Chapter Nineteen
Unable to sleep, Graham rose from bed well before the sun and showered. After feeding Twain, he checked the forecast, noting it would be clear skies today. He hoped that was an omen for all things, and not just the weather report.
Regardless, he could take the dog with him to work. Which technically didn’t start for another six hours. Three a.m. was not his friend.
He’d texted Rebecca.
She hadn’t replied.
He’d knocked on her door.
She hadn’t answered.
And the lights had been off all night at her place. A fact he knew only because he’d been stalking the house from his window. Unapologetically. She’d probably spent the night at Scarlett’s or Dorothy’s, having a men suck rampage. He wasn’t sure where else she’d go.
Despite realistic assurances in his mind, anxiety cranked his gut.
She had every right to be angry. He’d implied an ugly accusation of her, even when he’d known better. He’d stuck his foot in it. A habit he’d done often with regards to her, but that ended now. She was not the crux of his mistakes. She hadn’t been the one to leave him for the wolves in Minnesota. She was not a representation of all the bad luck he’d faced.
It was time he let go of his baggage.
From day one, she’d bolstered him. Baked cookie advice regarding issues with the mailman. Menu suggestions at the bar on the cusp of him insulting the town. Feeding him ideas about The Gazette. Killing herself helping him to transform the newspaper. Offering encouragement. Translating southernisms. Listening with an unbiased ear about his scandal. Charming his parents. Hell, charming his damn dog. Aiding in getting his mojo restored. Introducing him to her friends so he felt less alone in a new town.
Frankly, if not for her, he’d be screwed. She’d made him human again, had reminded him of his worth, and gave him his life back.
He was wrapped around her little finger, and he didn’t care. He was…happy. She made him happy. Which was something he’d not been able to claim for far too long.
He’d hurt her yesterday, and it was inexcusable. He couldn’t grovel if she kept ignoring him, though. It was driving him out of his damn mind.
Pouring coffee into a travel mug, he eyed the dog. “Let’s go for a walk before we head to the office.”
Twain danced in circles.
Laughing, he grabbed his keys and phone. “Come on, then.”
It would still be a couple hours before daybreak, and he enjoyed the quiet as they departed the subdivision, heading toward town, Twain trotting beside him. Everything was still, not a soul about, and once again, Vallantine enchanted him. It was an interesting mix of tourism and small town living. Quirks, but not the kind he’d stereotyped in his head.
Well, some, but not all.
Leaves shushed with a gentle breeze, and everything still smelled of rain. Fresh. Clean. Stars winked overhead, too many to count, and it blew his mind how he’d not paid attention to what he’d been missing. In the city, he’d never had a panorama like this.
They got halfway down Main and stopped in front of The Gazette. He didn’t want to go in yet, and the warm, humid temperatures kept his feet moving.
“We’ll backtrack to the office in a bit.”
Twain looked at him, then ahead, going with the flow.
At the end of the road, he paused, eyeing the infamous peach tree and courtyard designed around it. Rebecca had told him the history, and if what she said had any truth, it was an amazing feat the thing was still around.
What the hell. “Let’s visit Miss Katie.”
If he lived a hundred more years, he didn’t think he’d get used to calling a tree by a formal name.
Parking his butt on one of the benches, he glanced around. Twain jumped up to sit beside him, seemingly doing the same.
Brick was laid around the courtyard’s circumference and a black wrought iron fence around the tree, which sat on a slight grassy noll. Shorter lampposts encased the perimeter. He hadn’t realized before today, but there were spotlights aimed up at the trunk. A few iron signs telling the myth were posted.
Admittedly, what he knew about belle peaches or their trees couldn’t fill a thimble, but he trusted what Rebecca had said as factual. The thing was almost twice as big as others of its variety, and ten times as old. Branches were growing upward, as if reaching, and the shape neared a rounded crown. More decorative and ornamental in his opinion, if not for the size. Leaves had almost finished filling in from the dormant winter, dark green and shaped like the foliage from birches in his parents’ neighborhood. Gorgeous red blooms dotted the tree, but those would be gone by summer.
When he’d asked, Rebecca said she’d wished on the tree as a girl, like so many visitors and townsfolk. He’d not done frivolous things as a kid like cast wishes on stars or dropped pennies in a well. He wondered if that was solely a female thing, but perhaps he should. She hadn’t steered him wrong yet.
“What do you think, Twain? Should I make a wish?”
The dog lifted his paw in a motion to shake, and Graham chuckled. He supposed that was a yes.
Crossing his arms, he leaned back and thought about it. Six months ago, he would’ve asked for his career back or another legit offer from a syndicate. He didn’t miss the hectic pace, or the bullshit associated with the job. Constant travel, deadlines, ten reporters behind him gearing for his position. Meals from a sack and heartburn. Sleepless nights.
If someone had told him, at any point in his life, he’d be his most content editing a small town newspaper in the south, he’d assume he was being pranked. Not accounting for an offer of ownership, but there it was in a nutshell. He still wrote important pieces. It just wasn’t on a massive scale for political junkies or business moguls, and without someone looking over his shoulder. It took him awhile to realize the material they put in The Gazette was important to the people in Vallantine. The patrons may not run for high office or be the latest celebrity or operate a pharmaceutical company, but they did represent the average everyday consumer. They mattered.
He”d been a snob, and no better than the jerks who’d shunned Rebecca in Boston. That changed now, too. He’d do better.
A sigh, and he scratched his jaw. He had no desire to win the lottery, stay young forever, or be best friends with Jason Momoa, though the actor did seem like a cool guy. Graham shook his head. He had a job, a roof over his head, food in his pantry, a great family, and wonderful supportive friends. There wasn’t a solitary thing he wanted.
Except Rebecca.
They had a great thing going, and he hoped to hell he hadn’t mucked it up. There was an ache in his chest that wouldn’t abate since yesterday. He missed her. It had been less than twenty-four hours, and he missed the daylights out of her. All he could think after Gunner’s offer was to go to her and celebrate. She would understand how much it meant to him, besides the fact she deserved it just as much. It was her triumph, too. He’d told Forest and his folks, but the victory was nothing without her by his side. Without him by hers. She was the embodiment of everything he never knew he’d been missing. He couldn’t envision a future without her.
“I wish she’d forgive me.” Huffing a laugh, he swiped a hand over his face, not even a little surprised he’d said the wish aloud. To a tree. Because Rebecca had told him it granted wishes. “I wish she’d forgive me and come back.”
His phone pinged, indicating he had an email on his personal account. He thought about ignoring it, but he dug the cell out of his pocket anyway.
Rebecca? They’d exchanged personal emails, but she’d not sent one yet. He scanned the message, confused. She started a blog?
Clicking the link, her site opened to a lavender and bright green design. In the header was a beyond adorable close-up picture of her with her head inclined, eyes crossed, and the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Waves of her caramel-colored hair cascaded around her shoulders. She’d named the blog “Because, Becca!”
He smiled at the play on words like she was calling herself out. She didn’t care for the nickname, he knew, but it would give her a small sense of anonymity, thus it was a good choice.
Her biography page listed her writing attributes with links to The Gazette and her socials. He clicked those and followed, along with following the blog. She had quite a few followers already. At the bottom of the page, she’d posted some screenshots of what she described as her first blogs as a young girl, claiming she’d just found them again. She was something else. Cute and crafty.
The only blog piece she had so far was titled “The History of Truths Lies.” She’d mentioned the popular trending game having originated in Vallantine with William and Katherine. It was brilliant to open with that since she’d get a lot of clicks based off hashtags and word of mouth. The article was articulate and funny, to boot, which people would gravitate toward, and it wasn’t so long that it would bore the reader.
“Look at our girl, killing it online.” He was so damn proud of her.
Putting his phone away, he stared at the tree, the courtyard, and the horizon while petting the dog. Whisps of red and orange were fighting the dark off in the distance for sunrise. Birds were already chirping, as was the sorrowful call of a whippoorwill.
“Aren’t you a postcard, sitting there with your dog, watching the sunrise.”
Flinching, he shifted toward the voice.
Rebecca.Thank all the holy creatures. She stood off to the side of the courtyard, dressed for work in a blue sundress that matched her eyes and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. The breeze caught wisps of her hair framing her face that had escaped her ponytail.
He hadn’t noticed her coming, and neither had Twain, but the doofus’s tail was wagging happily to see her. Graham’s would be, too, if he had one.
He tried to find his voice, but couldn’t. He could’ve wept at the sight of her and sheer relief.
She came closer, sitting on the other side of Twain, so the dog was between them. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”
He shook his head to clear it, but…nope. “What?”
Smiling, she turned in her seat to face him. “You look tired.”
“Oh. I didn’t sleep. At all. I texted and went by your place, but you weren’t there.” He wanted to touch her so badly, he had to fist his fingers to resist the urge. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry about yesterday.”
“Forgiven.”
Wait. Just like that?
And while he was on that thread, she seemed different. Happier. Content. As if the weight she’d been carrying around had been unburdened.
“Still, it wasn’t right. I knew, I knew you had nothing to do with Gunner’s offer, but…” He shook his head. Anything he said would sound like an excuse.
“But you’ve been burned before, were blindsided, and ever since, you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Expelling a hearty breath, he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.” Leave it to her to understand the psychology behind his actions. For the past six months, it felt like he’d been walking on eggshells, biding his time until his last hope was dashed. “It doesn’t justify taking it out on you. I am sorry.”
“I know.” She petted the dog, staring ahead. “I’ve been thinking about Gunner’s visit. Maybe I should accept the position to—”
“No.” Bless her heart, but no. She obviously had no clue what had happened after she’d left, and he wasn’t certain how she’d take the news. “Gunner wasn’t offering you the editor position. He doesn’t want the newspaper. He was trying to unload it on us. As in, full ownership. That was his offer, he was merely gaging your reaction to scenarios to cement in his mind he was making the right call.”
“What?” Eyes round, she gawked at him. “He wants to hand over The Gazette, just like that?”
“Yup. Trust me, I was just as shocked. All this time, I thought he was waiting to shut it down or fire me. The papers are on my desk. Three drafts. One for both of us to sign, one for you if I don’t want it, and the last for me if you bow out.” Pausing, he waited for a reaction, but she just continued to stare at him in an adorable, dumbfounded manner. “What do you say? Want to go into business with me?”
Covering her face with her hand, she bowed her head and laughed. By the time she lifted her head, the laughter was near hysterics. “I’m as confused as a fart in a fan factory. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Was that a no? Damn southernisms. “I’m not joking.”
“I know.” She fanned her face. “Whew. I know,” she repeated, sobering. “Our mayor sure knows how to bury a lead. Are you certain this is what you want? Small southern town. Lil ole newspaper.”
He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. “Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Why does it sound like you’re trying to talk me out of it?”
“I’m not.” She shrugged, studying him. “I wouldn’t want you missing out on something bigger or better if it comes along.”
He nodded, finally understanding. “It took me awhile to figure this out, but I’m where I’m supposed to be. There’s nothing bigger than co-owning our own newspaper and intimately knowing the people who read it. Faces we pass everyday and who are part of a community. And there is nothing better than you.”
Straightening, she pressed a hand over her heart. “Aw, if that isn’t the sweetest—”
“I love you.” No sense in beating around the bush.
Her perfect pink lips parted, and those big blue eyes widened.
“I do. I love you. That has no bearing on my decision for the newspaper. Hell, if Gunner had fired me, I’d find something else. Maybe put my bid in the race for his job next term. I don’t know. Start a lawncare business. Moot point, but I love you. From the lilt in your voice when you drop your guard to the way you wrinkle your nose when embarrassed. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You’re funny, clever, and brave. I mean, you’re sexy, too, which doesn’t hurt.”
She laughed, her eyes welling, and slowly shook her head. “I love you, too.”
Funny thing, he hadn’t noticed his heart quit beating during his diatribe because he’d been terrified she might not feel the same, or wasn’t on the same page yet. But there it went, thundering in his chest.
“Just remember who lead with the story first.”
Another laugh, the sexy, rough, smoky one that hit him below the belt, and she got on her knees. Leaning over the dog, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.
Hell, yes. They needed to ditch work today. They were the bosses. They could do that.
Tilting his head, he went in at another angle, deepening the kiss, stroking his tongue with hers. Her sweet honeysuckle scent invaded his orbit, and he groaned. Joy, untainted imaginable joy, spread from his chest, and encompassed his entire being.
He brought his arm up to wrap around her, tug her closer, but he got a fistful of…
Dog fur.
He broke from the kiss and glared at Twain.
The doofus licked his chin, then hers.
She laughed, scratching Twain’s ears. A pinkish glow lit her features as the sun crested, bathing her in light. “Who’s a good boy?”
“Once more with feeling, I am. I’m a good boy.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed harder. “Yes, you are.” She scratched behind his ears. “You’re a good boy, too.”
Fine. She wanted to be a smartass? Plucking her from her seat, he lifted her and deposited her sideways in his lap. Nothing between them.
Damn, but she was beautiful. He cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “I liked your blog. Great opener to kick things off.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I had an epiphany in the library last night.”
“Is that where you were?” All he had to do was walk a couple blocks to find her?
“Yes. Time got away from me.” She abruptly straightened. “You’ll never believe what happened.”
She became a whirlwind, hands flying, spouting a tale about lost blog pages and a ghost visiting her. By the time she finished, she was panting.
“Are you trying to have me believe Katherine Valantine’s spirit pulled blog pages you wrote as a kid from multiple books in the library and tossed them to you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds preposterous. But, yes.”
He laughed.
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me?”
Coming from anyone else, he probably wouldn’t. “I believe you.” He glanced at the tree behind her, golden rays of dawn filtering between the branches, and grunted. He’d be damned. “I made a wish on the tree earlier.”
Up, up, up went her brows. “You’re a true Valantine resident. Grats!”
He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for?”
“No. That’s between you and Miss Katie.”
Perhaps it was. Regardless, he smiled at her, brushing his thumb across her pouty lower lip. His sun rose and set with her. His whole world, in fact. His little belle.
“It came true.” This odd sense of fullness encompassed him, until it seemed he’d burst. “My wish came true.”