Chapter Five
A few hours later, Rebecca was amped to start the changes. They’d brought down the birdcage, sections of cubicles, a podium desk, two bookshelves, and very precariously, the glass display cabinet. Her body was protesting the physical activity, causing her neck and shoulders to become more than her typical achy. While Graham had been distracted with cleaning the podium, she’d popped a couple over the counter pain relievers and did a quick stretch. She’d take a hot bath tonight.
The amp in stiffness was worth it. Not only had Graham been good with all of her ideas, but he’d given her high praise every chance he could.
For years, she’d gone to work at the Boston paper, at a tiny corner station, doing little more than taking up space. Half the journalists thought she’d been an assistant and had asked her to fetch coffee if she hadn’t been at her desk. No name for herself. No one who’d considered her story ideas. No one who’d given her a chance.
Thirty minutes in Graham’s office, while applying for a job, any job, and he’d not only listened to her suggestions, but had blindly allowed them. It seemed like he’d simply needed fresh concepts and a set of eyes to get out of his rut. His success in revamping the Gazette would be hers, too.
He glanced around at the furniture they’d brought down from the storeroom. “Where do we start?”
Bless the man, he could take direction.
“Let’s get the reporter sections up first. We’ll know how much room we’ll have to work with once that’s done.”
“You got it.”
Together, they moved stuff out of the way. The plan had been to set up two desks along the glass wall to Graham’s office, one on each side, facing front, and separate them from the rest of the newsroom with the four-foot cubicle sections. A desk for her, and one for Joan and Jefferson to share if they ever came into the office, which wouldn’t be often if they were switching to consignment.
After playing around with design, they opted for a bookshelf along the brick wall per each cubicle flanking Graham’s office door, a desk beside them. That way the reporters had a place to put materials. While she moved Joan and Jefferson’s things from their old desks to their bookshelf, Graham attached their nameplates to the outer corner of their cubicle wall.
“I’ll get a nameplate made up for you tomorrow.”
“I have one, but thank you.” She hauled a computer monitor from Joan’s old desk to the new one. “I’ll bring my things in the morning.”
“Okay. I’ll get you a key, too.” Following her lead, he began connecting the tower cables to complete their setup. “You’ve got a laptop, but we’ll put Jefferson’s computer on your side so you can work from that while here. We’ll move files and programs tomorrow.”
Fine by her. She rolled her head to stretch her neck. Damn, but she hurt.
“You okay?”
She hadn’t realized he’d been watching her. Though her condition wasn’t serious, he should probably know about it as her boss. She wasn’t ready to get into it, though.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
While he was preoccupied setting up, she tried to formulate a plan for their next step, but wound up pausing on him to admire the view. He was good-looking, for sure. He’d shed his suitcoat and tie when they’d begun moving furniture, and had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Great arms. All sinew and coiled tendons. Veins. Tanned, olive-colored skin. Huge hands. She’d bet her right leg he knew how to use those hands. Since he was hunched under the desk, the dark gray suit pants were stretched taut over his very nice backside. Lean waist. Wide shoulders.
Quit, girl. Now.
Suppressing a sigh, she fanned her face, suddenly hot. And not from her fibromyalgia. Attraction shifted as if by warning in her belly. Not good. He was her new boss and next door neighbor. If there was ever a need for caution, this was it.
She’d not had a very good impression of him after their first couple of encounters, but she was warming up to him. After all, he’d apologized and had not only given her a job, but had been open to suggestions for change. It took a man comfortable in his own skin to do both. He had yet to call the Boss Card or make her feel like a subordinate. He didn’t throw his power around, either.
Didn’t mean she should ogle him like candy.
“What do you think?”
She shook her head to clear it. She hadn’t realized he’d finished hooking up the computer, or that he’d been talking.
“I was lost in thought.” Or naughty daydreams. “Sorry. Could you repeat?”
He flashed a grin, darn him. “I do that, too. Go off in my head. Must be a writer thing.”
Uh huh. It was, but there was no need to embarrass herself farther by telling him that hadn’t been the situation just now.
“I was saying, I think the glass display case would look good in front of the high podium desk over there.” He pointed to the wall to the left of the bay window.
It was a good corner for it, yes.
“Agree.” The plan was to put older newspapers in the display case in plastic to preserve them and show off the Gazette’s history to visitors. A mini-museum. He’d loved the idea. A cash register would go on the podium to check out customers. “Instead of buying a register, though, we can just get a program for one of the existing computers. It’ll save money.”
“Good thinking. I’ll look into it tomorrow.” He eyed the cluster of desks in the middle of the room. “How do you want to arrange the prints? I’m not understanding your vision.”
Now that they’d set up the reporter cubicles, her tentative fengshui needed refocusing. The space was slightly smaller than she’d envisioned. Upstairs earlier, she’d had the idea to copy older newspaper articles and sell them as page prints to visitors. They could go as-is in scrapbooks or be matted and framed. Souvenirs for tourists or memorabilia for townsfolk. It wouldn’t rake in a lot of dough for the Gazette, but it would be additional income and bring people inside. Get them interested.
She frowned. “Not sure.”
“Let’s move the podium and display case. Go from there.”
They did what he suggested, engaging in small talk.
Furniture in place, he straightened. “So, you were raised by your grandmother?”
It was the first instance he’d asked something personal, and after a brief pause, she realized she didn’t mind. He wasn’t from Vallantine, but it was a small town. There was no need to keep up her defensive walls. She was home. Easier said than done, though. She’d been in a big city too long if that sort of question tripped her meter.
“Forget I asked.” He waved his hand. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” She stretched her arms over her head to loosen her back. The display case was heavy. “Yes, my grandmother raised me after my folks passed away. She’s my dad’s mom.” She blinked, her throat suddenly tight. “Was, I mean. She was Dad’s mother.” It felt so wrong using Gammy in past tense.
Genuine sympathy turned the edges of his eyes down and tightened his lips. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry. How old were you when they died?”
Since his question and tone were non-abrasive nor intrusive, she didn’t hesitate in answering. “I was eight. It was a car wreck.”
A slight shake of his head. “That must’ve been horrible.”
“It was, but I had Gammy.” Not anymore. She was gone. Tears burned her eyes, and she glanced away, focusing on something else. Anything else.
“Do you have any other family?” His rough timbre skated across her skin from several feet away, but his irrevocably kind tone wrapped her in a hug.
She almost lost it, but then she processed his question and swallowed the hurt. “No, but I have my besties.”
His green eyes lit with a smile, crinkling the corners. A dimple appeared through the scruff on his cheek. “The Bookish Belles.”
She laughed. How, she hadn’t a clue. “Yeah. Known them since birth.”
He nodded, running a hand through his midnight strands. “Friends make the best family because you get to pick them yourselves.”
What a lovely sentiment. “Exactly.”
“Forest and I met the first day of college. We got paired as roommates. Been close ever since.” Fondness laced his tone and radiated in his eyes.
“He’s a good guy. Is that how you wound up in Vallantine?”
All good humor drained from his features. “For the most part.” He puffed his cheeks and blew out his breath, glancing elsewhere. “What next, Obi-Wan?”
Not sure what caused the shift, she looked at the remaining furniture. She’d maybe ask him later. “I think we should put the wingback chairs from upstairs in the corner.” She pointed to the opposite end from the display case, to the right of the front door. The chairs were a pretty navy pattern and in good shape. They’d just need a fabric refresher spray and dusting. “It’ll balance the room and give people a place to sit. We can put the end table from upstairs between them.”
He offered a thumbs-up. “I’ll go get ‘em.”
While he was gone, she thought about space and how to display the prints. Considering the history and how far back the paper went, they’d need a lot of shelves, which seemed a waste of money. Plus, shelves would offer no support. They had four remaining desks, though. There had to be something they could do, aside from framing the print copies.
Graham came back with a chair, a box of newspapers on the seat.
And it hit her… “Comic boxes.”
“Huh?” He set the chair down, moving the box to a desk.
“I had a boyfriend in college who collected comic books. He put them in plastic sleeves to protect them, then into comic boxes. They’re like filing boxes, sort of, and you can put dividers in them. What if we arranged the desks, two on each side, and put the prints in sleeves in comic boxes on the desks?”
He straightened, hands on his hips. “That’ll work. We can label the outside of the boxes with specific years, and put dividers in for easy access to find prints. It leaves the center of the room pretty open, however.”
“True.” They’d need something short that they could showcase prints, yet not be imposing to the space. Perhaps put a few copies in frames already. “The library used to have a couple of those magazine rack stands. About five feet high. I wonder if they’re still there. We could put them back to back, right in the middle of the room.”
He mumbled something to the tune of “good idea” as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She thumbed a text in her group chat with Scarlett and Dorothy.
Do we still have those magazine rack stands in library storage? If so, can I steal them? BTW, I got a job at The Vallantine Gazette!!!
Scarlett: OMG! Grats! Yes. There are 2 shelves. IDC if you steal them. Thief.
Dorothy’s text came a second later. Congratulations. They’re lucky to have you. Go ahead and take the shelves. Don’t think we were gonna use them. We can always buy more if we want later. No biggie.
Rebecca shot them a thank-you, then looked at Graham. “Yep, two shelves. They won’t fit in my car, though.”
“Lemme try Forest. They probably won’t fit in my car, either. He has a truck.”
While waiting for a reply, they moved the remaining four desks to the outer walls, two on each side. They’d need tablecloths to look nice, but that was simple and inexpensive to fix.
His phone chimed, and while he texted back, she eyed the vacant brick walls. There were a lot of poster-size black frames upstairs. Gears started turning in her mind.
“Forest said he can meet you at the library at 5:15.” He glanced at his watch. “Which is in an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll go run errands for stuff here and meet up with him. Can you do a couple things to save time while I’m gone?”
“I gotta run home to feed the dog, but that won’t take long. Sure. Whatcha got?”
He had two industrial copy printers in his office. “Do your printers go larger than standard page? And is there paper that size?”
“Yes and yes.”
She rolled through the contents of upstairs in her mind. “Maybe bring down the frames and a few of the oldest archive boxes? Find a few papers that have good front pages and print them to poster size to fit the frames. We can hang them on the walls. Would that be all right?”
He reared, then turned to glance behind him. “You’re just full of great ideas. I’ll start on it as soon as I get back.”
“Thanks.” She headed toward his office to grab her things when something dawned on her. “We can pick this up tomorrow if you prefer? I hate to keep you from plans.” Just because she didn’t have anything going on didn’t mean he didn’t. Not to mention, they’d be staying way past business hours.
“I’m good. Do you like dogs and pizza?”
Confusion had her freezing in place. “At the same time?”
Rubbing his eyes, he laughed. “I can pick up a pizza for dinner, and do you mind if I bring my dog with me?”
“Oh.” She laughed, suddenly nervous. Which was stupid. They’d spent the afternoon working in harmony. “Both are fine.”
He removed a wallet from his back pocket and held out a credit card. “For expenses on your errands. If it’s for work, charge it. What do you like on your pizza?”
“Anything but dead fish.”
Another laugh. Rich and from the gut. She was beginning to like the sound. Warm, hearty.
“No anchovies. Got it.”
She walked back to the library to fetch her car, then drove to Scarlett’s to grab the library key from her.
Once back in town, Rebecca stopped at the small hardware store to copy the key for her and Dorothy, and buy a few hooks, nails, and a hammer.
There was a thrift shop next door she hadn’t been to since she’d been in college. Why not? She might find something useful.
Shrugging, she set the hardware store bag in her car and popped into Twice But Nice thrift shop. The owner, an elder woman Rebecca recognized, but couldn’t recall her name, was busy at the register, so Rebecca just waved.
The scents of dust and time immediately hit her as she took in shelves of mismatched items. A lot seemed like junk, but to each their own. They did have quite a few eight-by-ten photo frames that would serve to house the Gazette’s prints they would try to sell. She kept going, around the other side of the second aisle, and there was an old typewriter. Teal in color with pop keys. It was awesome.
“That doesn’t work, dear.”
“Oh.” Rebecca whirled toward the owner. The woman only came to Rebecca’s shoulders, but she’d managed to sneak up on her. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry for the startle. I’ve had that typewriter here for years. No one uses them anymore. It’s all about phones and computers and gadgets. Crying shame, if you ask me. Listen to me, carrying on. Anywho, it doesn’t work.”
Rebecca glanced at the typewriter again. It was a lovely old piece, and she didn’t need it to function for what she had planned. The price sticker said five bucks.
“Sold.”
The owner tilted her head, short white strands not shifting the slightest. “You certain, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d also like to take a lot of those photo frames off your hands.”
“Alrighty.”
Rebecca brought the typewriter to the counter, then went back for an armful of the frames. They were only a dollar and they’d be very useful.
The owner rang up the purchases and offered Rebecca a box. “Thank you, kindly. Have a blessed day. Please come back soon.”
“I certainly will.” She turned to leave. “Oh.” She whirled around. “Is that pet shop still over by the café’?”
“Bark Beyond? Yessiree. Clive’s grandson runs the place now.”
“Thank you again.”
Rebecca put the thrift shop box in her car and headed down Main, turning onto a side street and parking. Uncommon Comics had odd hours since most of their sales were online, but she’d caught them while open. She didn’t know the clerk and he didn’t appear interested in her. She bought six plain white comic boxes, and two packs each of what they called bags and boards. Essentially, white carboard inserts for support and sleeves for the pages.
From there, she met Forest at the library, helped him get the magazine racks in the truck, and thanked him profusely.
The pet store was closed by the time she got back that way, which was disappointing, but she’d pop in tomorrow morning before going to the office. The little party supply store next door was still open for another thirty minutes, however, so she stopped to buy tablecloths in a navy color that would closely match the wingback chairs.
Satisfied, and giddy, she drove back to the Gazette, parking in the alley behind the building. It had been so very long since she’d had purpose or felt like she’d been useful that she almost didn’t recognize the bubbles in her belly. The Gazette had been a noteworthy addition to Vallantine since long before she’d been born. She’d watched its decline slowly through the years, and it had broken her heart. Utilizing newsroom space for a shop and bringing alive its history would hopefully return the newspaper to its former glory, and get townsfolk interested again. That, and the changes to the print itself.
Between remodeling the library, a dream of hers, and getting onboard at the Gazette, her mind was whirling with possibilities. Mostly, if she were being honest with herself, it was the fact she was no longer invisible that had hope blooming in her chest. For years, she’d been an unrecognizable face among the fray. Idle. Stagnant. Just one woman in a city of thousands. Vallantine may not be where she’d envisioned herself as a girl, but she’d adapt. There was more than one way to leave an imprint on the world.
Forest and Graham had brought in the magazine racks by the time she got inside. She found them eating pizza in Graham’s office, feet kicked up on the desk.
At the close of the back door, a dog lying by Graham’s shelf jumped to attention, rushing to examine Rebecca. She bent to pet his soft fur, talking gibberish. He was quite cute. Adoring, trusting eyes. Brown, black, and white, he looked like a mixed breed.
“Aren’t you a sweetheart? What’s your name?”
“Twain.” Graham set his feet on the floor, nudging a pizza box toward the edge of the desk. “Have a slice.”
“Great name.” Cheesy Italian goodness wafted from the box, and yeah. She was starving. “Thanks.” Straightening, she took a slice of pepperoni. My, how she’d missed Pizza My Heart. She spoke around her food. “I got stuff in the car when we’re done eating.”
Graham’s brows rose. “What did you get?”
Digging in her purse, she gave him the receipts, letting him know the purchases. “I bought this kickass old typewriter for the front window display.”
“Never would’ve thought of that,” he mumbled, frowning at the receipts. “This can’t be right. You spent under a hundred bucks?”
Nerves clenched her throat. “Too much? I can pay it off if you—”
“No. I just expected the tab to be way more, considering all you bought.” He set the receipts aside. “Not to mention, everything we’re doing up front is refurbishing crap we already had, for the most part. Gotta admit, I was a little nervous handing over a credit card.”
Forest threw his head back and laughed. “How sexist of you.”
She grinned. “More like stereotyping.”
“True, dat.” Forest saluted her with a can of cola. “I love what you’re doing to the place, by the way. Very clever.”
Her face grew hot at the compliment. Which was silly, but it had been too long since she’d heard them that she feared she didn’t know how to accept them anymore. “Thanks. I hope it helps.”
“Time will tell, but I think it will.” He winked.
Graham, eyes narrowed as if annoyed, watched them.
Not sure what that was about, she changed the subject. “Were you able to print some of the posters?”
“Yep.” Graham rose, tossing his crust to the dog, who caught it midair. “There are seven poster frames. If you plan to hang them on both sides of the room, it’s an odd number. To appease my OCD, I printed six random front pages.”
She nodded. “You have OCD, too?”
Forest laughed.
Graham gave him the hairy eyeball. “A little.”
“I do, as well. I can use the last frame for something else or set it aside.”
“Forest here offered to help.” Graham closed the pizza box and stretched. “Figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“That would be great.” They had a lot to do, going through all the boxes, copying, bagging the prints. “We won’t get all this done tonight. We should close shop tomorrow with a basic issue run for Thursday. Then maybe on Friday, incorporate the big changes and make an announcement.”
“Works for me.” He glanced at the newsroom outside his office. “You think we’ll get it finished by then?”
Perhaps, depending on how fast they worked. “I could call for reinforcements tomorrow.” If Scarlett and Dorothy weren’t too busy, they could scan and copy. It would give Rebecca and Graham breathing room to work on the paper, website, and emailing.
“Sure.” He shrugged, strolling into the newsroom.
Forest followed. “I can come by after work again tomorrow.”
“Thanks!” She texted her besties and set her hands on her hips, looking at the chaos. “Let’s get the stuff from my car.”
For the next few hours, while Forest and Graham put the posters into frames and hung them, Rebecca put tablecloths on the desks that would hold the comic boxes, cleaned out the birdcage, hung it in the front window display, and set the typewriter on the sill. It still seemed a little too sparse for her liking, so tomorrow she’d figure out how to fill the space.
It felt so good to be a part of something again. Building up instead of maintaining. Between trying to save the Gazette and restoring the library, her plate was full. And she loved it.
As they were getting ready to call it a night, she checked her phone. “Dorothy says she can come all day, and Scarlett says she’ll be available after her morning appointment, probably about noon.”
“Fine by me.” Graham sighed. “Good work, Obi-Wan. I’m beat.”
So was Rebecca. An odd mix of excited and dead tired. She’d take a hot bath when she got home and crawl into bed.
Except, halfway to Gammy’s house, she got an epiphany on what to do with the last poster frame, and spent half the night on her laptop working on it.