Page 64 of A Little Luck
Piper
Sounds like she’s dead.
I only hope I’ve made her smile. When she’s on a deadline, I’m not convinced she breathes or even moves from her chair, and I want my girl staying healthy.
“We have to convince Piper to hire Martha.” Jemima steps out of the car, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “She’s the headline provocateur.”
“That’s not a position.” I’m pretty sure Piper would murder her mom if they were around each other that much.
Martha can be a lot to take.
“Well, it’s a doggy dog world, and you are not cut out for the job.” Jemima pulls open the glass door of theEureka Gazettewith an air of entitlement.
I do a double take before hopping out to follow her into the building. “What did you just say?”
“How’d it go? Got something for me?” Piper meets us at the counter, moving fast, and warmth tightens my chest.
Always.
Her red hair is twisted into a bun on top of her head, and a pencil is shoved through the mess. A smear of black is on her cheek—possibly ink—and I can’t stop a grin sliding across my lips. She’s adorable, and very serious about her job, which makes me smother my sudden boyfriend urges, like the one to pull her into my arms and cover those pillow lips with kisses.
“Frangelica claims she’s originally from Italy, but I’d recognize that accent anywhere. It’s straight Tennessee.” Jemima swipes her finger across her phone. “Bill says they roast their own coffee beans on-site, but if that were true, it would smell like coffee, and the only scent I picked up was banana nut muffin. They’re importing those beans, although I don’t understand why he’d lie about that…” She gasps, eyes widening. “Unless they’re not fair-trade beans?”
Piper’s cheeks are turning pinker with every word, and it’s not because she’s embarrassed this time. I know that look—she’s pissed, and my protective instinct starts to rise.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s getting close to four, which means tomorrow’s edition is due at the printer in an hour.
“This isn’t a gossip rag, Jemima.” Her voice is on that razor’s edge of shouting. “Did you find out anything about where they’re from? What they hope to bring to the community? Why they chose this area?”
Jemima’s brow furrows, and she’s completely confused. “Clearly they hope to bring coffee and handmade bath products to the community, and they chose Eureka, because who wouldn’t? It’s beautiful, it’s way cheaper than Kiawah or Hilton Head, and you still have access to the elite clientele. It’s a win-win-win! But who wants to read that? Readers want gossip.”
Piper cuts her eyes to me, and I shrug. “It’s a doggy-dog world. We only live in it.”
It’s her turn to be confused. “Who are you? Snoop? It’s ‘dogeatdog world.’”
“Ew!” Jemima cries. “Why would theyeateach other? That’s disgusting.”
“We don’t have time for this. Type up what you’ve got. Lead with something catchy, a detail or something about the business or them, then fill in the details with the most important up top. And no conjecture about fair trade beans or clandestine Tennessee natives!”
“Oh-kay, gah!” Jemima hops over to the waiting laptop, and I follow Piper into her office, closing the door behind me.
“You’d better double-check whatever she writes before you send it to the printer.”
“Trust me, I learned that lesson.” She throws the words offhand before stopping in place and squinting up at me. “Why do you say that?”
“She’s been tossing out all sorts of interesting phrases all afternoon.”
She rounds her desk. “Whatever she said, it can’t possibly be worse than your headlines.”
“Do you know what a myth is?”
“A folk story that explains some phenomenon—”
“A female moth. How about quesadilla?”
“Cheesy Mexican dish?”
“What day is it?”