The new message Winnie found in her inbox on Tuesday morning felt like a slap in the face. Even worse, it felt like a slap in the face that she had all but begged for.
The message was from Danny M. McDonald the Intern, and Cal’s return to his use of a go-between only served to remind her of the distance she put between them—a distance that still felt like a knife in her gut.
She’d asked for space and Cal had complied. What she couldn’t figure out was why his cooperation hurt so much. Probably just because it was one more reminder of what a fine damn man he was. A fine man who would never be hers again.
She scanned the message and groaned inwardly. “Mr. Spencer” thought the special section draft looked fine, but the Chamber needed an extra full-page, full-color ad. The twenty-four-page section was set to go to print the next day. Although Winnie wouldn’t need to design the ad—that was all handled in the print shop—she did have to find room for it. This change of plan would only make more work for Winnie. You couldn’t merely add one page—the section had to be printed in groups of four pages, which meant she now had to add or cut a whole lot of content to make it work.
Of course she had to comply, because the section was mostly just a money maker for the publisher. It was hard to make that money if the editor rejected paying ads because it created more work for her.
Luckily she’d already finished tomorrow’s issue of the paper. Increased productivity had so far proven to be the only upside to insomnia and heartbreak. So it was that most of the rest of Winnie’s day was spent shifting content, reducing photo sizes, and editing her writing in order to accommodate the new full-page ad, which she stuck on the back of the section. It would be sent to the printer tomorrow, and be published Friday morning, just in time to let the good people of Bloomsburo know all about the events that their favorite weekend held.
It seemed impossible that Bloomsburo Days was now nearly upon them. It was still a far-off concern when Winnie had arrived in town a month ago, and now the events began tomorrow.
Winnie looked forward to the event, she really did. Through her work on the section, and through her conversations with people around town, she now fully understood how the festival was the cornerstone of the community.
Her only wish was that every mention of Bloomsburo Days didn’t make her think of a sexy, golden-haired Chamber director. It would be a long, awkward week of trying her best to avoid the man around town.
Gloria’s voice around the corner prevented her from sinking too far into the woe-is-me hole that she kept finding herself in these days. Once again, she felt gratitude that her job seemed to never end. All the better for burying herself in her work rather than wallowing in her heartbreak.
“Winnie, can you take a call?” Gloria asked. “It’s Chief Conrad.”
Winnie’s brow rose in concern. She’d talked to Carter plenty of times around town, but he’d never directly called her. Her stomach sank. What were the odds he was calling with good news?
She picked up the phone and greeted Carter, who cut straight to the chase.
“Could you meet a group of us after work tonight? Seven, at the station?” he asked, his voice serious. “There’s another development related to the suspicious activities around town.”
He said little, but communicated so much. Winnie tried not to think too hard about who “us” might include, but she prepared herself for the worst. If something else was happening in the town, and Carter was concerned about it, then certainly Cal was part of the conversation.
“Umm, yeah. I should be able to make it,” she said, glancing at the time on her computer. It was already 6:15 p.m., but she’d just wrapped up the adjustments to the special section.
“Great. See you then,” Carter said before hanging up the phone.
Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, Winnie did her best to avoid the mounting dread that filled her stomach—for the town, of course, but if she was honest, mostly for herself at the thought of facing Cal again after what she had done.
She would have reeled in that anxiety if it weren’t for an email that popped into her inbox ten minutes before she was to depart for her meeting with Chief Conrad.
A message from her friend, the data analyst at her old paper who was helping do some digging on the Howl reviews popped into her inbox. The woman had a lead, and when Winnie read through the message, the blood drained from her face. Shock flooded her system so thoroughly that for the first time in recent memory, the pain of her broken heart faded from her consciousness. She printed the email and sped her way through town to the police station.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
Winnie had expected to find Chief Conrad at this meeting, and she had expected to see Cal, despite her deepest wishes, but the person she could not have predicted to be in attendance at this clandestine meeting at the Bloomsburo Police Station was Betty Jean Finnegan.
Yet by the time Winnie was ten feet from the conference room, she could hear the woman’s unmistakable harping. Walking in, the sounds of distress became more defined.
“I need you to tell me exactly what you plan to do about this,” Betty Jean cried as Winnie entered the room. She met Betty Jean’s frantic gaze, before scanning the room to find Carter, looking stressed. Finally her eyes moved to Cal, who wore a soft, long-sleeved green Henley shirt the exact color of his eyes. He nodded, a silent greeting, but he looked somber and tired. Cal just wasn’t Cal without that distinct spark of life emanating from him.
Winnie willed herself not to think about the last time she’d seen that spark. Tried not to think about the last time she’d seen the man, period—ass up in her own bed, stretched out in satisfaction.
Her brain simply couldn’t reconcile the two versions of Cal—one sexy and satiated, the other exhausted and frustrated. Despite her current awkwardness, how small and petty and unworthy she felt in the moment, she knew it was for the best that their reunion had been forced. The only thing worse than seeing Cal again after the way she’d cut things off so abruptly was her panic at wondering when a reunion might happen. At least it was now behind her.
“Good evening, Winnie,” Carter interjected, the only person to fully acknowledge her arrival. “It’s time to bring you up to speed.”
Winnie’s heart raced, and seeing Cal wasn’t the only thing to blame for it. She also worried about whatever had happened in town to call the meeting in the first place.
“There was a suspicious act at tonight’s spaghetti dinner fundraiser,” Carter explained.
“Winnie would have known this had she bothered to show up and cover the event,” Betty Jean spit out, sending a make-up laden glare Winnie’s way.
“Betty Jean, let’s stay focused on the real issue at hand,” Carter gently chided the woman, earning Winnie’s eternal gratitude. Betty Jean huffed and crossed her arms in displeasure, but miraculously she let it drop. Winnie had opted out of the event in exchange for finishing up the special section.
“Someone called in a bomb threat at the Veteran’s hall.”
“A bomb threat?” Winnie gasped. Her gaze instinctively went to Cal, who nodded quietly in confirmation. “Was anyone hurt?”
Her mind quickly flickered through all the people she knew and cared about in Bloomsburo. The two men in the room, of course, though clearly they were unharmed. But her mind whirled to Evie and her kids, to Dewey, to Rhonda, to Cal’s sisters. Her fairies. Her throat constricted, both at the realization that she already had so many people she cared about in her new town, but also from the knowledge that someone would have put them at risk.
“No, no one got hurt. We evacuated the building, giving people the vague explanation of safety concerns. We searched the entire facility and found nothing,” Carter said before Betty Jean interjected.
“We didn’t get a chance to serve a single meal,” she cried. “It took them more than an hour to secure the building, and by that time, no one was still waiting around for a spaghetti dinner. So not only did we not make any money, but we actually lost several hundred dollars in food costs.”
Winnie’s heart sank for the woman. Betty Jean might drive her nuts, but she did a lot of good work in this town to raise money for important causes. It wasn’t right that someone’s prank -- or worse -- got in the way of that.
“Were you able to trace the number?” she asked Carter, who shook his head no.
A bomb threat. Winnie’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. She felt suddenly, acutely, aware of the folded paper she carried in her bag—the lead her friend had identified related to the negative online reviews. Should Winnie bring it up right now? Could the two incidents possibly be related? Her hands began to shake in uncertainty, which did not go unnoticed by Cal, whose serious eyes watched her with concern, as if he was as tuned into her as she felt to him.
What did this mean for the rest of Bloomsburo Days? What was going through Cal’s mind right now? And why did she have to want, more than anything else, to walk across the table and throw her arms around him? She’d gotten too addicted to the physical strength and comfort the man could offer. Without it, she now felt completely unmoored.
“So what happens next?” she asked to no one in particular.
“We’ve enhanced our security plan for the rest of Bloomsburo Days,” Cal explained, his voice landing on Winnie’s ears for the first time in days. It lacked its typical playfulness, yet the sound of it still tugged at something between her legs.
“I’ve called in back-up officers to work the event for overtime,” Carter added. “We’re installing some extra security cameras in high-traffic places around town. When time allows, we’ll conduct some interviews, and see if anyone has any leads.”
“What do you need from me?” Winnie asked. “Unfortunately tomorrow’s paper is already at the printer, so I can’t add in a story about this to the next issue. I can write a news brief for the website, though.” The newspaper’s web presence was about a decade behind where it should be, but something was better than nothing.
Carter nodded. “Cal mentioned that you were privy to some of the other situations going on in town. I’m just asking you to keep your ears open. You’ll be talking to more people in the coming days than the typical townsperson. Let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious.”
Winnie nodded, but she couldn’t force herself to bring up the information she’d learned about the Howl reviews. She knew she had to talk about it with Cal first, even if it would be more comfortable to go on avoiding him.
“Now can we discuss security plans for the next few Blooming Ladies events?” Betty Jean demanded. Carter sighed but agreed, ushering the woman into his office and waving his goodbye to Winnie and Cal. Being alone in a room with him made Winnie feel paralyzed—with fear, with desire, with guilt.
He stood, pulled his messenger bag across his body, and began to walk quietly out of the room before Winnie finally worked up the courage to open her mouth.
“Um, Cal,” she squeaked out, her voice shaking. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. He was so close now. She could reach out and touch him. Stroke his chest through that criminally soft shirt. Rise up on her toes and meet his lips.
She could do those things, but wouldn’t. It had been her decision to give up those privileges and she had to stick with it, even if it hurt like hell. Even if her body craved his.
“Yeah?” he asked, his green eyes searching hers. Not with anger, but with confusion and hurt and exhaustion. She could only imagine how the Howl situation and now the bomb threat had added to his stress of what was already going to be his busiest work week all year.
“Can we talk outside for a second?” she asked. His brow narrowed in concern as he nodded, leading the way until they were out in the parking lot behind the station.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
He had almost lost himself there, so close to Winnie after too much time apart. She’d looked small and worried, with her huge eyes looking up into his in the middle of that conference room. He could have so easily swept her up into his arms. Pulled her up onto the table and hugged her and kissed her and stroked her until that damned shaking in her fingers stopped.
What was she so anxious about? Was it just the bomb threat, or something more?
It took every fiber of patience in his body to resist the urge to win her over right now. It wasn’t the right time, not with Bloomsburo Days right around the corner and more of this bullshit going down around town, no matter how wrong his world felt without Winnie to orbit around. He’d put a few plans into motion, but he had to get this right. He had to make her know exactly what she meant to him. Just not today.
But she’d wanted to talk to him. Could it be about them? Because if she went there, he’d follow along happily. He tried not to get his hopes up, but his heart thumped like a damn bass drum.
They made their way to her car and Cal leaned against its side.
“What is it?”
She glanced down at her bag, from which she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“I called in a favor to a tech analyst at my old newspaper,” she explained. “I asked her to see what she could find out about the Howl reviews. Not just for the Teal Tea Hutch, but for five other Bloomsburo establishments that had seen an influx of negative reviews.”
Cal’s eyes widened. He’d gotten nowhere with the company in the hours he’d spent on the phone with its representatives. He couldn’t believe that Winnie had gone out of her way to help the cause.
“And?”
Winnie fidgeted with the paper in her hands.
“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you or Carter first. But she traced the reviews to the computer they were posted on. They all originated from the same IP address.”
She passed him the paper and he scanned it quickly.
Holy hell. Thirty-seven Howl reviews posted on the same day, and each one sent from Broadsville City Hall.
Greta Johansen.
“Do you think it’s related to the bomb threat?” she asked.
“I think we need some more information before we jump to any conclusions.” He knew Greta was determined, but he didn’t think the woman capable of criminal acts.
“Should we let Carter know?”
Cal thought for a moment. If he had more information to suggest that Greta was behind any of this, that’d be one thing. But all they had was an IP address. Given that Carter was already overtaxed with Bloomsburo Days, especially now that he had to bring in and quickly train a bunch of outside officers to provide back up, he decided a conversation with Greta would be a reasonable first step.
“Not just yet. He’s always a phone call away.”
Winnie nodded as his brain continued to imagine possible strategies. Greta would deny her involvement, especially if the police were involved. He was certain of it. They had to find a more subtle way to get her to talk.
Winnie’s mind was clearly on the same page.
“I had an idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it,” she said, concern etched across her face.
“I’m all ears.”
For the next ten minutes, he listened to Winnie lay out her plan. And it was a good one. He wasn’t looking forward to his role in it, but she was absolutely right that it would get the job done.
Having agreed upon the time and location of their meeting the next day, he watched Winnie climb into her car. He saw the conflict in her eyes as she looked at him one final time. He saw pain and regret and beneath it all, he was damn certain that he saw longing. What he didn’t see was an explanation for why things had to be like this between them when their relationship had been nothing but goodness and satisfaction.
He didn’t want her to go home without him, damn it. He didn’t want her to leave without his mouth meeting hers, or without feeling the press of her softness against the length of his body. But if everything went according to plan tomorrow, and when the events of the weekend went off without a hitch, they could put this town drama behind them once and for all, and he could get back to the most important task on his to-do list: winning Winnie Briggs’s heart.