How could she not? Alone at her desk, Hannah stared at her phone.
He wants to show me Gus’s journals?
The prospect of a juicy story sent a thrill of excitement through her, but sitting side by side with Xander, poring over Gus’s notes? Bad idea. That kind of proximity would lead to touching and probably kissing and a flood of messy feelings she wasn’t equipped to handle right now.
Hard enough to resist his magnetism from across the street. Since that blazing kiss two days ago, she fought the constant urge to dash outside every time she spotted him leaving Souvenir Planet.
“Morning, hon.” Almah greeted her, arms laden with freshly printed papers. She lifted her load toward Hannah’s face. “Hot off the presses. Don’t you love that smell?”
Damn, she did love it. She loved the feel of newsprint between her fingers, the soft crackle as she turned the pages. She loved seeing her byline and Mom’s and Fred’s and Almah’s and all their part-time and volunteer reporters who crafted stories about their community.
Faced with losing this and becoming just a digital edition—or worse, closing the paper permanently—spending an hour or two with the man she wanted but couldn’t have wasn’t such a huge sacrifice. After all, she was a professional. She had the strength to get through a short meeting with her sanity intact.
She typed,
Why not meet in your office?
His answer came within seconds.
Workers making a racket. It's quieter here.
Mom’s words echoed—what was she afraid of? He wasn’t likely to jump her bones over his uncle’s journal.
Rationalization, thy name is Hannah.
Okay. See you at three.
For the rest of the afternoon, she rushed to finish her story on Salty Dog’s March specials, a German-style Märzenbier and an Irish Extra Stout, then upload photos of head brewer Lilo Eisinger checking her mash tun. Shots of the stunning beer goddess always sold extra papers.
“Sex sells, eh?” Lilo said with a laugh during their photo shoot. “Fine with me. Gotta use what you’ve got to get what you want.”
Easy for Lilo to say. Hell, she was coupled up with Ryan, the brewery’s owner. Clearly, “conflict of interest” wasn’t a concern in their career field.
Later, as Hannah was packing up her interview gear, Zora Moore came sailing into the newsroom, her long scarf flying, a handful of papers clutched high overhead. “Finished the horoscope column,” she sang out.
“Thanks, but why didn’t you email it like you always do?”
“Oh, just wanted to stretch my legs. It’s such a beautiful day out.”
“It’s raining, Zora.”
“It stopped half an hour ago.” Zora clasped her hands over her broad bosom. “Oh dear. Your aura is murky today. Very dark and drab. Let’s do a quick one-card read.”
Hannah slid one arm into her jacket. “Actually, I was on my way out—”
“Won’t take a moment.” She pulled a tarot deck from her copious fringed bag. “Sit.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Hannah complied, enjoying the ffffrrrrt of the cards as Zora shuffled. She really ought to get back in the habit of a monthly reading, something she’d been neglecting since the paper started to flounder. Though she was skeptical of Zora’s woo-woo philosophy, the old gal’s readings always provided food for thought.
“All right, dear, concentrate on whatever’s troubling you.”
Xander, of course.No use denying it—ever since their date on Monday, her brain had been churning with frustration, ditto her sex-starved body that didn’t give a damn about journalistic impartiality.
Zora spread the cards in a perfect arc on Hannah’s desk. “The Eight of Swords. Interesting.” She smiled serenely at the image of a person bound and blindfolded, standing on wet, boggy ground, surrounded by eight upright swords.
A shiver prickled Hannah’s skin. “That can’t be a good sign.”
“This card points to the dangers of overthinking. When we indulge in rumination, we risk anxiety, overwhelm, even paralysis. See?” Zora tapped the card. “This person is trapped by worry and blinded to the options around her. The question to ask yourself is, what is my obsessive pondering costing me? An opportunity? A new ally?”
