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“Your writer?” One of Ross’s eyebrows lifted.
“Yes, why?” Dane felt his neck heating up, but he hoped that the redness wasn’t visible in the low lighting. He was looking forward to dinner with Alissa more than he could ever admit out loud. Just talking about her made his heart clench.
“You got this weird look on your face. What’s this writer’s deal? You aren’t firing him, are you?”
“Her. And no, I’m not firing her.”
“So it’s a date, then. You can only go red like that if it’s a date.” Ross’s smile grew. “Again, what’s the deal?”
Dane picked at the label on his beer bottle. “It’s not a date, I swear. We’re just meeting up to talk about her writing. And writing in general. She’s fantastic—I’ll grab you a copy of the paper so you can see her work—and she’s very enthusiastic. She reminds me of why I used to love writing. Or the way I used to be when I wrote, I guess.”
Ross took another sip of his drink. “So you like her.”
Dane shot him a glare. “I do, but not like that. It’s not a date.”
“You can claim something isn’t a date all you want, but I’ve known you for a long time, Dane.”
“Ross.”
“Sorry, man.” Ross sighed. “I’m glad she’s working out. But also, since when did you fall out of love with writing? It didn’t sound like it the last time we talked. When was that? A month or two before you left the paper?”
“I guess that feeling snuck up on me.” Dane shrugged. “I think I was in such a frenzy trying to keep the paper afloat that I didn’t realize how much I’d fallen into a cycle of not truly loving what I was doing. At least I realized it and I’m getting better.”
“That’s great.”
It was. He still had a long way to go in finding that feeling again, but it was starting to heal itself.
“How’s life treating you otherwise?” Ross asked. “Are you used to not being able to have anything and everything delivered to you at any time of night?”
Dane snorted. “Yeah, that’s one of the biggest adjustments. But it’s quiet. The food is great, even though there are fewer options. I’m getting used to feeling like I know every single person. And yesterday I went to a surf competition for the first time and it was a lot of fun, surprisingly.”
“A surf competition? Up here?”
“Yeah. Alissa—my writer—is writing a piece on it. I wish you had been there to see it. People came from all over the country, and some from outside it,” Dane said. “Everyone was so enthusiastic and excited to be there. It was a good time.”
“Huh.” Ross studied Dane’s face for a few moments. “I never thought you’d be enthusiastic about something like that.”
“Enthusiastic is a stretch.” Dane was never effusive, but he supposed he was close enough to it for Ross to call him out on it. “But I guess I’m finding a new appreciation for the place.”
Talking about it out loud to Ross made the realization even starker. He didn’t feel like he was one hundred percent local yet, but he was starting to see the things that had chafed against him when he first moved there in a new light—how small talk was always a little drawn out, how people took their time, how they took an interest in everyone as if they were their friend.
Ross caught Dane up on everything happening back in New York over another round of drinks, and eventually, they walked through town toThe Outlet’s offices. After showing Ross around, Dane gave him a copy of the paper and walked him back to his car, promising he’d be in touch more often.
As Dane went back to his car and drove home, he tried to think of ways he could use this newfound revelation about himself to make something great. He had some vague ideas, pieces of dreams he’d long since left behind. Maybe Alissa was just the person to talk to about them at dinner.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Dane’s coffee was out to get him.
He gasped, catching his coffee cup just before it spilled all over his keyboard. A few drops splashed onto it, but nothing that would cause damage. He sighed, putting it on the far side of his desk where it was within reach, but if he somehow knocked it over, it wouldn’t soak his computer.
Today he had dropped his latte moments after picking it up at Tidal Wave Coffee, so the barista had to make a new one for him. Then, on the way out, he nearly tripped and sent it flying. When he got back to the office, Alissa said hello to him as he took a sip and he’d choked on it trying to respond.
And then there were the work-related mishaps. He spent a half hour copyediting the wrong file, deleted an article he was mostly done with (though thankfully he had a backup), and forgot to attach documents on three separate emails.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, all of his clumsiness and carelessness was because of nerves. He was having dinner with Alissa at The Crab and he didn’t know how it was going to go. They talked and had connected over writing, but what if it was awkward or changed things between them?
He stood up and stretched, trying to shake the nerves. It wasn’t a date, as he’d told Ross. It was just talking over dinner. Alissa had a lot of interesting things to say, and he wanted to hear them. That was it.
