by Amy Harmon
He paused, surprise flickering across his face. “A very small one.”
She nodded. “Good. Then I accept.”
She stood. This talk was officially over.
He followed suit and put out his hand.
She hesitated, then took his. At his touch, attraction tingled its way up her arm. No, not attraction. Probably cold germs. But his gaze looked as startled as she felt at the contact.
Quickly, they released hands.
She wasn’t about to feel attraction to this guy.
“It was very enlightening to speak with you, Mr. Drake. Now I have a broadcast to prepare for. When exactly will Ms. Gladstone start announcing my weather forecasts?”
“April 17th.”
“Next Wednesday. Okay.” She strode from his office.
Breezy didn’t know if he knew what he was doing or not.
But she did know that the new guy wasn’t her type, after all.
Noah Drake. Ha. More like Drake the Snake.
* * *
As she left his office, Noah Drake sat back, surprised.
Who knew cute little Breezy Jones had an edge to her? It made her seem almost old enough to hold down a job. How could someone so young-looking have three degrees, anyway? She must have started college when she was twelve.
The door cracked open and Gabe peered in. “Did you break her heart yet?”
Noah pointed to the chair Breezy had just vacated. The ache in his head was beginning to seep down into his legs and he stretched them under his desk. “You are chicken.”
“You are absolutely right. I don’t happen to like demoralizing the sweethearts of entire towns,” Gabe said as he sat. “I located Breezy’s file.”
He set it on the desk and Noah opened it and searched for her age. Found it. Surprised. She was twenty-eight? No way.
“So how’d she take it?”
“Not delighted, but she’s staying on.”
“Imagine that, her not being delighted.”
“She stayed upbeat.” Change was hard and Noah didn’t like disappointing people, but he was doing what his boss felt needed to be done to raise ratings. He agreed with more glamour in the broadcast, but he would probably have called in someone other than Pamela.
Gabe set some papers on Noah’s desk. “Breezy’s a regular ray of sunshine, isn’t she? And kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Noah closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temples. “She is, but Pollyanna is not my type, so get that smug look off your face.”
“And I know Pamela Gladstone isn’t your type. Speaking of stormy weather, when is Hurricane Pamela expected to touch down?”
Noah opened his eyes and glared at his friend. “Do not call her that here.”
“Oh, I bet everyone here already knows, just like they knew about you. News is a pretty tightknit community.”
Noah’s head began to pound in earnest. “I gave her a raise.”
“Pamela?”
“No. Breezy.” He still couldn’t believe he’d done it.
“What?” Gabe lifted an eyebrow. “You gave someone an increase in pay? To step down from a job? Are you feeling ill?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m fighting off a cold.” And it was beginning to win the fight. Aching all over, Noah groaned. “What is wrong with me? I must be sicker than I thought.”
“Are you okay?” Gabe sounded concerned.
“No. I am not okay. I gave her assistant a raise, too. Somebody named Fiona.”
“You gave them both raises?” Gabe snorted a laugh. “You are under the power of pure sunshine. It’s like the Borg. Resistance is futile.”
Noah sighed deeply. “Don’t you have work to do? Somewhere else?”
“I do. And you’re not looking well. Maybe you should take off early. Before you give everyone a raise. Or maybe wait until after you raise my salary before you leave.”
“Maybe I will. Go home, that is. Not raise your salary.”
“Now I know you’re really sick. The Noah Drake I know would never go home early unless he was sick enough to start infecting others. Go home. Everyone in the building will appreciate it.”
* * *
Under the overhang of her parents’ home, Breezy shook the rain off her umbrella, stepped inside, set it in the umbrella tree, and headed for the kitchen.
Her mother, standing at the stove in her cheery Kiss the Cook apron, waved. “Hi, Honey. Why are you off so early?”
“I’ve just been demoted.” She tried to keep it casual but it was hard because her emotions were definitely engaged.
“What? How can they do that to you?” Her mother put her hand to her chest, then frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Wait just a minute. I’m on to you, Breanne Jones. April Fool’s Day was almost two weeks ago. Nice try.”
Her father walked into the room, adjusting the lightweight sweater he always wore on rainy days. When he caught sight of his daughter, he smiled. “Way to call the rain showers. You rock, Weather Woman.”
“Not any more.” Breezy sighed and repeated, “I’ve been demoted.”
“Oh, Baby, I’m sorry.” He pulled her into his arms for a brief hug, then held her out and studied her face. “But why?”
Her mother, realizing it was for real, said, “Oh, Honey, what happened?”
Breezy sighed. “Have a seat. This may take a minute.”
Settling themselves in at the square breakfast nook table, she proceeded to tell them everything. Well, everything except her initial misguided attraction to Drake the Snake. But she told them about all the changes, the drop in morale, and Paul taking early retirement, though she didn’t say he’d been forced to take that action.
Her father nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
Breezy stopped and stared at him. “What?”
Dad said, “Paul’s getting up there in years. It happens. They want young and perky. Like you.”
“Have you ever got that wrong, Dad. At least for the weather, they do not want young and perky.” Perky, half-exposed cleavage maybe. But she was so not going there.
Mom’s eyes widened. “What happened? Did you get fired?”
“No, Mom. But you won’t be seeing my face on the six o’clock news any more. You’ll be seeing the face—and cleavage—of Pamela Gladstone.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Really. Karma’s already begun. Mr. Drake is catching a cold.” Breezy picked up a frosted, star-shaped sugar cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “This is cute.”
“Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do? You’re not going to move away, are you? How are you ever going to find a good man if you move away?”
That made Breezy laugh. “I think there might be a few good men outside of Aspen Grove, Mom.”
“In the Marines, maybe,” Dad teased, and then grew serious again. “To what position were you demoted? You’re still in weather, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Fiona’s spot, and she was bumped down to my assistant.”
Dad put a hand on her arm. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take the position. He did give me a raise, at least. And he gave one to Fiona, too. So maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe this Pamela person will get tired of being in a small town and move on and I’ll get my job back.”
She hoped. Or more likely they’d just hire another scantily clad Pamela type.
Dad nodded. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side of life.”
Yeah. Like in that Monty Python movie. It was funnier in the movie.
“I know what you can do to feel better,” Mom said as she pushed back her chair and headed around the counter.
“What?” Breezy asked suspiciously.
“Go do something nice for someone.” At the stove, her mother nodded in approval of her own idea. “That always makes you feel better.”
“She’s right. It does. Couldn’t hurt.” Dad squeezed Breezy’s hand and then reached for a co
okie.
Breezy slumped back in her chair. “If they don’t mind being helped by a Pollyanna.”
Her mother looked surprised. “Who wouldn’t like a cheerful Pollyanna to help them?”
“You might be surprised.”
“And I know just the person who can use some of my homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls and cookies,” Mom said as she stirred said soup.
Breezy looked at her father, who just shrugged, so she asked, “Who’s sick?”
Her mother looked at her, surprised. “Why, you just said your new boss is coming down with a cold.”
Incredulous, Breezy repeated, “Noah Drake?”
“Yes, that nice Noah Drake.”
Breezy narrowed her eyes. “That nice boss who just demoted me?”
Her father frowned. “I thought that soup was for our dinner. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
“Now, Arthur, there’s plenty for us and Mr. Drake, too. And if you’re still hungry, I’ll whip up something else for you.”
He huffed. “Peanut butter sandwiches.”
Her mother patted his arm. “I’ll heat up some of those jalapeño poppers you like.”
With chicken noodle soup? She wasn’t surprised when her father sighed and muttered, “I might be coming down with something, too.”
Her mother ignored him and turned her attention back to Breezy. “Maybe if you’re nice to him, he’ll see that he needs to get rid of that Pamela person. Maybe he just needs to see what a good cook you are.”
Breezy laughed. “But I didn’t cook this.”
“Well, he doesn’t need to know that.” She got up and pulled out some containers from the cupboard.
“Mom, I am not taking soup to Noah Drake. I’m not even going to be nice to him. I hope he catches pneumonia and dies.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, actually, I do. No, wait. Maybe I will take him soup.” Breezy smiled at her father, sweetly, innocently. “Dad, do we have any arsenic in the shed?”
Her father raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s not a good idea for Breezy to deliver the soup today.”
Her mother turned and held out a grocery sack filled with a container of soup, homemade rolls, and cookies. “I thought I raised you better than that, Breann. Now go and take it to your new boss. It’s the right thing to do. And you’ll feel better. Being resentful only hurts you, Sweetheart.”
She hesitated and, when her mother added, “It’s the way to a man’s heart, after all,” Breezy rolled her eyes and took the bag. “Oh, goodie. Do you have a Pollyanna cape to go with this?”
“That was Little Red Riding Hood, Dear. Now go along while the soup is still hot.”
“I don’t know where he lives.”
Her mother gave her The Look. “Then find out, Dear.”
Breezy sighed. Mother guilt got her every time.
Chapter Five
May the rain fall softly on your fields. —Irish Blessing
Twenty minutes later, Breezy rang the doorbell of Noah’s upscale condo, still amazed to find herself there, delivering soup to Drake the Snake. Her mother had guilt powers akin to The Force: This is not the evil boss you think he is.
But she was going to just drop off the food and leave. She didn’t have to even interact with him. Five minutes and sayonara.
She paused, debating whether to ring the doorbell a second time. After another minute, she smiled, decided that, nope, she’d done her part and now she’d head to her cozy little house and enjoy a delicious dinner of, coincidentally enough, homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls. Maybe she’d invite Dad over.
She’d turned and taken the first step down when she heard the door open. Disappointed, she turned back to find Noah Drake bundled in a thick, dark blue, terry cloth bathrobe and looking horrible. His red-tipped nose looked like he’d wiped it with too many tissues, his bleary eyes were at half-mast, and his cheeks were fever flushed. He hardly looked like Drake the Snake at the moment.
In fact, she actually felt sorry for him, for just an instant—but she squashed that feeling immediately.
He held open the screen. “Ms. Jones?” His voice had a questioning, nasal tone that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.
“My mother thought you could use some homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls. Since you were fighting a cold and all.”
He smiled. It didn’t make him look better, poor guy. “That’s very nice of your mother. And of you. Please come in. I promise not to cough on you.”
He stepped back.
The condo was beautiful, the entryway and great room spacious and furnished with manly solid oak furniture, but with feminine touches in the frilly cushions and curtains. “Nice place. And I see you’ve decorated already.” She pointed toward a pink stuffed bunny on the entry table.
He closed the doors. “Thanks. I rented it fully decorated, including all of the pink bunnies. This is just the tip of the bunny iceberg.” He pointed toward the dining room table which she could see from where she stood.
“Do you have a permanent home somewhere?”
“No. I always rent. I never know how long any job will last.”
“Run out of town on a rail often?” she offered up lightly, with a smile. She supposed it wasn’t fair, teasing a sick man. But he deserved it.
He took it well, actually chuckling. “Very funny, Ms. Jones.”
She set the sack on the dining room table. “Point me to your dishes and silverware and I’ll get this ready for you.”
“That’s not necessary. I can do it.”
She looked at him and frowned. Why didn’t she just leave now? Because he looked ill, that’s why, and she was too nice to not try to help him. Because she was a sap. “What part of this-is-your-chance-to-be-waited-on-hand-and-foot don’t you get?”
He laughed, and that started a cough that lasted thirty seconds. When he finally stopped, he pointed to the kitchen and said, “Trying to kill me, are you?”
“Now why would I want to do that to a nice boss like you?” She headed to the kitchen cupboards.
He followed her into the kitchen. “Right there,” he said, pointing.
She pulled out a plate, bowl, and silverware, filled a glass with ice and water from his fridge door, then carried everything back to the table. She took a few moments making it look nice, grabbed a couple of napkins from the holder on the table and set them under the silverware, then stepped back.
Soup in the bowl. Rolls on the plate. “Oops. I forgot butter.”
“In the fridge.”
When she brought it to the table, he was still standing, studying her. “Thank you very much, Ms. Jones. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
Now why did he have to go and be nice? She could handle stinky boss who’d demoted her. She could even handle the Pollyanna comment.
But when he was appreciative, like a normal, nice person, it made him seem vulnerable and attractive. And she was not about to fall for that delusion again.
“My mother insisted I bring it over,” she said, not wanting to take any of the credit.
He waved her comment aside. “Thank you, Ms. Jones, for bringing it over.”
Breezy paused for a second. “You’re welcome, Mr. Drake.”
“Noah. Please.”
First names? Why now? Earlier she would have said Ms. Jones, please. But now? She sighed. “You’re welcome, Noah.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jones.”
She sighed again. “Breezy.”
“Breezy. I like that.”
“You’re really not feeling well, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m really not.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Did I ever tell you that I volunteered time in the Neonatal Nursery at an LA hospital?”
“No,” Breezy said.
“The first thing they taught the volunteers was to not instinctively kiss the preemies. Touch is vital
to a preemie’s healthy growth. I loved that time I spent holding and rocking those fragile babies.”
He was sicker than she’d thought originally to be babbling on. And his words conjured up an image of a big man, sitting in a rocking chair, holding teeny babies and trying not to kiss their heads. Shaking her head to get rid of that cozy image, she put out her hands and touched his shoulders, turning him around to face the dining room. “Go. Sit. Eat. You’ll feel better.”
His “Thanks” was nasal-sounding as he did what she said.
“I’ll see you on Monday.” Teasing, him, she added, “Unless you don’t make it through the weekend.”
“You can only hope, right? If I go, I bequeath my pen to Gabe and you can have my...” He paused, apparently trying to think of something.
“Your job?” she asked, sweetly. “I’ve always wanted to run the station.”
When he smiled, she waved. “See you on Monday. Hope you’re feeling better soon.”
As he sat, she let herself out and stood on the porch for a moment, breathing in deeply. She loved the smell of spring air after a good rain shower, clean and fresh.
And her parents were right. She did feel better for having done something nice.
But she still had this funny urge to let the air out of his tires, like he’d let the air out of her dreams. And she needed to remember that Noah was not to be trusted. He might be sick and cuddly and appreciative today, but on Monday she had no doubt he’d be back in Drake the Snake mode.
Without touching his tires, she unlocked Sadie, her sunshine yellow VW bug, and climbed in.
She looked over at the plate of cookies on the passenger seat. She’d saved those for Paul Nelson. He could probably use some cheering up right about now.
* * *
“Thank you, Breezy. You are so thoughtful. These look delicious.” Paul’s wife, Jill Nelson, took the plate of cookies Breezy held out and set it on the coffee table. “Come on in. Paul’s in the back yard. I’ll go get him. He’ll want one of these.”
“My mother made them, so they’re even safe to eat.”
Jill smiled. “I’ve eaten your cookies before, you big faker.”
Paul came in the back door. “Hi, Breezy. I thought that was you I saw pulling up. How are things at the station?”