Page 77 of Hearts on the Line

“Oh, so you’re not together? We really thought you’d work it out this time.”

This time? “Gloria, there was never a start.” It’s hard to push that lie past the knot in my throat.

For a minute, there’s only a quiet sigh between us before she presses on. “My writing days are behind me. You know I’m enjoying retirement.”

I stare down at the ancient desk blotter. The cascade of sunflower and heart doodles is still there from high school.

“I don’t need you to come back to write, only to tell me all the gossip. What’s happening in Merritt Point?”

“It’s a good thing you’re on the side of the truth because you’re a terrible liar.”

I shove aside another stack of papers, revealing the lighthouse Ethan drew one afternoon all those years ago when he brought me a coffee before he headed to the rink for practice. He’d written “hi beautiful” on the cup sleeve, and I’d shoved it to the bottom of the trash before anyone could see.

“What do you mean?” I try to keep cool, but I hear my voice crack.

“Ethan wouldn’t look at you the way he does if it meant nothing. That boy either loves something or he doesn’t, and he commits. He’s still in love with you, even now.”

Michael has a loud, baritone voice that pitches upward when he’s speaking. It’s almost lyrical except for the squeak he makes before he laughs. And he has a good dose of self-appreciation as he chews on his toothpick, his boots kicked up onto the desk, while he fiddles with his camera.

I glance at the clock on the wall, then return to scanning headlines. I pulled the last year’s worth of papers, trying my best to catch up on what’s been going on in Merritt Point. I’m nothing if not thorough, and I guess a small part of me wants to impress Ruth.

Even if this is temporary.

Just for the summer, right?

“Thanks for coming in, Michael. Are you good with this week’s assignments?”

He’s in his late fifties and wears thick, gold-rimmed glasses half hidden by the camo flat-top hat pulled low over his face.

“Ruth usually runs a few of my photos outside of assignments. You know, to have local color?”

I nod, waiting for the explanation. He’s very fond of mansplaining how a newspaper works. I think a part of him is jealous Ruth asked me to fill in as editor for the summer.

“You show me what you have before deadline, and I’ll see what I can use. But I need to run, so if you’re set…”

“You’re closing the office early?”

I stand, then pull out the desk drawer to root around for the tape. That’s my first mistake. This drawer is where things go to die. I find a questionable package of ketchup, a dried-up bottle of Wite-Out, and a mitten. No tape.

“Yes, for the rest of the week,” I say, distracted. “I have somewhere else I need to be. Hours are changing for the summer until Ruth is back.”

“What happens if there’s breaking news?” His face looks like the definition of pearl-clutching.

I try to hold back my exasperated sigh, then stand, pushing the hair back from my face. “I have it covered.”

Do I? I mean, in theory. But don’t think I haven’t noticed the high-tension buzz running through my body now that I’m back on deadline and, technically, always on the clock. A phone call could happen any time, and weirdly, I’m excited.

“You should carry around a police scanner⁠—”

Ah ha, finally, the tape! I bend down and stretch my hand all the way back into the deep, wide drawer and wiggle my fingers until the tape comes from being lodged in the back with old take-out utensils and a stack of car air fresheners, which strangely smell like moldy bread.

“Thank you, Michael. So nice to meet you.”

We exchange numbers in case of an emergency, and before he can ask any more questions, I sprint to the door and open it up, immediately hit with a wall of heat that takes my breath away. Then I tape the sign to the door and stand there, arms folded.

“Thanks again.” I don’t give him a chance to say anything else, my patience long gone after having to endure the longest meeting of my life. I collect my things, turn off the lights, and wait for him by the door. “Have a great night.”

“One more thing.”