He gazed around at the familiar faces turned his way. If his plan failed, if it all went to shit, he’d miss Trappers Cove almost as much as he’d miss Hannah.
Hell, he missed her right now. Painfully so.
Three days after their last—argument? Discussion? Butting of heads? In any case, he still wasn’t sure where they stood. She was definitely avoiding him, not picking up his calls, responding to his texts with mere emojis. Keeping busy helped him not to perseverate, but every time he took a break, memories of her came barreling back.
Her low, sexy voice, her sharp eyes that didn’t miss a trick, her stubborn determination, her silky hair that whipped around her shoulders as she paced, the slide of her satiny skin against his… Longing smacked him right in the solar plexus, making it hard to breathe.
He’d hoped she’d share his excitement about his new plan, but having learned about her sentimental nature, he understood how disappointed she must feel. He should’ve been straight with her all along about how much he hated the alien theme and why. Then again, if he had, she might never have given him a chance to get to know her.
And now that he knew her easy grace and confidence, the sweet snuffling sounds she made in her sleep, the bliss of sinking into her body, he was determined to claim his place in her life. Sure, he’d give her time and space to process the loss of Souvenir Planet, but if she thought a bunch of plastic aliens would keep them apart, she had another thing coming. Another think? Whatever—he wasn’t giving up.
He poured three packets of sugar into his mug, stirred, then froze, the spoon slipping from his fingers to clink on the metal counter. What had she said right before dismissing him from her apartment?
“I’ll do what I can to support your new project. And don’t try to stop me.” The firm set of her chin was fixed in his memory.
Maybe she really had sent Malinowski and Alterman. Wracked with indecision, he started toward the door, then forced himself to sit. Charging into her newsroom in a lather was a terrible idea. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
It made no sense, he decided. Hannah knew that selling the building would net him zero profit and cost him everything he’d invested so far. Even if she was mad at him over the aliens, she’d never do something so dastardly. Hannah was a good person, through and through. That certainty allowed him to relax and release his blip of paranoia.
Someone had left a copy of theSeattle Timeson his table, the perfect distraction as he sipped his coffee and munched on carrot cake. He scanned an article on the Seattle Kraken’s new goalie, checked the restaurant reviews—no mention of Niko’s Taverna—then yelped with surprise at the sight of Hannah’s solemn face in the Regional News section.
Coastal Newspaper Fighting for Survival
A full-page story on the plight of small-town journalism featured none other than theTrappers Cove Beacon.What a coup for Hannah! The byline belonged to a Seattle reporter whose name he recognized, but the article included multiple quotes from Hannah and Linda, and cute photos of mother and daughter in the newsroom along with a photo of an old-timey gent, the founder of the newspaper back in 1879. With his mutton chops and round belly, he looked as solid as the brick building that housed his newspaper.
“…local journalism is crucial to an informed citizenry, which is the cornerstone of democracy.” Yup, sounded like Hannah. According to the article, subscriptions for the Beacon were on the rise, but still not high enough to save the paper. The article ended with “For more Trappers Cove news, see page 16B.”
He flipped the page and nearly swallowed his tongue.
Shit on burnt toast. Hannah had taken the gloves off.
“Seattle entrepreneur Xander Anagnos plans to dismantle Souvenir Planet, a beloved Trappers Cove icon, according to a local source.”
Again, the byline listed a Seattle reporter, but Hannah had to be involved. Who else had connections to getThe Timesinterested in such a piddly story?
The article quoted Col. Malinowski about the cosmic vortex, along with Dr. Alterman’s claims of extra-terrestrial visitations to the site. In a single six-inch column, the reporter painted Gus as a kook, and Xander as a serial failure whose chances of success were lower than dirt.
Cold sweat prickled his skin. How could she betray him like this?
And he thought he’d shaken off the curse with some herbs and hot bath sex. How stupid could a man be?
Stupid enough to fall for a woman who cared more about winning than she did about him, that’s for damn sure.
Garrett’s gravelly voice pierced Xander’s fog of shock. Pulling up a chair, he sat beside him. “Dude, have you seen this?”
A FriendBook group filled Garrett’s phone screen. “Save Souvenir Planet,” Xander read aloud. The group’s logo was a familiar caricature of Gus grinning from a flying saucer. Beneath it, members posted photos of Souvenir Planet going back decades, along with snaps of Gus’s greatest hits—alien-themed mugs, hoodies, ashtrays, pencil sharpeners, bobbleheads, lollypops, and shot after shot of tourists grinning beside that ugly cloth alien on the park bench—which now resided in a storage locker because Xander didn’t have the heart to throw it away.
As he watched, the screen filled with angry-face emojis. Word of Souvenir Planet’s demise was spreading like wildfire, and people were pissed.
“How long has this been going on?”
Garrett poked the About tab. “Started yesterday.”
And he hadn’t told anyone about his plans for the building—except Hannah.
A new post popped up: a UFO mug beside a newspaper.“Stay informed, people. Subscribe to the TC Beacon.”
For an endless-seeming moment, anger kick-boxed with heartbreak in Xander’s aching chest.
