” He hung up and turned to her. “We’ll put our meeting on hold. Someone is out front to see you.”
Eva pressed a hand to her chest. “Me? Who could that be? I don’t have an appointment with anyone.”
“I expect you’ll recognize the person.”
She turned off her tablet and rose. “Why are you being so mysterious?”
He waved at her. “Just go.”
Eva dropped off her tablet in her cubicle and then continued on to the reception area. A heavy-set white-haired man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, perusing the current edition of the Herald on the counter. April sat at her desk, casting surreptitious glances in the visitor’s direction.
“Boyd!” Eva approached him with her hand outstretched. “This is a surprise.”
Boyd turned and shook her hand. “Happy New Year.”
“And to you.”
“I brought you a little present.” He dug into his jacket pocket, pulled out something small and fuzzy and handed it to her.
“Oh, what a cute little bear,” she said, setting it in her palm. The bear wore a red plaid jacket and a
matching tam.
“For your collection. Do you still collect them?”
“I do, but I left my stash at home—in Seattle.”
He nodded knowingly.
“This little guy will be all alone here.” Like I am, she wanted to add.
“Won’t be too long now, you’ll be back where you belong.”
“So, what can I do for you today?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and gazed around. “I just came from making a down payment on a house in Willow Beach Heights.”
“The new development up on the bluff? Near the lighthouse?”
“Yep. So, I thought I’d drop in and take a look around. And see you, of course.”
“I doubt the place has changed much since you’ve been here. But would you like to come back to the staff room for a cup of coffee?”
Boyd gave her a wide grin. “Sure.”
April popped up from her chair, a scowl on her face. “We don’t usually let visitors into the back.”
Boyd turned to her. “I’m hardly a visitor, Miss—” he squinted at her nameplate sitting on the counter “—Miss Hensen. I used to be an owner here. Plan to be again.”
“Now, Boyd,” Eva began, “that is a bit premature, don’t you think?”
“No, I think I know you pretty well, Eva. And I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting to stay here any longer than necessary. I was here when all that bad stuff happened to you.”
Eva looked down at the bear, absently straightening its jacket. “Yes, well, let’s get on to that cup of coffee, shall we?”
Eva led Boyd down the hallway, dropping off the bear in her cubicle. She hoped Mark would stay in his office. She didn’t relish a confrontation between the two men. But he was filling his coffee mug when they entered.
She was about to say in a cheerful voice, Look who’s here, Mark, but he already knew Boyd was her visitor.
He turned and scowled, first at Boyd, then at her.
“Here’s Mark, your other half,” Boyd boomed, striding into the room.
His mouth a tight line, Mark brushed past them and out the door.
Boyd stared after him and shrugged.
“How do you take your coffee?” Eva asked.
“Is that hazelnut creamer I see? Dump in some of that.”
When they were settled at the table with their coffee, Eva said, “You must know Mark’s against you having anything to do with the Herald. He knows you and Dad had a falling-out and he takes Dad’s side. He’s very loyal.”
“Maybe so, but he only knows Seb’s version of events.” He sipped his coffee. “And do you share his loyalty?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He sat back, a satisfied smile on his face. “Didn’t think so.”
“I’m just trying to get through this year as quickly and as painlessly as possible.” Painlessly. Bad choice of words. As if that were possible. “But with Mark’s attitude, do you really want to work with him?”
“I’ve never let anything like a bad attitude stop me yet. But does Mark’s, uh, reluctance to deal with me bother you?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. Not at all.”
After they finished their coffee, Boyd pushed back his chair. “How ’bout showing me around? I need to get some ideas going.”
“Well…” Boyd’s poking around was sure to annoy Mark. But the Herald was half hers, for now anyway, and if she wanted to show a friend around the offices, she would. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
They went down the hallway toward the back of the building. Mark’s door was open, and she risked a glance inside. Not seeing him, she exhaled a relieved breath. Maybe he’d left the office and would not know about this tour she was giving Boyd.
“Isn’t that Seb’s office?” Boyd pointed to the closed door next to Mark’s office.
“Yes. Now it’s available for our freelancers to use. I’d rather not go in, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, I understand.”
At the end of the hallway, Boyd stopped to look out the little window at the top of the door leading outside. “Plenty of room for expansion.” As he placed a hand on the wall beside the door, his ruby ring caught the light. “If we knock out this wall, we can enlarge Seb’s office, which will be mine. Or Arthur’s. Haven’t decided where he’s going to land yet.”
They went back down the hallway to the front of the building, Boyd commenting half to himself, half to Eva about the changes he would make. When they reached the reception area, he pointed at the counter. “We’ll get rid of that. Takes up too much room. Miss Hensen, is it? She can barely see over the top when she’s sitting at her desk.”
April glared at Boyd. “I saw you come in, didn’t I?”
“And those.” He pointed to the chairs with their molded plastic seats. “Did you ever sit in one of ’em? Gives you a pain in your butt.”
“Some people do that, too,” Eva heard April mutter.
“I have to agree with you, Boyd,” Eva said, “but what you’re proposing will—”
“Be a great improvement, doncha think?”
“Cost a lot of money.”
Boyd turned to her with a big grin on his face. “Well, now, that’s not your worry, is it?”
“No, I guess not.”
*
“I DON’T EVER want to see that man in this building again,” Mark said that afternoon.
Sitting in her cubicle, her back to him, Eva kept on tapping the keyboard. So much for their pleasant beginning this morning.
“I can’t keep him out of the building,” she said in an even voice, “because we’re open to the public. If you want to toss him out, that’s your choice. You had an opportunity this morning. Why didn’t you take it?”
“Because I don’t want to go to jail for assault. I have a newspaper to run.”
She finally stopped typing—she’d lost her concentration anyway—and wheeled around to face him. “If you’d give him a chance, you might find you like him.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m trusting Seb’s judgment on Boyd.”
“Maybe you won’t have to work with him. He might send his son, Arthur, in his place. Boyd has a lot of newspapers to manage.”
Mark widened his eyes. “You’re really going to sell to him, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have. If that’s the case, we have nothing more to say to each other.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.
“We never did have much to say!” she called after him, but he kept walking. She did hear some muttering, though.
*
A COUPLE WEEKS LATER, on a Monday morning, Eva had just taken her last bite of toast when her cell phone rang. Frowning, she stared at the phone. Who could be calling her at this early hour?
Caller ID showed Mark’s number. What did he want? After their blowup over Boyd, they’d managed to be civil to each other and to keep their association focused on the newspaper. And thankfully, Eva had heard no more from Boyd. True, she was leaning toward selling to him, but had decided when he first made the proposal that she would wait until June before doing anything definite.
“Good morning, Mark,” she said into the phone, keeping her tone impersonal yet pleasant.
“Eva,” he croaked and then coughed.
Eva sat up straight. “Mark? You sound terrible.”
“Got a bad sore throat.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She picked up her empty plate with her free hand and carried it to the sink. She meant it, too.
“Listen…I need you to cover for me…” His voice trailed off into another fit of coughing.
“Cover for you where? Doing what?” She turned on the water and rinsed the plate.
“City-council meeting…tonight…seven.”
“The city-council meeting?” she repeated dumbly. “No, no. Not my thing. I told you early on I wouldn’t do that. Get someone else. What about Guy?”
“Don’t want Guy…want you to…b
e there.” Another bout of coughing drowned out the rest of his words.
“But—”
Click.
“Mark!”
The line was dead.
Eva twisted off the faucet and tossed her phone down on the table. What was he thinking? Why would he want her to attend the city-council meeting when he knew that wasn’t her kind of assignment?
She folded her arms and tapped one foot, thinking. Okay, he’d refused to contact Guy or any of their other contributors. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make some calls on her own.
When she reached the office, she took out her list of freelancers and, one by one, phoned them. Two were out of town, one had to attend a daughter’s musical recital and the fourth flat-out refused.
“Sorry, Eva,” the woman said, “but anything to do with government makes my eyes glaze over.”
Eva wanted to say, Mine, too, but wisely refrained. She hung up and crossed the woman’s name off her list. Now what should she do? She considered her options. She could let the meeting go without anyone from the newspaper attending.
Then she recalled that tonight’s meeting was especially important. The mayor had resigned, and the city council was going to announce his successor. Although the townspeople would certainly know the outcome before the paper was published, they would expect to read commentary. The appointment of a new mayor was news that should be reported, whether or not the subject appealed to Eva.
Yet attending the meeting and writing the article was definitely not something she wanted to do.
Her indecision kept her on edge all day and right through dinner. Finally, at twenty minutes to seven, she stuffed her tablet computer into her leather purse, grabbed her jacket and flew out the door.
She arrived at the meeting room just as the council’s president banged his gavel to call the session to order. She took a seat at the end of one of the back rows and, after setting up her tablet, directed her attention to the eight men and women sitting behind a semicircular table at the front of the room. The meeting began, and soon her fingers were flying over the keyboard.
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