up. “You should do the interview.”
“I’m thinking about it.” But every time he started to lean one way, a new thought crept in, made him reconsider.
Marissa cleared her throat behind them. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Sabrina didn’t need to throw us under the bus to do her job.” Her blue eyes were frosty. “I’m not saying she’ll do the same to you, Noah, but you should keep it in mind.”
He was, which was why he’d yet to commit.
Marissa looked tired as she waved the kids in. “I just want you to really think about it before you agree. I don’t know what she told you about her reasons for the article, but I can assure you, she’s got an angle.”
“Marissa.” Kyle looked pained. “It was a long time ago.”
She nodded and looked at Noah. “Just be careful around her. Now, can you two handle the kids and their hand-washing?” She took Timmy from Kyle and walked back inside.
Noah was left with his thoughts and a dirty niece and a couple of dirty nephews to wash up.
* * *
SABRINA PULLED INTO her parents’ driveway smelling of coffee grounds, sugar and the milky tea Mrs. Thompson had spilled on her table and then on Sabrina when she’d arrived with a cloth to wipe up the mess.
The spill had been an obvious ploy to ask Sabrina what she thought of their town’s venerable mayor. Apparently, everyone thought their little meeting outside had some romantic overtones and no one had believed her when she’d told them it was a business discussion. Finally, just to shut Mrs. Thompson up, Sabrina had told her that the mayor had a nice butt. Which she’d noticed when he’d bent over to put the coffee in his car.
Only she’d forgotten how quickly a statement like that would spread and she’d spent the rest of the day fielding questions about what other parts of Noah’s body met her approval. Mrs. Thompson had been texting away before Sabrina had even finished wiping up the spill. No doubt the entire town had heard about her appreciation for Mr. Mayor’s butt by now.
And yes, there was her mother coming out the front door with her hands on her hips. “Did you tell Linda Thompson that the mayor has a nice rear?” She asked as soon as Sabrina hopped out of the SUV she’d borrowed from her parents while she was here.
Sabrina found it worked best to deal with these kinds of things directly and succinctly. Some of her former interviewees would have done well to practice that. “Have you taken a good look at it?” She locked the door behind her and tossed the keys into her purse. “Spectacular.”
“Really, Sabrina.”
“Yes, really.” Her feet hurt, her clothes stank, and the last thing she wanted was to have a long and involved discussion about Mr. Mayor’s finer features with her mother. Her heels clacked against the cement driveway, drowning out the sounds of nature. The whine of mosquitoes, bird calls, the rustle of wind through the trees. Sabrina missed the sounds of the urban jungle. Honking cabs, the whoosh of the electric bus, the constant chatter of people on their phones.
Her mother sighed and followed her into the house. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Fine.” Sabrina unzipped her boots and dropped them in a tangle by the front door, grateful to feel the blood rushing back into her toes. She wriggled them a few times to speed the process. All she wanted to do was get clean in a nice, hot bath.
Her mother had other ideas. “Anything interesting happen?”
Besides the fact that it was now a known fact she’d checked out the town’s mayor? “Not really.” Sabrina rolled her neck, letting the ache ease from her shoulders. She was used to sitting in front of a computer all day; standing on her feet, reaching and pulling on the coffee machines worked a whole different set of muscles and she felt the burn. She knew her mother had missed her and just wanted to bond, but she just wasn’t up for it. Not smelling like old tea and dried sugar. “Can we talk later? I need to change.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Her mother stepped forward to give her a quick hug, but stopped short, her nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”
“Mrs. Thompson’s tea.” She headed up the stairs, already untucking her shirt. The blood was rushing back into her feet now and the throb worsened with each step. She winced. Apparently, heels weren’t meant to be worn for standing eight hours straight.
Sabrina stripped off her dirty clothes and dropped them in the hamper of her old bedroom. Nothing had changed since she’d left nine years earlier. The same white wainscoting and camel-colored walls. The same white bedspread and bright blue accent chair. The same green topiary on the oak nightstand. She’d even found her old red cowboy boots in the closet.
Of course she’d tried them on. Just to see if they still fit. They did. That was the great thing about shoes. Almost a decade later and they still fit the same way. Her old prom dress? Not so much.
Clad in only her underwear, she pulled her ratty old terry-cloth robe out of the closet. Her chic black silk one with gold embroidery hung beside it, but Sabrina was chilled. Summer temperatures had yet to arrive in Wheaton and her coastal blood was no longer used to the cooler days and nights. She wrapped the old robe tightly around her. It still fit, too. Though nothing else in town did.
Sabrina sank down to the end of her bed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. Time for her weekly call to the Vancouver newspaper. Though she had little hope that this time would be different, that her editor would tell her everything was fixed and that she was to haul her ass back to the city immediately, she called anyway.
Really, the whole thing was ridiculous. She’d written a short article on Jackson James, son of a wealthy developer. She hadn’t wanted to. Although she did interview local celebrities, she didn’t think Jackson qualified, but Jackson’s father was an advertiser—a big advertiser—and her editor had insisted.
Only Big Daddy hadn’t liked it when her article painted his son in a less than golden light. Please, his son was a wannabe playboy with rocks between his ears and Big Daddy’s insistence otherwise was an embarrassment. The whole thing should have just blown over, like other articles she’d written, showcasing her subject in an unflattering light, interest died down quickly and everyone got on with their lives. Except that wasn’t good enough for Big Daddy.
He believed that she’d sullied the family’s good name with innuendos and half truths and he wanted her to pay with her job. Since the paper wanted to keep him happy, a compromise was reached. His dollars were in and she was out.
Sabrina pushed the disappointment away. Just a few more months and either the paper would see the light or Big Daddy would finally ease up. They had to.
The phone rang a couple of times before her editor’s voice mail picked up. She left a message. The same message she always did. Just checking in. Let me know when things change. Call my cell phone.
Her stomach hurt. The first couple of months after her firing, her editor had been quick to take her calls. But lately, she was lucky to get a return phone call. And when she did, the information was always the same. A terse response that there was nothing new to report. She was beginning to worry there never would be.
She pulled her robe around her more tightly. If she didn’t get her job back, then what? Stay here? Shilling coffee and covering small-town politics for the rest of her life? Her parents would be thrilled, but she would not. She was meant for more than this.
She’d only been away for fourteen days and already she craved the late-night clubs, restaurants on every corner, and constant change and movement. People in the city tried new things, new looks, new music.
Residents in Wheaton seemed to have been caught in a time warp. But not the same one. There was no overarching style that permeated the town, so it didn’t look like a throwback to any specific era. Instead, people remained trapped in whatever look had been current at the time of their high school graduation. Sabrina was pretty sure she saw an old classmate