Page 120

Disappointment sank her stomach.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

She rose to leave but when she was at the door of Mr. Packard’s office, she stopped. “Was I ever seriously considered?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Was I ever seriously considered for the job?” she repeated.

Mr. Packard looked down and then up at her again, almost as though he was looking for the right words, and in that moment she knew. The answer was no. They didn’t take her seriously here. Or at least not seriously enough.

“You must understand, Miss Johnson, that Metro requires someone who has a certain degree of grit to be successful at the work,” said Mr. Packard.

“I speak to families who have just lost their loved ones every day,” she said. “I call them on their worst days and speak to them when their loss is still fresh and raw. I have grit, Mr. Packard.”

“Nevertheless…”

She gave a firm nod. “Have a good weekend, Mr. Packard.”

Theresa’s impromptu meeting with Mr. Packard had waylaid her long enough that she had to race home and run into the studio to change before her date with Matt. She had just zipped up her teal-and-white slim-skirted dress when the doorbell rang. She slipped on a pair of teal heels and clicked over to the door.

Standing illuminated in her studio’s porch light was Matt, dressed in a lightweight sport coat and tan trousers with a white shirt and tie, his Dodgers cap nowhere to be seen. He looked a world away from the gardener and nursery manager she was used to seeing with dust on his knees and leather gloves protecting his hands.

“Hello,” she said, suddenly a little shy at the sight of him standing there on her porch.

“Hello. You look beautiful,” he said.

Her mood lifted a little after the disappointment of learning she’d lost the Metro job. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded and locked her studio door.

He held out his arm for her to take, and together they walked through Mrs. Hernandez’s garden.

After the movie, Matt drove Theresa to a Chinese restaurant in Alhambra that was open late. Over chicken with cashew nuts and beers they got to talking—first about the film and then about everything else.

“So they just gave the job to someone else?” asked Matt, after she told him about her conversation with Mr. Packard just before she left the newsroom.

She shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But that’s crazy. It should be yours.”

She laughed at his adamancy. “Thank you. I happen to agree.”

“I’m serious. You’re a good writer.”

“You’ve read my work?” she asked.

He looked down. “When you showed up at Miss Pearce’s house, I was curious, so I might have started buying the paper and keeping an eye out for your articles.”

She tried to fight her smile. “You’ve been trawling the Obituaries section looking for my byline?”

“That’s not weird, is it?” he asked, more than a little sheepish.

“I think it’s sweet.”

He grinned. “Well, I’m a sweet kind of guy.”