She and Audrey chatted for a bit longer before Jessica looked at her watch and offered to drive her home. "Exercise is good for me, honey," the woman said, thanking her for the tea. "If there's anything else you want to talk about, just look me up." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. "I live in the artist's colony, by the river," she said. "It's not that far, really. Lessons, demonstrations, always something going on."
"I should bring my mother sometime," Jessica said. "She's very creative; it would do her good to take a class."
The women hugged outside, the smell of Audrey's shampoo conjuring the face of her grandmother. As she slipped Audrey's card into her purse and watched the woman head off in the direction of the colony, her mind reeled. Worth couldn't know anything about these fires. Could he?
Jessica asked a few more questions back at the scene of the fire before heading back to the office. Grateful for the familiar smell of ink and industry, she found Donna grinning from ear to ear, talking on her cellphone. Donna mouthed Eric as she walked past. Jessica tried not to feel a stab of remorse at Donna's easy laughter. Eric had never tried to make her laugh. Sitting at her desk, Jessica frowned. People have died. Buildings laid to waste. Eric was not priority here. I should tell Worth what I found out. Or should I? I don't want to scare— As she approached his office, the decision was made for her.
Skip shook his head from the outer office. "He left shortly after you did, Jess." As she turned to leave, he cleared his throat dramatically. "I may have seen something, earlier. May have. Did I? Or was that my over-active imagination? Was our new columnist really holding hands with the new boss? If so, I guess I can kiss that fantasy good-bye. He is so attractive."
Jessica's cheeks were hot. "It was n-nothing, Skip," she stuttered, hoping that Skip didn't yet know her well enough to see through her lie. She headed out of his office, stopping at the doorway to turn back and add, "But really, Skip. I have it on good authority that Mr. Vincent prefers women," winking a little at his pout. "But don't worry—I won't tell Paul you were thinking about another man."
Skip patted his chest. "My heart belongs to Paul. My thoughts, however…"
Jessica walked back to her desk. Until she had talked with Audrey Scott, her own thoughts had been singular. Ever since the Halloween party, she'd been consumed by the memory of Bathroom Guy's hands, his mouth, his scent. Meeting the source of those sensations in the flesh, so to speak, was exhilarating, troubling, satisfying, exhausting. So many emotions at once.
But now, the very same day she and Worth had agreed to start over, acknowledging their mutual attraction, she'd found out that he might have a secret in his past. Was the boy who jumped off the bluff a classmate? If both boys were well off, they might have been friends. What was he hiding? Was he hiding something? Or had her mention of the fire troubled him because he, too, had loved the local librarian and her husband?
It felt like there was a connection. No good journalist worth her salt—"worth" again—relied on feelings, but so far, all of the feelings that man had conjured up had been pretty great. Jessica wasn't ready to bury them under a blanket of gloom and doom just yet.
Under a blanket. What she wouldn't give to be under a blanket with him right now. For the first time since Halloween, that scenario seemed like a real possibility. No time soon, of course—darn it—but one day. Jessica closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like.
Instead, a vision of flames and death filled her mind.
Chapter 8
More Fuel on the Flames
Three weeks later, the magazine was out. The online version had multiple compliments for the newly appointed columnist, and they'd even gotten a few emails and phone calls. Readers enjoyed Jessica's account of the tragic fire decades before. It was almost as if knowing that their community had successfully gotten through all of that gave them hope that they'd get through the current circumstances. And, too, no one but the alleged arsonists had been killed. Perspective was a powerful thing.
Donna left Jessica's cubicle after enthusiastically regaling her with all the details of her first weekend away with Eric. Jessica had only been half listening when Donna mentioned her whip. What the what? At that point, she'd held up her hand to stop the conversation.
"Too much?" Donna asked, wrinkling her forehead.
"Too much," Jessica said. She was tempted to add "been there, done that" but caught herself. In truth, she'd never done anything remotely akin to whips or handcuffs. Eric had never mentioned an interest in such things. He was hardly interested in her, much less that.
She was genuinely happy that Donna and Eric were so well suited. It was still a bit mind-boggling, but there it was—she had not been the one for Eric, and he had definitely not been the one for her. It appeared that he was making up for lost time, too. His and Donna's relationship was speeding merrily along at a much quicker pace than she had experienced with Eric. It rankled a little, but she had a feeling that perhaps her own expectations and unfulfilled desires had been some of the problem. They simply had not been on the same page about many things—and clearly, he and Donna were.
Worth, on the other hand, had been playing things cool for those same three weeks. He had praised her column, but every time she tried to talk about it, looking for a possible connection, he would find a reason to stop the conversation or guide it in another direction. Slowly, the questions in her mind faded. Of
