“Details,” he said.
Sherman had come highly recommended—organized, efficient, and, to my pleasant surprise, a prepper himself. Not extreme. Just thoughtful. The kind of man who rotated his pantry and believed in soil health.
“Okay,” he said, flipping to his notes. “Let’s talk upcoming blog posts. I drafted outlines for three: late-summer pantry rotation, emergency power alternatives for storm season, and a piece on community preparedness—leaning into the ‘know your neighbors before disaster hits’ angle.”
“I like that one,” I said. “Especially now.”
He nodded, picking up on the subtext but wisely not asking.
“Next,” he continued, “you’ve been requested for two conferences next year. The Appalachian Preparedness Summit in October and the Carolina Resilience Expo in November. They’re flexible on dates but want confirmation soon.”
I leaned back in my chair. “We’ll have to cross-check with Ian’s schedule.”
Sherman winced slightly. “Yes. About that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he assured me quickly. “But coordinating your calendar with Ian’s and then running it through Winifred is… an experience.”
I laughed. “She doesn’t scare you, does she?”
“Terrify? No,” he said. “Challenge? Absolutely. But I’m determined to win her over.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I thrive on ambition,” he replied. “Also spreadsheets.”
That alone told me I’d hired the right man.
He glanced at something offscreen. “One more thing. I’ve slotted your blog schedule through the end of the year, but we need to lock in a theme for November.”
I tapped my finger against my desk, thinking.
Outside, the trees swayed gently.
Inside, my world was anything but quiet.
Between bank robberies, movie shoots, complicated friendships, and now a federal investigation playing chess in my backyard, life was anything but ordinary.
And somehow, Sherman Howard’s color-coded spreadsheets made it feel manageable.
“Let’s make November about balance,” I said finally. “Preparedness without paranoia.”
Sherman beamed. “I love it.”
Sherman adjusted his headset and leaned a little closer to the camera. “Before we wrap up, I have to say something.”
“That usually means trouble,” I replied.
“It means admiration,” he corrected. “I heard about the bank heist. News travels even to North Carolina. And then the arrest at the diner? Pepper, your crime-solving skills fascinate me.”
I laughed softly. “That’s not exactly the brand we’re promoting.”
“No, but it might be a side benefit,” he said. “You see patterns. You organize information instinctively. And if you ever need help getting clues sorted, timelines mapped, suspects charted, spreadsheets, cross-referencing, digital files, I’m your guy.”
I tilted my head. “You’re volunteering to assist in a federal investigation?”
“Not during work hours,” he clarified quickly. “Strictly off the clock. Shared interest.”
