AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It doesn’t help that I’ve been preoccupied with the mysterious woman who kissed me. A crazy moment in an otherwise mundane evening. Who is she? The bartender wandered off to serve other customers before I had a chance to ask if he knew who she was. I could’ve, should’ve, chased after her, and I realize now that hindsight’s a tease.
“Did you find any inspiration last night?” Gran’s footsteps pad over the hardwood floors and she moves photographs on the sideboard to dust. She might be eighty-five, but this woman rarely stops moving.Life’s too short for idlenessis one of her favorite sayings. I agree. But I only wish my brain could get the memo.
“A little,” I say. Although not enough inspiration to plot an entire novel. I’ve been reliving that moment with the auburn-haired beauty and wondering what her story is. What possessed her to lock lips with a stranger? Who was she running from? Those thoughts could be the start of something, but I can’t seem to get more than a few words down. And the words that make their way onto the screen are so simplistic, as if a first-grader wrote them.
“It’ll come to you,” Gran says. “Sometimes you just need to let things happen. Let go of the reins and see where the journey takes you. Things always happen when we least expect them.”
I nod at Gran’s little nuggets of wisdom. She could’ve made a career out of being a motivational speaker, given her life experiences and all the pep talks and words of encouragement she’s dished out over the years. She seems to have advice for every occasion. It’s a wonder there’s not a plaque withLive, Laugh, Lovehanging above the mantel.
“It looked like a beautiful wedding.” She adjusts a photograph of her and my Gramps standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. “There was a segment on television this morning. Some reporter had the exclusive scoop for that entertainment show that everyone watches.”
“Now?”
“That’s it.” Gran snaps her fingers. “Although I can’t say I’m a fan of the reporter. Too smooth and pretentious for my liking.”
I stifle a laugh at her blunt honesty. I thought I saw him there last night. He strode into the bar just as I was leaving. Hard to miss with his spray tan and slicked back hair. Looked around for a few moments and then left just as quickly as he breezed in.
With a sigh, I lean back in the chair and fold my arms behind my head. There’s no point trying to get any words down when Gran’s in the mood for a chat. I have to trust that the words will eventually come. Staring at a blank screen and wishing for inspiration is getting me nowhere.“Have you got a list of what needs doing around here?” I stand and stretch, easing the kinks out of my neck.
“Oh, yes.” She walks into the kitchen while I close my laptop.
Perhaps the writer’s block will clear if I get moving. Do something physical. Get some fresh air and start the repairs Gran needs help with. And maybe I can stop daydreaming about a gorgeous woman with pillow-soft lips who smells like vanilla and wildflowers.
Penny
Early Monday morning, I push through the doors of the Autumn River Daily with a spring in my step. Thankfully, my melancholy moment after thewedding-of-the-centurywas short-lived,and I made the most of the weekend. Sunday was a productive day, starting with a morning jog in the sunshine. A top-to-bottom spring clean of my house cleared my mind and the clutter. And as dusk drew to a close, my fingers flew over the keyboard of my laptop as I drafted the article on Jenna and Ashton’s wedding, accompanied by theBridgertonsoundtrack.
Emily joined me for dinner and it was all I could do not to mention my lip-locking-with-a-stranger incident. She doesn’t know about my history with Tripp, and I couldn’t tell her about the kiss without telling her about the worst mistake of my life. I’d flicked off the television when Tripp’s face, all fake tan and white teeth, filled the screen, using the excuse that I was tired of hearing about the wedding. Truth was, I didn’t like seeing him standing in the vineyard. In my territory. I didn’t enjoy seeing him at all. And it was all I could do not to throw something at his face as it filled the screen. The only reason I showed some self-control was that I value my possessions. And I value my best friend’s opinion of me.
I can’t fault Tripp’s reporting. He’s got the charisma and energy to attract his audience. He’s good at his job and has the awards to prove it. And boy, do people love him. There are always Tripp groupies throwing their phone numbers and whatever else at him whenever he does a live broadcast. He has the ego to match his status, and he thrives with the attention. But despite my deep abhorrence of the man, what I saw of his segment on Jenna and Ashton’s wedding was entertaining. It was creative and tugged on the emotions. A surge of pride filled me when I glimpsed the camera shot of my brother on the screen—looking as handsome as ever in his tux, wiping his eyes as he watched Jenna walk down the rose petal strewn aisle.
But that’s as much credit as I’ll ever give Tripp. Off camera, he’s a total jerk. And I really hope I don’t see him again.
“Good morning, Penny.” Shirley Baxter, theDaily’sreceptionist, chirps as I walk past her desk. “How was the wedding?”
“Wonderful.” I smile as I reminisce about celebrating the event with two people who are head-over-heels in love. “It was as every wedding should be,” I reflect. Intimate. Uncomplicated. Overflowing with love. The wedding I always dreamed of for myself, yet it never came to fruition.
“Jenna looked gorgeous. Her dress was so glamorous,” Shirley gushes. “It’s such a fairytale romance. A rancher and a famous singer.” The older woman clasps her hands to her chest and sighs. I can almost see the hearts dancing in her eyes.
“Yes, it is a lovely story.” And one I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of from everyone in town. There have already been a few people trying to invade my space just because I’m now related totheJenna Ashton. As though her celebrity status somehow rubs off on me and makes me a better person. People are weird like that.
I place my bag on my desk and pull out my laptop, a bottle of water and a bag of almonds to snack on during the day. I wave across the room to one of the younger reporters as I sit down and begin my edits.
With its open plan layout, wooden desks, and a bullpen for pitching ideas, the Autumn River Daily office is exactly how a small-town newsroom is portrayed on television. There’s the editor’s office with windows overlooking the working area. Hugh Lawson’s nameplate sits crooked on the door, and I wonder if anyone’s bothered to straighten it in all the years he’s been chief editor.
The newsroom is much smaller than the one in LA where I’ve spent the past fifteen years. Less sleek lines and more rustic decor with wood paneling that appears to be from the original build. There’s a water cooler near the filing drawers, and a break room with coffee stains on the counter and a wilting plant in the corner. The heating cuts in and out, and there’s very little privacy. But I’ve adjusted to the place, and after a few months back home writing for the small-town news outlet, I’m surprised to find I really enjoy it.
Sure, the content and pace are different to the never-ending news machine of the LA Times. But there’s enough work to keep busy for now. Life was always ‘on’ in the city, with barely a chance to catch my breath. I was always running from one opportunity to the next, surviving on coffee and minimal sleep. From the outside, my life was glamorous. A reporter getting some of the biggest scoops in the nation. But there was no time to really enjoy all the perks that came with my success. As much as I’m ashamed of what went down with Tripp, I’m glad that it led me back home. My humiliation was a blessing in disguise, as I finally have the time to catch up with family and friends, and savor things like sunrises, horse riding on the ranch, and lazy afternoons by the river.
My colleagues at the paper are friendly, and most have welcomed me into the tight-knit news family. I say most, because there are always one or two in a group who don’t quite gel with everyone else. Here, it’s Maisie Grayson, an old acquaintance from high school who had a thing for my brother, Blake. She’s a couple of years younger than me, but we crossed paths because of our interest in writing for the school newspaper and our shared interest in the drama club. She was quirky back then, a bit of a loner, and I get the impression that not much has changed. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I get a weird vibe from her. As if something’s off. Perhaps it’s because I’m the new person in town and she feels I’m encroaching on her space. Perhaps she’s still living in the past and holding onto things that we’ve all moved on from.
“Meeting in five.” Our larger-than-life editor-in-chief bellows from the doorway of his office. When Hugh speaks, we all listen.
A shuffle of papers fills the air as everyone scrambles, collecting their notes to discuss at the meeting. With a pen and notebook in hand, I pause by the coffee machine on the way to the bullpen. I’ve already had one this morning, but I never attend a meeting without a hit of caffeine.
“You’re so lucky to go to the big wedding.” A nasal voice pitches near my ear.
“Oh, hi, Maisie.” I glance over my shoulder and smile at the mousy-haired woman standing there. Wearing glasses and a brown pinafore style dress over a white shirt, her face is expressionless as she clutches her laptop to her chest. She was difficult to read back in high school, and it seems nothing’s changed. Is she truly happy for me, or being snarky that she didn’t get to go? I guess people could suggest nepotism that Hugh asked me to report on my brother’s wedding. Why not give the scoop of the year to a long-term reporter? But as the human-interest ‘guru’—Hugh’s words, not mine—it makes sense that he gave me the task.
