Page 17 of And Now, Back to You

“One is missing,” I say woodenly.

“What?” He looks down at the box. “How do you know?”

“Because Berger Cookies don’t come with the plastic wrap torn open and you have chocolate on your chin.” Aiden immediately lifts his hand to wipe at the spot that doesn’t exist. I snicker. “Guilty, asshole.”

Aiden rolls his eyes and tosses the box of cookies at me, collapsing in the one small chair I have wedged up against the wall. When Maggie said I could have an office at the station, she neglected to tell me it used to be the cleaning supply closet.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You mean besides being guilted into accepting an absolute disaster of an assignment that sends me to the wilderness of Western Maryland three hours away from Baltimore to report on a historic snowstorm that will probably leave me stranded with a woman who thinks chocolate pudding is an acceptable dish at a potluck?”

“You and this pudding,” Aiden mutters.

“It was my favorite shirt,” I defend. “She spilled pudding all over my favorite shirt. And I lost my second-favorite shirt to the coffee incident on Tuesday. I now have a collection of shirts ruined by Delilah Stewart. How many more shirts need to sacrifice themselves before enough is enough?”

“All right, bud.” Aiden tries to hide his smile and does a poor job of it. “I get it. Anything else holding you back?”

“I have a lot on my plate right now,” I deflect, dragging the projections up on my screen again, staring at them like I can change them by sheer force of will. They’ve only solidified in the two days since our meeting at YBAL News, both of them aligning in agreement on one thing.

There is a storm coming and it’s a big one. Some of the heaviest snowfall Maryland has ever seen.

And Maggie wants me to get in a car, drive two hundred miles west, and place myself smack-dab in the middle of it . . . with Delilah.

The rest of the meeting at YBAL was an out-of-body experience. Everyone’s voices faded into low, droning womp womp womps as I stared a hole into the carpet, my hands clenched so tight against the armrests I had marks on my palms for the rest of the day.

Joint broadcasts.

Covering the storm live.

You’re going to do it together.

Together.

Together.

At the end of the meeting, I stood up and left without a word. I walked straight out the front door of the television station to my car, where I sat unmoving until it was time for my radio shift to start.

Aiden creeps forward and reaches for the box of cookies. I swat it out of his reach.

“What did Maggie say?” I ask.

“She demanded I get an answer out of you by whatever means necessary.” He nods at the box. “Cookies were the first step.”

“And the next?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.” He kicks his long legs out. “Why haven’t you given her an answer?”

“Because I don’t want to give her an answer,” I grumble, picking at the edge of the cookie box.

“Well, you have to. You can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.” Aiden tilts his head to the side, considering me. “You know, this is a real role-reversal situation. Usually, I’m the one being surly and difficult.”

“I preferred you when you were surly and difficult. Now you’re optimistic and irritating.”

Aiden grins. “That’s the power of love, my friend.” His head tips to the side. “And biweekly therapy sessions.”

I snort. A year ago, Aiden would have punched this version of himself in the face. He was busy trying to pretend all his emotions were inconvenient impulses he could bury under a terrible attitude and denial. But then a kid called into the station looking for relationship advice for her mom, and their phone call went viral. Aiden was roped into helping Baltimore’s favorite single mom find her match. When Lucie made her 101.6 LITE FM debut, she bowled Aiden over. It was delightful watching him try to keep his head above water, but now that he and Lucie have been together for a while, his attitude has officially lost its shine.

Now he’s in tune with his feelings.