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  “He’s back?” says another officer chiming in. “He’s a friggin’ hero, doing this just out of the kindness of his heart on a night like tonight.”

  I stand up, throw on my coat, hat and gloves. “You boys stay here and keep cozy and warm all you want; I’m going out there to talk to this guy. Hold the presses; this is what people want to read about.”

  Chapter Five

  Beast

  Obviously I can’t let her go out in this weather if she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

  I follow her outside.

  “You can’t drive in this,” I shout out to her as I follow her across the parking lot, the wind whipping my face.

  “I’ll walk. It’s just up Main Street and over that way to the bypass,” she shouts back at me, her voice barely audible over the noise of the wind.

  Avery moves slowly in her high-heeled boots, so I’m able to catch up to her by the time she reaches the sidewalk. “You’ll fall on your ass in those boots.”

  She laughs but her nose is already red despite her oversized scarf covering half her face. “You’d be surprised how many riots they’ve gotten me through.”

  “This is not a riot, this is a blizzard on top of a layer of ice.”

  She huffs. “Fine, follow me if you want.”

  “I don’t particularly want to,” I say. “But you’re new here and you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “If you say so, Coach.”

  “Why do you keep calling me Coach?”

  She shivers and pulls her coat around her tighter. “Because I think Beast is a terrible name for you.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I say. Both of us are having to shout even though we’re right next to each other, the wind is so loud.

  “So why do they call you Beast? Is it a football thing?”

  “No, it’s because I produce copy so fast.”

  Neither of us says anything for a few minutes while we lean into the wind and trudge through the ever-growing drifts of snow on the sidewalks. The drifts are getting so bad I have to help her climb over one as we inch our way up Main Street. Even through our gloved hands, I feel a definite heat exchange between us.

  “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says after a while.

  I’m surprised to hear her say that. “Avery, you write insanely fast, did you forget?”

  “Yeah, but I enjoy it.”

  I sort of resent that remark, as it implies I don’t love what I do for a living. Even though I actually don’t. “I like what I do.”

  She laughs. “You don’t act like it.”

  “That’s because I don’t like office politics.”

  “So fix it.”

  I look at her to see if hypothermia is setting in, because she’s making less and less sense to me. “It’s not that easy.”

  She shivers, then looks at me with all seriousness. “It’s not hard; it just takes time and calculated planning.”

  We continue to trudge for some time, and hang right at the end of Main and make our way to the bypass.

  “Oh! I think I see them! Come on.” Avery takes off at a run. I follow suit. About a block away from the action she takes a tumble with a loud shriek.

  “Avery! Are you OK?” I call out as I hustle over to where she’s fallen into a snow drift.

  She’s writhing around in the snow. “I’m fine, I’m not hurt. I’m just…having a little trouble standing up again in these boots.”

  “I thought you said you’d worn them through more than one riot.”

  “I did but I never fell down in them.”

  I smile and reach out my hands to pull her up with one quick move, then help her brush the snow off of her.

  White flakes coat her scarf and her hair. I brush it off with my gloved hand. Her face, pink from the cold, lights up as she grins at me.

  “Thank you,” she says, her eyes blinking at me. If I hadn’t met her just a couple of hours ago and known what an outspoken, self-assured presence she was in the newsroom, I would guess from this expression that she’s shy. “My knight in shining armor.”

  I know she’s joking, but there’s something warm behind it.

  Avery has still got a hold of my hand and if I’m not mistaken, she squeezes it.

  “Your hands are warm. Sorry, I didn’t mean…,” she says, pulling it away.

  “And you are not properly dressed to be out here.”

  She shakes her head like she’s fine, but I know that can’t be the case. “I’ll just talk to the tow truck driver and the nuns and then I’ll file the story and head home to a nice hot bath. OK?”

  Something clenches inside me as my mind fills with images of her running a bath and testing out the steaming water with her cute little toes. I haven’t seen her toes, but I just know they’ve got to be cute. Dude, what are you doing daydreaming about Avery’s toes in the middle of a snowstorm, with said woman about to get herself into real trouble in this icy weather?

  “Hey, whatever you do in the privacy of your own hotel room is your business. Let me help you get the story and let’s get back to the warm newsroom ASAP.”

  She stares at me for a beat. The wind is picking up and whipping her hair around. What is she waiting for?

  “No offense, but I don’t need your help.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re going to get injured or go hypothermic. Let me help you.”

  She shrugs and takes off, and I follow her lead.

  Pretty sure I have no other choice.

  We arrive just in time to snap some photos with her camera phone and get a couple of quotes just before Bear, the friendly neighborhood tow truck driver, the ambulance, and the police drive away with the group of nuns.

  The tow truck has room for me and Avery, and Bear offers to drop us off at the newspaper office.

  “Heck of a night to be out in this weather,” he says.

  “I could say the same to you,” Avery replies.

  “For me, it’s the right thing to do. For you two, it’s a little nuts. Sorry.”

  I’m taking notes while Avery talks because her hands are so cold, her fingers are too stiff to move the pen. I have half a mind to tell Bear to take us directly to the hospital to get her checked for frostbite.

  The ride back to the office takes about as long as it took to walk to the crash site because of the whipping wind and driving snow.

  When we arrive, Avery asks him a few more questions. Bear indulges her but then he gets a phone call that he has to take.

  “Hey, babe. No, I’m fine. Not much action in town. I might check the highway on the outskirts in a minute.”

  I comment out of the side of my mouth because I’m sure Avery doesn’t know. “His wife’s name is Mary; she’s the meteorologist over in the city.”

  Avery gapes at me and holds her hand out. “Would you mind if I got a quote from your wife?”

  Bear hands her the phone, because it’s hard to say no to this ball of energy.

  After a short but friendly conversation, she hands the phone back to Bear. “She needs to talk to you. It’s about the baby.”

  Bear takes the phone back. “Babe, I’m back. Oh, I’m sorry. OK. I’ll come home then, if that’s the case. See you soon. I love you.”

  Bear hangs up and turns to Avery. “I gotta get going, so if there’s nothing else you need…”

  Avery being Avery, of course she needs to ask a few more questions because she doesn’t understand that “if there’s nothing else you need” is Midwestern speak for “I don’t want to be here anymore. Let me go.”

  Something about the way he spoke to his wife, the way his voice changed, intrigues me. I can tell he’s completely besotted with her, and I wonder how proud she is that her husband does this selfless thing every time we have a weather event like this.

  I wonder if I will ever get the chance to be admired like that? Over the course of my career, I have won numerous awards for sports reporting, but I have never had anyone I actually cared about lavish me wi
th praise. Never had someone to accompany me to an awards banquet—or so much as an office Christmas party. I go to work, work too late, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It’s easy to fall into that pattern when one lives in the apartment above the newspaper office and the city doesn’t have that much to do for entertainment unless you’re married with children.

  When I hustle Avery out of the tow truck and safely back into the warmth of the office, she brushes aside the notes I’ve written for her.

  Surprised, I ask her, “You don’t need these? I have pretty decent handwriting.” I hold out my spiral reporter’s notebook to her.

  She shakes out her dark brown mane, now darker because it’s been soaked by the weather outside. I make a mental note to be sure she buys herself some warmer mittens and a better stocking cap. “No thanks, Coach. The story is in my head, not in my notes.”

  “That sounds like a personal mantra,” I say.

  Avery turns to look up at me and smiles. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

  I shrug. “Lucky guess.”

  I watch her work and cross-check it against the notes I took. She’s not wrong; she has all the quotes in her head, somehow. Dang. And her story’s actually really good.

  Whatever Perry is paying her, it’s not enough. She’s almost too good for this place.

  I start to feel an inexplicable sense of melancholy on her behalf. She doesn’t belong out here in the middle of nowhere. She should be at the Minneapolis Star, The Des Moines Register. Forget that, the LA Times. Her writing is amazing. “I don’t know how it’s possible for you to do this at 12:30 a.m.”

  “Coffee. Lots of coffee,” she says. “There. All right, boss man, it’s in the hopper. I’m going home.”

  “But…,” Reese begins as she buttons up her coat for the second time tonight.

  “And you can call me on my cell if you have questions about it. You know, the little rectangular thing you have in your pocket that beeps. I have one too, and they all talk to each other. It’s amazing. Have a good night.”

  I gather up my gear and my keys and follow her out to the back vestibule, which is blocked from the view of the newsroom.

  “You’re an incredible writer. What are you really doing here? You’re not just another one of Perry’s good ‘gets.’ What’s going on here? Why did you take this job?”

  As Avery looks at me, she sucks both of her lips into her mouth and narrows her eyes at me, as if she’s deciding whether or not she can trust me.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  She leans in close and seems to grow a couple of inches before my eyes, obviously rising up on her tiptoes.

  “Well…I came here because of you.”

  Before I can process what she’s just said, her cool, dewy lips connect with mine. Shock and excitement crackle through me, both at her words and then at her actions.

  I’ll address the comment later. For now, I have to focus on not letting her get away with kissing me first. I’m delighted that she did it, but I’m kicking myself for not being bold enough to do it sooner.

  Soft isn’t an adequate word to describe the feel of her lips against mine. It’s the kind of soft that makes everything feel better, makes life in general seem less dull and strange and pointless. Like sinking my toes into the sand at the beach on the first warm day of summer. Like my bed after a long day at work. Like warm socks right out of the dryer on a cold January morning.

  Geez, this firecracker of a woman is turning me into a poet. Her kiss makes me want to blurt all these comparisons out loud to her, because she’s such a kindhearted soul, I know she would not make me feel embarrassed about it. I haven’t gotten poetic about another person since college, and even then it was embarrassing.

  The kiss moves from simply soft and cool to warm and then slightly wet. I want more. Need more.

  My hands move toward her body, needing to create more warmth for us both, but she backs away. With a wistful smile, she turns to leave. “See you after the storm passes,” she says.

  Chapter Six

  Avery

  I really should not have kissed him.

  Why did I do that?

  Because I was feeling it in the moment. Same way I approach everything. If it seems right, go for it.

  Maybe it wasn’t the best idea professionally, but my lips wanted to kiss him. The look in his eyes said he wanted to kiss me, but he never would have taken the initiative because he’s a consummate professional; I know it for a fact. I’ve studied his writing for months, ever since my first encounter with Perry at awards night. As soon as Perry offered me the job here, I found the accolades for Rory Chapman and read up on him. But I hadn’t expected to meet Beast. I hadn’t expected to have such a strong feeling of connection to a person within hours of meeting him.

  I know he felt it too. But being in a position of semi-authority, he would never act on his feelings. He needed a green light. And the atmosphere just got to me. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the snow outside made me feel giddy. Something about the weather, the cold, the blowing snow, the newness and the apparent danger of it all. Add to that the corporate intrigue of what I’m even doing here in the first place, and I just gave in to the moment.

  My actions could cause some problems, I realize. If things go according to plan, he could sue me for sexual harassment.

  He’s just so cute and kind and attentive and…I thought we were having a moment. And his lips are just so…kissable.

  I know it’s wrong. I can’t just go putting my lips on someone in the workplace. But were we still at work, technically? When the kiss happened? Is the vestibule still considered being at work?

  Had I myself not been on the receiving end of unwanted male attention? What made me think kissing him was OK, even in the moment?

  Well, Avery, too late to overthink it now.

  I push the ignition button on my rental car, and it doesn’t turn over.

  Not even a little bit.

  Fuck. The battery? Oh god.

  And now I have to trudge back into that office and face him.

  Well, I would have to do that anyway when I come back to work on Monday.

  Turns out, I don’t have to go back to the office, though, because when I look up, both Beast and Perry are standing on either side of my car. I roll down the window a crack to speak to Beast. “My car won’t start. Where’s the nearest hotel and can you give me a ride?”

  “The nearest hotel is on the bypass, and the road that way is not passable, they just said so on the scanner. You have one choice,” Beast says.

  I perk up. “Bed and breakfast? I love those. Can I walk there?”

  Beast shakes his head. “No B&Bs here, I’m afraid.”

  “What are my options, then?”

  Perry gives up on the idea of me rolling down my passenger side window and comes around to the driver side next to Beast, looking annoyed. Before Beast can speak, Perry butts in. “My wife is already up at the cabin and I’m afraid I won’t make it. You may come on over to stay in our guest room. We’re just up the street.”

  I look from Perry to Beast.

  Beast’s nostrils flare. “I have a couch,” he says.

  Perry waves his hands as if calling for a time out, “No, no, no. I insist. The Young Journalist of the Year cannot, should not, sleep on our sports editor’s sofa.”

  So. He’s offering me his guest room because I’m such an impressive writer? But what if I was a plumber? What if I was a ticket taker at the movies? Would he offer me a guest room in a snowstorm then?

  And something in Beast’s eyes is giving me pause. He really, really doesn’t want me to go to Perry’s house.

  I stammer. “I…I think I might just try to make it to my hotel…”

  Perry looks doubly annoyed with me “The roads are closed, young lady. You’re not going to get anywhere out there unless you plan on building an igloo.”

  I look to Beast, who says, “I have a pull-out couch. It’s a very nic
e pull-out couch.” His teeth grind as he talks, like he’s trying to communicate in code. I pick it up: he does not want me going to Perry’s house, at all costs.

  I bite my lip. Both of the options before me feel weird, but each for different reasons.

  “I live right upstairs,” Beast says, pointing at the two-story building that houses the newspaper office.

  “Perfect. Perry, I’m good to stay with Coach for tonight.”

  I grab my handbag and don’t wait for Perry’s response.

  Beast waits for me to exit my car and lock it up before pulling me away toward the building. He moves with such determination and grace that I think if we had to walk more than half a block, he might toss me over his shoulder. Something inside me responds positively to that thought.

  Maybe he’s not going to sue me for sexual harassment after all.

  He yanks open the rusty metal side door and lets the wind slam it shut behind us. We tromp up a long, flight of public stairs to a landing with a locked door to a single apartment.

  Beast unlocks the door and tosses off his snow boots, already headed inside with my bag while I’m still fiddling with my thigh high boots on the landing. I get a look at the apartment while I do this. “This place is enormous!” I gasp, finally peeling the wet boots off my feet and making my way inside.

  I find Beast standing in the kitchen holding my bag open, pulling out my phone and laptop and setting them out on the counter. We both examine the electronics for any wetness from the driving snow.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what kind of rent do you pay here? This is the size of three apartments in the town where I’m headquartered.”

  When he tells me, it’s a ridiculously low number, even for the middle of nowhere. In my head, I hear Gramps urging me to relocate. Settle down. Get married. Have all the babies. The cost of living here seems much, much lower and the schools are great.

  “Beer?” he asks, pointing to the fridge. I look around. The kitchen may be outdated, but it’s cozy and the breakfast bar has some authentic avocado green vinyl barstools that I kind of like, despite my awareness of the finer tastes from the home and garden shows I’ve covered.