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I put my hands on her waist. “You’re doing great. At running the paper and sleeping with the police chief.”
A smile played on her lips. “Stop trying to make me not be mad at you.”
I kissed her cheek, then her jawline, and then her neck. “I’m not.”
“Grady…”
“Avon…”
She put her palms on my chest, leaning back to escape my mouth. “I’m not letting you lure me back to bed until we’ve eaten.”
“Wouldn’t dream of trying,” I said with a wink. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’m ready.”
I took her hand and led her to the kitchen, where we both put on our boots and coats. We’d avoided a fight for now, but my concern for her wasn’t going away.
When we got to The Hideout, it was packed. It seemed like half the town was there to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Even Bigfoot was decked out in a hat and glasses. Avon’s cousin Harper made someone scoot over at her table, freeing up one chair.
“You take the chair,” Avon said.
I scoffed. “Absolutely not. You take it.”
“I’m planning to sit in your lap,” she said, arching her brows playfully.
Okay then. That changed things. I sat down and she slid onto my lap, putting an arm around my neck. Having her there felt right. She was warm and happy, and I wished our night together could last forever.
After several hours of snacking and drinking and a midnight kiss at the Sven statue, though, the night came to an end. It was a reminder that Avon wasn’t staying in the Beard. At least, I didn’t think she was. So while I could find happiness with her and bask in its glow for a few weeks, I’d never be able to keep it.
I had to take what I could get while I could get it, because sooner rather than later, my time with the gorgeous, fiery reporter would be nothing but a memory.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Avon
Benji gave me a questioning look as his finger hovered above a button in the pressroom. I wasn’t normally in here when it was time to start printing the paper, but today…I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“You ready, boss?” Benji asked me.
I weighed my decision again. There was no question that running the story was the right call from a journalism perspective. Misappropriation of public funds was a huge story, and I’d taken my time to make sure everything I was reporting was accurate and on the record.
Then again, I was just keeping the journalism seat warm here. Grady was going to be furious when I told him I couldn’t wait any longer to run the story. That wasn’t supposed to matter in my decision, but it did. It also mattered that Leo Bardot still hadn’t been caught, and the story could send him into hiding.
I’d feel the same need for justice that Grady did if people I loved had been killed and injured. This decision had kept me up at night recently, but in the end, I had a sense of peace from knowing I was doing the right thing by the newspaper my uncle had entrusted me with.
“Yes, go ahead,” I told Benji.
He nodded and pushed the button, my heart racing as the massive, two-story press hummed to life. Only Bess, Sam, Devon and I knew about the story that was running, but every employee here knew something was up.
“This is gonna make some waves,” Benji said as the press continued its start-up process.
I looked at him, puzzled.
“We read it as soon as you sent it over,” he admitted. “I’d be nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, too, if I was you.”
My stomach rolled as he walked away to check things on the press. It hadn’t factored into my decision, but this story proved the value of the Chronicle to the community. I couldn’t fathom why no one wanted to continue running the paper. That was out of my hands, though. I’d given Max ample time to find a buyer, and I would’ve been willing to take a low offer just to unload it. Even though this was my only job now, I didn’t plan on that being the case forever.
It felt like forever until the first copies of this week’s edition started printing, the smell of fresh newsprint filling the air. I stayed where I was, not wanting to get in the way of the pressmen doing their job. Even from my spot on the sideline, I could see the banner headline.
“City can’t account for missing money”
Sam, Bess and I had gone back and forth trying to come up with something that fit, both literally and figuratively.
My work on this week’s edition was done now. The pressmen and circulation team would take over. I hoped they all shared my sense of pride in our paper this week.
My pride was mixed with dread, though, about the text I had to send. With a deep breath, I walked back into the newsroom.
