Page 92 of Words of Love
Chapter 25
John Kane had never put a name to feelings. Life moved fast, was too harrowing and complex. His body absorbed highs and lows. If he coasted on a midline for a couple of days, he was lucky.
But he knew rage. A black, suffocating storm. Watching Walker bleed out on the greasy sidewalk…the anger stole his breath. Iced his blood. He wanted a revenge that would kill. There would be no end.
Then Patricia put her cool hand over his. She rested her head on his shoulder and sat with him in silence.
This.
Sitting in the dark, breathing her in, as a slow, heavy peace quieted the storm…Kane called this feeling“love.”
Sam saved the manuscript and closed his laptop. Standing, he stretched out his arms and back. He shoved his feet into his boots, pulled on his parka, and went outside. He checked the gas level in the generator and hauled another load of wood into the cabin.
His deadline was tomorrow. As soon as he got back to Bliss Cove, he’d do a final pass ofTripwireand send it to his editor. He’d lived with John Kane long enough to know when one of his stories was finished.
And when it was good.
After stoking the fire, he went into the kitchen and uncapped a bottle of lemon-cayenne iced tea. Silently toasting Brooke, he took a swallow of the lousy stuff and opened a box of Barnum’s Animals crackers. He ate them while leaning against the counter.
The broken ladder still rested against the wall, and a piece of duct tape—a remnant of the blanket fort—was stuck to a wooden loft support. He’d found multicolored glitter sprinkled on the floor in front of the fireplace.
He finished the crackers and tossed the box in the recycling bin. Tomorrow morning, he’d head back to town.
Brooke had been gone all week. Though her absence was a physical ache, isolating himself in the cabin with no one but his characters to talk to had put him at the finish line. He’d finally figured it out.
She’d be back tomorrow.
He’d be waiting for her.
* * *
Jillian Powers was everything Brooke would have expected from the senior editor of a lifestyle magazine that boasted a circulation of over 2.5 million. With her Chanel suit, sleek hairstyle, and elegantly furnished office, she radiated both confidence and warmth.
She offered Brooke fresh gourmet coffee from a gleaming, stainless steel machine and conducted the interview in a corner seating area of her office.
Though Jillian started off with the usual questions about Brooke’s strengths and interpersonal skills, Brooke soon felt the interview shifting into more of a conversation than a Q&A. She also grew increasingly sure of herself. Before applying for the features writer position, she’d done her homework.
She knew in-depth details aboutClarity’starget demographic, circulation numbers, brand mission, and content strategy. She was a true, loyal subscriber who’d read every monthly issue over the past five years and could tell Jillian exactly which articles she’d found the most valuable.
By the time the interview wound down, Brooke felt better about her life prospects than she had in a long time. Her showdown with Michael had finally forced her to cut all ties with her past, including the regret and shame she’d secretly carried.
No, she wasn’t a hardcore news reporter who liked chasing stories about political unrest and crime, but she was most definitely a reporter who could write excellent, insightful articles about books, relationships, history, wellness, divination, fashion (okay, scratch that one), strength, and happiness. She wanted to write positive, uplifting stories that made people feel good about themselves and their lives.
“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” She gathered her things together. “I’ve been a longtime reader ofClarity, and I’d love to make the leap into becoming part of the writing staff.”
“I’m very glad you could come in on such short notice.” Jillian smiled and picked up the stack of papers that included Brooke’s resume and copies of her past articles. “You’re a wonderful writer, and the style of your features articles would fit our slate very well. You should expect to hear from us soon.”
A knock came at the door, and Mandy poked her head in the room. “Excuse me for interrupting, but Lynette Hanover is running late for your meeting, so you have an extra half-hour, if you need it.”
“Thanks, but we’re just wrapping up.” Jillian leafed through the papers.
Mandy gave a little nod and left the room.
Brooke stilled in the process of zipping up her purse. A strange cold suddenly prickled over her skin.
“I just love this article you wrote about the romance author in Chicago.” Jillian tapped her finger on a printed copy of the article. “You wouldn’t think that authors lead terribly interesting lives, but that makes it all the more fun to peek behind the scenes. So, do you have any other questions for me?”
Brooke’s throat was dry. She took a sip of water before asking, “I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but did Mandy say Lynette Hanover?”