Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
Tessa laughed once, the sound escaping before she could control it.
Relief followed so quickly it made her eyes burn.
She looked down.
The salary offer matched the middle of the posted range, equal to what she earned on the Convoy beat. Enough to communicate that the position was not a step backward in the paper’s structure.
Elaine allowed her several seconds.
Then said, “The offer is not a reward for disclosing the relationship.”
“I know.”
“It is also not a convenient transfer.”
“I know.”
“You are receiving it because the panel believed you were the strongest candidate.”
Tessa looked up.
“Thank you.”
Elaine’s expression remained guarded.
“I am still angry with you.”
“I know.”
“That will not disappear because you are changing beats.”
“I don’t expect it to.”
“You damaged my trust.”
The honesty hurt less than it had during the first meeting because Tessa had stopped expecting the job offer to erase anything.
“I want to rebuild it,” she said.
“That takes time.”
“Yes.”
Elaine tapped one finger against the offer letter.
“The Tides beat begins formally July 1. Before then, you will help transition Convoy coverage to whoever takes over and continue with Tides launch coverage as news develops.”
“Who is taking the Convoy beat?”
“We have not decided.”
Tessa resisted the urge to ask whether the job would be posted internally. It was no longer her seat to staff.
“Other Convoy stories may still be assigned to you for the next several weeks.”
“I understand.”
“You and Belov intend to become public?”
“Yes.”
“How public?”
Tessa almost smiled at the impossible scale of the question.
“We do not intend to issue a press release.”
“Good.”
“We want to be able to go to dinner. Attend team events together. Not hide if someone sees us.”
Elaine nodded.
“The Convoy communications department may learn quickly.”
“Yes.”
“We will tell them you have moved off the beat and no longer have editorial responsibility for him. Beyond that, your relationship is personal.”
The simplicity felt almost unreal.
Tessa looked toward the offer again.
“Can I tell Matvei?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“The staff announcement goes out Monday morning. You may tell close family and friends before then. Do not post publicly until the paper announces the move.”
“I won’t.”
Elaine slid the offer letter toward her.
“You have until Monday at noon to accept.”
Tessa stared.
“I accept.”
“You should read it.”
“I will. I still accept.”
The human-resources representative almost smiled.
Elaine did not.
Not quite.
“You are certain.”
“Yes.”
“Even if the relationship ended tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Even if the Tides lose their first fifteen games.”
“Yes.”
“Even if Claire Dunning stops liking your questions.”
“That seems likely eventually.”
Elaine’s mouth finally softened.
Only slightly.
“Read the terms. Sign and return them Monday.”
Tessa picked up the offer letter.
The pages shook once in her hands.
She steadied them.
The human-resources representative reviewed the remaining details. Vacation balance. Travel expectations. Reporting structure. The possibility of another reporter assisting during overlapping Convoy and Tides home games. None of it remained in Tessa’s mind for more than a few seconds.
She had the job.
When the representative left, Elaine remained behind the desk.
Tessa stood.
“Thank you,” she said again.
Elaine looked toward her.
“Do good work.”
The phrase sounded more like an order than encouragement.
It also sounded like another chance.
“I will.”
At the door, Tessa stopped.
“The women’s beat is not a lesser assignment to me.”
“I know.”
“I meant everything in the application.”
“I know that too.”
Tessa held the offer against her chest.
Elaine looked back toward the computer.
“You have someone waiting for the answer.”
It was not a question.
Tessa’s face warmed.
“Yes.”
“Go.”
Tessa opened the door.
Then heard Elaine behind her.
“And Tessa?”
She turned.
“No more technically true answers.”
The shame and humor of the phrase existed together.
Tessa nodded.
“No more.”
Matvei answered on the first ring.
“News?”
Tessa stood inside the stairwell between the newsroom and the lobby because she could not make the call from her desk without everyone listening.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“What?”
“I got it.”
Silence.
Tessa checked the screen to ensure the call remained connected.
“Matvei?”
“You got Tides.”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
The sound contained enough emotion to make her sit on the stair.
“I got the job,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“You do not sound excited.”
“I am.”
“You sound like someone told you the weather.”
“I am thinking.”
“About what?”
“Can I come now?”
Tessa smiled.
“I am still at work.”
“After.”
“Yes.”
“Your house?”
She looked toward the offer letter in her lap.
“No.”
The answer surprised her as soon as she gave it.
“I want to go out.”
The silence changed.
“Restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“With people?”
“Yes.”
“You can?”
“I am off your beat.”
The words felt enormous.
“I do not officially start until July, but I have been removed from any coverage involving you. Elaine knows we intend to be public.”
Matvei said nothing.
Tessa smiled harder.
“We can go to dinner.”
“Normal.”
“Semi-normal.”
“No rent.”
“No rent.”
The satisfaction in his voice became audible.
“I pick you up.”
“Front door.”
“Yes.”
“No hood.”
“Yes.”
“No parking behind the building.”
“Bad parking.”
“Matvei.”
“Yes.”
Tessa laughed.
“I’ll meet you at my apartment at seven.”
“Six-thirty.”
“Seven.”
“Six-forty-five.”
“Fine.”
He ended the call before she could add another condition.
Tessa remained on the stair for several seconds.
Then opened the message thread with Nina.
Tessa: I got the Tides job.
The response appeared almost immediately.
Nina: CALL ME RIGHT NOW.
Tessa did not.
She sent a second message.
Tessa: Dinner tonight. Tomorrow. I have to finish work.
Nina replied with six messages, four of which contained capital letters and no complete sentence.
Tessa returned to her desk.
The offer letter went inside her bag.
Her current assignment remained open on the screen.
A story about the Convoy’s offseason depth needs.
She finished it.
The work still existed.
Only the direction changed.
Matvei arrived at six-forty-two.
Tessa knew because she watched his truck pull directly in front of her building from the bedroom window.
No side street.
No rear entrance.
No hood pulled above his head.
He stepped onto the sidewalk wearing dark trousers and a pale blue shirt beneath a navy jacket. The outfit looked too formal for a Friday dinner until Tessa remembered that this was the first time he had been allowed to arrive.
Perhaps he viewed that as formal enough.
He entered the building after someone leaving held the door.
Tessa opened her apartment before he knocked.
Matvei stopped in the hallway.
She wore the same dark green dress from her birthday.
Not intentionally at first. She tried on two others, disliked both and found the green one at the back of the closet. Once she put it on, the choice became deliberate.
Matvei noticed.
“Same.”
“Yes.”
“You know.”
“I do.”
He stepped inside.
Tessa closed the door.
For one second, they stood facing each other in the narrow entry.
Then Matvei lifted her from the floor.
Tessa laughed and wrapped both arms around his shoulders.
“I got the job,” she said against his neck.
“Yes.”
“You are allowed to sound happy now.”
Matvei held her tighter.
“I am very happy.”
The emotion inside the words made her stop teasing.
She drew back enough to see his face.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Or for you?”
“Both.”
The honesty warmed her.
Matvei lowered her slowly but kept both hands around her waist.
“You want job,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You write first everything.”
“Yes.”
“You are not reporter for me.”
“No.”
His mouth shifted.
“Very good.”
Tessa smiled.
“That might be the most excited part.”
“No.”
“Top three.”
“Maybe.”
She kissed him.
The first contact remained tender.
The second carried all the relief they had not allowed themselves during the review. Matvei’s hands moved along her back, drawing her closer.
Tessa pulled away before the dinner reservation disappeared entirely.
“We are going out.”
“Yes.”
“If you keep doing that, we are not.”
“Dinner later.”
“Normal people honor reservations.”
“Restaurant has other tables.”
“Exactly.”
The idea made both of them still.
Other tables.
Other people.
No agreement requiring staff to close the doors.
Matvei touched her cheek.
“Ready?”
They left through the front door together.
The Press Gang was full.
Not crowded enough that people stood near the entrance, but full enough that conversations, glassware and music created a low warmth throughout the room. Every table Tessa could see held diners.
The restaurant looked different with other people inside.
Less like a stage Matvei had built for them.
More like a place in Halifax where two people could have dinner.
He had reserved the same table near the fireplace.
Tessa suspected money or reputation had helped.
She chose not to ask.
The host recognized Matvei immediately. His eyes moved briefly toward Tessa, then back toward the reservation screen without changing his expression.
“This way.”
They followed.
Tessa became aware of every face in the room.
Some did not look up. Others noticed Matvei and tried not to make it obvious. A man near the bar whispered something to his wife. Two teenagers at a nearby table turned completely around before a parent told them to stop.
Nobody shouted.
Nobody approached.
Matvei placed one hand lightly against Tessa’s back.
The contact was enough.
They reached the table.
The host pulled out her chair.
Matvei sat across from her.
For several seconds, neither opened the menu.
“Normal?” Tessa asked.
Matvei looked around.
“Many people.”
“That is generally how restaurants work.”
“Too many.”
“You rented it out last time.”
“Better.”
Tessa smiled.
“I like this.”
Matvei’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
A server arrived with water and congratulated him on the championship before describing the specials. She did not ask for a photograph or mention Tessa.
When she left, Matvei reached across the table and took Tessa’s hand.
Openly.