special events. Mrs. Thompson had been wearing the same baby-blue sweater set she’d worn when she was Sabrina’s third-grade teacher.
Sabrina pushed herself off the bed and padded down the hall to the guest washroom that had been hers when she was growing up. Not much had changed in Wheaton since she’d been gone and not much had changed in the bathroom, either, including the potpourri her mother favored. She considered throwing it away, but the dried petals would no doubt flutter all over the tile and then she’d be on her hands and knees picking them up one by one.
Instead, she turned on the faucet, adjusted the temperature until she was happy and let the tub fill up. When the water neared the top she twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, slipped off her robe and underwear, and slid beneath the surface, a sigh sliding out from her lips. This might be the one thing she’d missed. In the city, her apartment bathrooms had either a shower alone or an old tub that even she, at five feet four and a half inches, couldn’t fit in comfortably.
Sabrina stretched, letting the water sluice over her and feeling her muscles unkink. She still needed to figure out how to convince Noah Barnes that she only wanted to interview him, not make a federal case. But apparently the Barnes family was still holding on to old grudges.
Wasn’t there a statute of limitations on these things? It was nine years ago, for God’s sake. She shoved down the bubble of guilt that tried to rise. One more reason to get out of here. No one in Vancouver made her feel guilty or as though she’d done something wrong when all she’d done was report the truth.
The whole thing had started out so innocently. Sabrina had been taking journalism classes at the University of British Columbia and trying to find a way to finagle an internship at the Vancouver Tribune, the city’s broadsheet. But a university freshman with a few articles written for her local hometown paper the previous year was hardly the kind of student they were looking to groom.
Until Kyle, an early-round draft pick in the NHL’s draft, had injured his back at practice and herniated a disc. He’d been sent for surgery and then permitted to go home for recuperation and physiotherapy. Except Kyle had never come back.
Normally, an early-round player who crapped out before ever playing a game at the pro level wouldn’t do more than cause a brief mention on one of the morning talk shows. But Kyle had been drafted to Vancouver and he was a B.C. boy, so fans were interested. And Sabrina knew she could get the inside scoop.
Though she and Kyle hadn’t kept in touch after their breakup, she knew he’d agree to her interview and he had, willingly. No arm-twisting required. She’d flown home, expecting to find that Kyle, who’d been a naturally gifted athlete if a somewhat lackadaisical player, had simply decided he wasn’t interested in the work necessary to rehab his back to professional-sport caliber. Or he’d been one of the unlucky ones for whom the surgery didn’t mean full recovery.
She’d never expected that he was staying in Wheaton for Marissa. Or that her best friend was already pregnant with his baby. Her best friend and her ex-boyfriend. Together.
Sabrina hadn’t cared that Kyle had moved on. They’d never been anything serious. But Marissa? Her best friend since they’d met in ballet class as three-year-olds? The one who’d come to visit her for a few days over the holidays before they’d flown home together to spend Christmas with their families in Wheaton? That had stabbed.
So she’d let all her feelings seep onto the page. Snotty and snarky and cutting. How sad that Kyle had given up a promising career. What a shame the whole situation was. She’d never explicitly stated that Marissa was expecting, but anyone with half a brain could read between the lines.
She’d meant to hurt and she’d been successful. By the time her mad wore off and she wondered if she’d taken things too far, the choice had no longer been in her hands. The editor at the paper loved it, ran it as the cover article in the sports section and Sabrina was hired on part-time.
Sabrina shook the old memory off. That was the past and she couldn’t change things now. And right now, she just wanted to enjoy her soak.
She wet a washcloth and laid it across her eyes, sinking down until the water touched her chin. Her eyes shut and her mind quieted. It felt good.
Sabrina was sure she’d only just closed her eyes when a knock startled them open. She pulled the washcloth off, blinking away the wetness on her eyelashes. “Yes?”
“Dinner’s almost ready, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sabrina climbed out of the tub, noting the water was far cooler than when she’d entered, and toweled off. Back in her room, she pulled on a pair of cute yoga pants and matching hoodie. Just because she was in the boonies was no reason to look like it.
She glanced at her cell phone as she pulled on a pair of warm socks, but she had no new messages. Tucking away the hurt that no one had called her—not her editor, not her friends, not even the mayor—she put the phone back on the nightstand. They were busy, that was all. Unlike her, they still had vibrant lives.
It was probably too much to hope for a call from the mayor’s office anyway. Even though he’d seemed to be considering her proposal, Sabrina didn’t think he was the type to make a snap decision. She resolved to call him first thing tomorrow morning. She couldn’t fix the mess back in Vancouver, but she could get her interview with Noah Barnes. Surely he could see that the interview would benefit him as much as her. And if not, she’d tell him.
Feeling marginally positive that things would soon be going her way, she headed downstairs to dinner with her parents.
THE MAYOR WAS being difficult. Luckily, Sabrina had worked with difficult interviewees before. The hockey player who’d cancelled three times before she’d finally shown up outside the arena after practice like a groupie and done the interview while his hair was still wet. The singer who’d appeared an hour late, hung over from the night before and answering most of her questions with requests for a cigarette. The actor who’d insisted on staying in character, accent included. All had ended in successful columns for Sabrina.
She knew how to get what she wanted. And she wanted this interview.
Since their meeting in the parking lot on Monday, she’d had two other opportunities to talk to Noah in person, both instances as she was making his espresso. On each occasion, he’d nodded politely and told her he would get back to her. The four times she’d called his office, she hadn’t even managed to get him on the phone. His assistant had acted as a gatekeeper and brushed her off with the now familiar story that he was in a meeting or out of the office.
But Sabrina was pretty sure he couldn’t avoid her if she showed up on his doorstep. Not that she was turning into some creepy stalker who would wait outside his house and pounce the minute he showed his face. No, she had more couth than that. She was moving in across the hall. Far less creepy.
She’d known her parents owned an income property, half of a pretty little duplex in town, but she hadn’t known Mr. Mayor called the other half home and, upon learning this tidbit, she’d convinced them—okay, there might have been a teensy-weensy bit of begging involved—to let her move in. Their previous tenants had moved out a couple of months earlier and the apartment had been sitting vacant. Sabrina didn’t believe in astrology or fate, but her stars? Those were aligned.
She wondered if Mr. Mayor was a briefs or boxers man. Really, it was the kind of investigative journalism that readers would want to know. Her cheeks warmed.
“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Her dad interrupted her thoughts.
“Just excited to be getting my own space.” She rolled down the window. Mr. Mayor wasn’t even her type. She preferred the slightly dangerous bad boys. The ones who demanded rather than asked and kissed a woman so hard that she popped right out of her shoes.
“You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”
Although