2. Sophie
CHAPTER 2
SOPHIE
I used to think love was the most powerful force on earth.
Until it let me down.
Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t totally given up on love in general. Just…when it applies to me. Three failed relationships are like that saying: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me; and my addition—fool me three times, shame on love. A girl can only endure so much disappointment in her life, you know?
“Soph?”
I jerk my attention back to my best friend Mia, who, at this very minute, is standing on a platform in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, wearing the most beautiful wedding dress I’ve ever seen. The lace, the beading, the drape of the fabric—perfection.
She lifts her finely shaped brows in question. “What do you think?”
I grin more for her benefit than mine. “I don’t know. Do they have it in a different color?”
Mia snorts and scowls all at once. “Seriously? This is like the most important event in my life, and you’re cracking jokes? ”
I hold my hands up in innocence. “That’s why you love me so much.”
She rewards me with one of her epic eye rolls. “Save your humor for your articles.”
I hunch my shoulders, but this time, my smile is real. “It’s perfect.”
She meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes glassy and her voice soft. “It is, isn’t it?”
If you looked up the definition of soulmate, I’m convinced you’d see a reference to Ethan and Mia. They are the epitome of the phrase ‘meant-to-be.’
Not only do the two of them look like they walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, which that alone would make me hate them if I didn’t love them both so much, but they’re also so perfect for each other, it’s nauseating.
But in a good way. A great way. The best way possible.
They’re like Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio in the Titanic or Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice—drawn to one another with a longing and passion that sucks everyone in around them.
Including me…especially me, seeing as I’m kind of responsible for their meet cute.
A few months ago, Mia tagged along with me on an assignment to interview the new owner of Florida Sun Kings, based here in Sarabella. While I was interviewing the formidable Rebecca Piedmont, who started out as a sportscaster with a dream of someday owning her own team, Mia fell hard and fast for one of the players.
Their love story turned into a whirlwind, and now I’m helping her plan their wedding.
But this is where the romance ends for me, as a pseudo-matchmaker. And I can live with that. If I can’t have true love of my own, I will find peace in helping others discover theirs. Or write stories about it.
That is if my editor-in-chief buys my idea of a “Romancing Sarabella” column. I envision it as a source to find out the best places for things like a first date, a marriage proposal, a cozy, intimate wedding, or even just a sunset picnic on the beach. Followed by a walk, of course.
Sarabella is known for its beaches and the arts. There’s a plethora of material to write about, highlighting the most romantic and creative parts of this somewhat sleepy but growing beach town. Like this boutique bridal shop I talked Mia into trying.
The dream of Tulle by Tulard started ten years ago when Madam Tulard—she insists we call her that—retired to Sarabella. All her years of apprenticing and working in France ached to be shared—her words—so she opened her own shop. I knew it would be the perfect place to find a one-of-a-kind dress for Mia, and I’m convinced readers will flip when they read Madam Tulard’s story. Doesn’t hurt that she’s giving Mia a discount.
The entire concept for my column idea came from helping Mia plan her wedding. I’ve lived in Sarabella my whole life. Who better than me to write about the gems hidden amongst swaying palms and gorgeous beaches?
I’m so lost in my train of thought—and checking my phone to see if my boss, Marty, has texted me yet with an answer—that I don’t notice right away that Mia has changed dresses and walks out wearing a monstrosity that looks more like a cream puff than a dress. Every bit of the gown is covered in satin rosettes, and the skirt is big enough to accommodate a large family of gnomes.
She holds her hands out to her side and gives me a smile I find rather suspicious. “Well, what do you think?” She claps her hands together and does a little bounce on her toes. “I know I said the other one was perfect, but now I think this is the one!”
My BS radar goes off—a required talent I’ve honed as a journalist—but I don’t want to say outright what I think to Mia, in case she’s genuinely serious. She better not be because I don’t want to go to jail for murdering a dress that borders on the Disney spectrum.
I rise to my feet and suck in a noisy breath, and then I bring my hands to my chest as if I’m so moved I can’t find the words at first—something I would NEVER do because I’m a journalist. We ALWAYS have something to say.
“Oh my gosh, Mia! You’re right! It’s the one.” I smack my hands to the sides of my legs like a cheerleader. “Please tell me you’re planning to buy it because if you don’t, I’ll never speak to you again.”
Mia’s shoulders drop as she tugs her mouth to the side. “Will I ever be able to pull one over on you?”
I giggle. “Not on your life. Now take that thing off so we can tell Madam Tulard what you need altered on the real one.”
She does this little stomp with her foot—something she’s done as long as I’ve known her. “Fine.” She heads toward the dressing room, then stops to face me just before she pulls the curtain closed. “That other one really is THE dress, isn’t it?”
I grin. “You know it, I know it, and I think the dress knows it too.”
Her turn to giggle. She snaps the curtain shut with a noisy scrape of metal rings on the bar while I check my phone again.
This time, there’s a text from Marty.
MARTY: Whatever you’re doing, stop and get back to the office. I have a new project for you.
All kinds of wonderful shivers travel up and down my back and neck. This is it, isn’t it? It has to be. Marty loved my idea and wants to push forward with it. My very first piece could run by next week. I send a quick reply to let him know I’m on my way.
Mia emerges from the dressing room, wearing the actual dress of her dreams, and steps up onto the platform again right as Madam Tulard floats in. Her wrinkled lips pucker as if she just sucked on a lemon, causing Mia and me to glance at each other in concern.
Madam Tulard’s face breaks into a proud smile. “Yes, that is the dress for you. It was made for you, mon chéri .”
Mia giggles with delight, and I blow out a noisy breath. My work here is done. For now, anyway. Plus, I need to get back to the office.
I hop onto the edge of the platform and lean in to kiss Mia on the cheek. “Just got a text from Marty that he needs to see me ASAP.”
Her eyes widen. “Your proposal?”
I nod in the most exaggerated way I can muster. “Yeah, baby!”
We both squeal and jump up and down.
“Do not rip the dress!” Madam Tulard glares at us, resembling a German sergeant more than the petite French woman she is.
Mia’s cheeks turn pink, but I grin and squeeze her hand. “Can you finish up here without me?”
She waves me away. “Go, go!” She tips her head toward me and whispers, “Just be sure to check on me later and make sure she didn’t eat me, okay?”
I snort. “Of course. And I’ll give you all the deets.”
Madam Tulard’s a parody of disapproval as I hop off the platform. Mia grins and waves as I dash off, already picturing the column header with my byline underneath. I’m about to meet my destiny, and nothing is going to get in my way. Not even a French sour puss who happens to be a world-class wedding gown designer.
This may not be the happily-ever-after I’d hoped for three times, but it’s certainly close enough.
I make a run from the parking lot but slow my pace once I step inside the Sarabella Herald Tribune offices downtown. Marty said ASAP, but he doesn’t need to see just how hungry I am for this.
Charlene waves to me from the copy desk. I require a few more seconds to catch my breath before I walk into Marty’s office, so I make a detour.
“I didn’t think you were coming in until this afternoon.” A slight frown puckers her mouth. Char and I were hired on around the same time, and became close friends almost immediately. But where I’m in it for a byline, her end game is copy editor because she enjoys telling people what to do.
“Marty asked me to come in sooner.” I lift a single brow, knowing she’ll get my point.
Her eyes widen, and her lips make a circle, making her resemble that surprised emoji face she loves to use when she texts. Anytime she sends it, I invariably picture this image and laugh.
“Yeah, wish me luck.” I flash her a smile before striding toward Marty’s office.
He lifts a finger as I walk in to inform me he’s on a call. The man always wears his AirPods, so we never know if he’s talking on the phone or listening to a news feed.
I slip into the chair in front of his desk and fold my hands in my lap to wait. I may have caught my breath, but my heart’s still pounding like a percussion drum. For once, I’m glad he has those things in his ears because I’m almost convinced he could hear it, too.
“Great. We’ll get this started tomorrow, then.” Marty ends the call, then faces me and actually removes his AirPods—something he only does when he has big news.
And me getting my own column is big. Huge. Ginormous. This is it! The moment I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.
I take a deep, relaxing breath and put a smile in place. “You said you needed to see me? ”
His gray-blue eyes sparkle as he grins. “I have some fantastic news for you, Sophie.”
I let out a nervous giggle as I clasp my hands to my chest. Who cares if I make a fool of myself? I got THE COLUMN.
“This is so great, Marty. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
His smile dips a little. “But I haven’t even told you the news yet.”
I stretch out my palms. “I assumed it’s about my proposal.”
He waves my words away. “Oh, that. No, we’ll discuss that another time. This is bigger. A specific assignment just for you.”
Talk about the bottom falling out. But I’m not ready to give up. “So is a column about the undiscovered gems in Sarabella. From food, to shops, to the arts?—”
He tilts his head. “I’m aware of the slogan. I read your proposal.”
“And?”
Marty gentles his voice. “Not yet, Soph. You need a little more experience under your belt.”
I shift to the front of my chair and lean over the edge of his desk. “I have lots of experience, Marty. At this rate, I’m going to need another notch to loosen it. Please, I really want this.”
“I know you do, kiddo. But I promise what I have for you will go a long way in helping you get there. Trust me, okay?” Hard to resist the man when he uses his fatherly tone.
Marty has known me since I was a baby. He and my father worked together as reporters in Washington, DC. Then, after years of working on various papers, they both landed here in Sarabella. I grew up in this newsroom and caught the journalism bug while watching my father hammer out his articles. Marty and his wife, Clara, did a stellar job filling the gap left behind after my mother died when I was five.
So, of course, I trust him. But I’m desperate for this dream. Borderline psychotic, one could even say. Letting go of it in any small way feels so risky…like a setup for disappointment. But Marty has been like a father to me for the last five years si nce Dad passed away without warning. I know he has my best interest at heart.
I flop back in my chair. “Fine. Let me have it.”
“Remember the piece you did about Rebecca Piedmont?”
“Yes, of course.”
“She wants to up the team’s reputation and build a connection with the fans. She was so impressed with what you wrote that she’s requested you follow the team and do profiles on the new coach, the staff, and the players.”
I slap my hands on the chair's arms and push up from the seat. “Nope, don’t want it.”
He stares up at me with mild shock. “But she asked for you, Soph. This is a big deal. Besides, you covered sports in college. You have experience.”
I lean my hands on the edge of his desk. “And I hated it. I’ve no interest in sports. Give it to Simon. He follows everything that includes a ball, a bat, or a stick.”
And a skirt, but I don’t say that part out loud.
“Did you miss what I said earlier about this assignment helping you get that column you want?” His brows arch in that authoritative expression I’ve come to recognize when I’ve lost.
I drop back down into the chair. “There has to be some other way, Marty. Please. Just thinking about that locker room smell makes me want to gag.”
“You’re not thinking this through, kiddo. You want to do a column about Sarabella. Well, right now, this is the big news here. Big enough to wake up this sleepy beach town in a massive way. And your name will be on the byline. When you think about it, it’s really not that far off from what you proposed. And doing this assignment will go a long way in selling the board of directors on your column idea.”
Now he has my attention. “Okay. I think I’m beginning to see your point.”
“Good.” He gestures to his phone. “That was the new coach, Gabe Markelson. He’s expecting you in the morning. ”
“That soon?! Don’t I get any time to do some preliminary research so I can compose my interview?”
“Soph, this isn’t a one-shot deal. You’re going to observe the team over the season and write a series.”
“A series?” I can’t even imagine there being enough content to warrant following a team for the entire season, but I may not be trying all that hard, either.
He nods. “The team needs positive exposure to help undo the controversy from last year.”
“That’s months, Marty. I don’t know if I can handle that.” To be around sweaty, spitting, and sometimes arrogant hockey players for that long makes the salad I had for lunch feel like nettles in my stomach. Mia’s fiancé, Ethan, is the exception—him I can stand—most of the time.
“Will I be able to work on anything else?”
“Nope. The idea is for you to follow the team. Get to know them so we can run profiles on the players and the managers and cover the home games, of course. That’s what will bring the fans back. You can even write about the renovations done on the old rink. Ms. Piedmont is giving you full access to everything.”
“Wow…” Marty could be right. If I structure this series similar to how I imagined my column, I could establish a reader following, which would back up my proposal.
But it’s hockey… And only hockey for months.
I tilt my head back, covering my face with a groan. “Somebody please wake me up from this nightmare.”
“Sophie.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
I drop my hands as I lower my chin. “What?”
“This is how it works. You pay your dues and prove you’ve got what it takes. Trust me, this is going to do great things for your career if you handle it right.” His earnest expression conveys his belief in me.
Nothing will make me love this assignment, but I don’t want to let Marty down. He’s not only an amazing boss but one of the biggest sources of encouragement in my life. The only source, really. I drop my hands to my lap with a moan. “Fine. But I’m not changing my plans for Mia’s wedding.”
“Of course not. I’m not asking you to live at the rink twenty-four-seven. Just attend practices and games.”
“Away games, too?” I’m softening. I can feel it in my chest, and I hate it.
“Not all of them. We’ll cover your expenses for the ones you do.”
I’ve always wanted to travel, but not with a hockey team. Guess I can’t be choosy. Not yet, anyway. “And I do my own photos.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Now he’s placating me.
Still feeling somewhat petulant about the whole thing, I tuck my chin. “Can I stop in tonight to get the lay of the land?”
His grin stretches, pushing up his cheeks. Probably because he knows he’s won. “I had a hunch you might want to. The coach said no one would be there except for the construction workers. Take a look around and start envisioning your plan of action.”
Envisioning. One of Marty’s favorite words.
“Don’t get all woo-woo on me now, Marty.” I shove myself out of the chair and start to leave.
“Sophie?” His voice calls me back.
I stop and turn around. “Yeah?”
“This is going to be fun.”
A nod is all I can muster. But as I leave, I mutter, “If you say so.”
“Heard that.” Marty’s voice rings out behind me, but I don’t stop. I trudge back to my cubicle and flop into my chair like a deflated balloon at a party gone wrong.
Charlene glances side-to-side, then slinks over like the Grinch. “Well, how’d it go? When does your first column publish?”
“No column. Not yet, anyway.”
She crouches down, resting her chin on her hands on the edge of my desk. “Then what was so important that he wanted you to come in?”
I sit up and lean toward her. “You’re looking at the new sports journalist for the Florida Sun Kings hockey team.”
Her brows do a little wiggle. “Could be interesting being around all those sweaty, muscled players.”
Her eyes take on a dreamy look, while mine prefer to slam shut in disgust. Been there and done that in college, and it was pretty rank then. But if Marty thinks this is the optimal approach to land the column I want, then what choice do I have?
I’ll do my time, like he said. Do the gig, get it over with, and move on to the real and meaningful stuff.
Until then, hockey, here I come.