I’m sitting on Alex’s couch with a glass of red wine while he stir-fries chicken and vegetables in a pan on the stove top.

“I’m not a gourmet chef by any means, but there are a few dishes I make very well, stir-fry being one of them,” he says.

“I happen to love stir-fry, so that works well.” I look around at his apartment. The walls are a rich mocha color with white trim. It’s also very clean, which surprises me since most of the men I know pretend not to know how to operate a vacuum or use a duster. “Your place is nice.”

He twists his head to see me watching him. Thanks to the open floor plan, which I’m convinced is meant to make the small apartment look a tiny bit bigger, I can see everything he’s doing in the kitchen. “It’s fine for now. Nothing to write home about, but I really can’t complain.” He stirs the contents of the frying pan with a wooden spoon.

“Do you need any help? I feel silly sitting here doing nothing.”

“You’ve had a long day. Relax, put your feet up, and don’t worry about dinner. I’ve got it under control.”

If I were at home, I would’ve been on my second glass of wine after the day I’ve had, but I don’t exactly want to get drunk around Alex yet. “I’m not sure how to relax knowing my entire world is about to be turned upside down. I have to find a new job.” I stand up and walk into the kitchen. I lean against the French door refrigerator next to the stove and watch him cook. “At least I’m not in jail, right?” I swirl the contents of my glass before taking a large gulp.

“Hey.” He lightly touches my arm. “You’ll find another job.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find an open position as an art teacher? The district is cutting the arts in all the schools, from elementary up through high school. If I want to teach, I have to move.” I frown at the thought. “I’ve never lived anywhere but Priority. I don’t even know where to start looking.”

And what would that mean for Alex and me? We just started seeing each other, but I’m not ready or willing to let him go.

“Can’t you teach without being part of the school system?” he asks, removing the pan from the stove and turning off the electric burner. He turns around to the island behind him, which has a bar top on one side for eating and a counter on the opposite side. He pours the contents of the pan onto a large platter and places it on the bar top.

“Do you mean giving private lessons?” I ask. It would take forever to get enough clients to actually make a living. I’d be homeless long before that happened.

“They don’t have to be private. You could give group lessons. It will be like your own personal school.” He grabs two plates from the cabinet by the stove and brings them to the bar top.

I put down my wine and get some napkins from the holder on the counter. I fold them and place them beside the plates. Then I find the silverware drawer, open it, and get forks and knives for us. When I see him watching me, I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Look at me helping myself like I live here.” My cheeks get warm.

He gently takes my arm, his hand cupping my elbow. “I’m glad you feel at home here, and I’ll never complain about you helping out.”

He should be freaking out over how comfortable I am at his place. Any other man would be. I cock my head at him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he says, his voice low and sexy. His gaze flits to my lips before returning to my eyes.

I smile, glad that with all we’ve been through he still seems interested in me. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.” I step closer to him, and he lowers his hand from my elbow to my waist. “I don’t usually come back to a man’s place when I’ve only known him for a week,” I say, my nerves getting the best of me. Not that I’m nervous to be with Alex. More that I’m nervous about screwing this up.

“I don’t usually storm into a police station with people ready to testify in order to free a woman I just met of misdemeanor charges either.” He quirks a shoulder. “Life can be crazy like that, I guess.”

I laugh. “Yeah. It’s definitely been a crazy week. You’re probably used to strange things happening, though. I’m sure you chase some odd stories in your line of work.”

“Actually, I was covering safe stories until you popped up on the art scene.”

“You mean on the police scanners,” I joke.

He brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb, and my skin tingles at his touch. Something about this man has gotten to me in a way no one else ever has. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since we met. I don’t want to scare him away, though. I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t run away screaming already.

“Tell me what I can do to help you,” he says.

He’s got to be kidding. No man is this selfless. “You’ve already done so much, Alex. I couldn’t possibly ask you for more.” I lower my head, embarrassed that his first impression of me is of a soon to be unemployed starving artist.

He bends his knees so we’re eye level again. “Ask me anything,” he says.

I hesitate a moment, trying to figure out if he’s for real. If he really means what he says and wants to be with me, help me get back on my feet. “Kiss me,” I finally say, my voice soft and sounding more like a plea than I intend.

He cups my face and brings his lips to mine. My hands find his waist, and I hold onto him, afraid he’ll pull away too soon. I part my lips, and he immediately deepens the kiss, backing me up against the island. My hands lift the hem of his dress shirt, lightly grazing his bare skin. My fingers continue their upward trek, feeling his muscles in admiration. But instead of seeming to enjoy my touch, his entire body stiffens. I pull my head back slightly without releasing my grip on him and ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to be the good guy here.” His breathing is heavy, and the expression on his face is tortured.

I give him a quizzical look. “And you don’t think you have been? You’re the reason I’m not in jail right now. You’re the reason I’m able to hold it together and not drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine.” I don’t know why I’m rehashing what he already knows, but being this close to him is rendering me unable to think straight.

“You’re giving me too much credit. I haven’t—”

I press my finger to his lips to stop him. “No man has ever gone through so much trouble for me, and you’ve only known me for five days.” I lower my finger, hoping I haven’t scared him with my words. “Quite honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. All I know is...” I pause, afraid to say what I’m really thinking—that I want him.

“Is what, Whitney?” His hands rest on my hips as he stares deep into my eyes.

“I don’t want this—whatever it is—to end.” I swallow hard at the admission.

“I don’t either.” His gaze volleys back and forth between my eyes. “But I don’t want to push you.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, creating distance between us. “Maybe we should eat.”

It’s not what I want to do, but I nod anyway. He must see the look of disappointment on my face, because he tips my chin up with his forefinger and says, “After I’ve fed you like I promised I would, I’ll be happy to pick up where we left off.” He smiles sweetly.

I nod and walk around to take a seat at the bar top. I pick up my fork and sample a piece of teriyaki chicken. It’s cooked to perfection, tender and full of flavor. “This is delicious,” I say.

“I’m glad you like it.” He sits down next to me and starts eating.

I sip my wine as he tells me about work. His coworkers and boss sound like amazing people. “You’re lucky,” I tell him. “Most people can’t stand the people they work with.”

“You included?”

“I actually get to work with my best friend, so I can’t complain about that. Though we are known to hide in the supply closet together to avoid the teacher’s lounge.” I laugh. “You can imagine the rumors that circulated the building when we first started doing that.”

“Two young women disappearing in a supply closet for almost an hour?” He laughs and bobs his head. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

“I’m going to miss it,” I say, the thought sobering me. “I love teaching.”

He places his hand on my leg just above my knee. “I still think you’ll be able to.”

“I’d need to find a location to teach. My apartment is tiny. I could never hold lessons there. And I don’t want to cart my materials around from house to house either.” I sigh before taking another bite. “I have to hope beyond hope that the school board changes their mind before Tuesday night.”

“I have a friend who happens to be the opinion editor. In fact, her boyfriend, David, is my superior.”

I furrow my brow at him. “How so?”

“He’s the news editor. They write a weekly advice column together. It’s getting a lot of attention because their responses are always on opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Purposely, I’m sure.”

He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You try getting them to admit to that.”

“So, they’re dating and they work together?” I ask.

“And live together. They’re something else, those two.” He smiles, and I can tell he really likes them both. “Hey, why don’t we stop in For the Record tomorrow and pitch them a new column topic?”

“What do you mean?” I don’t exactly want to ask them for advice on what to do now that my career is over. The last thing I need is my situation publicized in the paper.

“Should the school board cut the art program?” Alex says. “It’s a perfect topic. They’ll argue each side, and we can ask them to get the readers to show up at Tuesday night’s board meeting when the vote will take place.”

He looks so hopeful that this idea will work. It certainly can’t hurt, but I’m afraid to put much faith in it right now.

“Okay, I guess we can see if they’ll write about it.”

He cocks his head at me, not convinced. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket, presses a button, and brings it to his ear. “Hey, David.”

My eyes widen at the name. He’s calling his boss on a Friday night?

“I have a great idea for a column for you and Emily. Any chance you can meet me at Last Call in an hour?” He pauses. “I think you’re going to want to run this one immediately. It’s a time-sensitive topic.” Another pause. “You know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t.”

Wasn’t what? I hate that I can’t hear the other side of the conversation.

“Great. I’ll see you both then.” He hangs up and smiles. “Done. That’s the good news.”

“Are you implying there’s bad news?” I ask.

His smile grows. “You have to hang out with me for a while longer tonight.”

It’s my turn to smile because hanging out with Alex is exactly what I need right now.

* * *

We pull up to Last Call at nine thirty. I still can’t believe Alex is making two editors at his paper meet with us this late on a Friday night. He’s been shocking me at every turn over the past few days though, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I open the car door and step outside, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

Alex wraps his arm around my waist. “Cold?”

I nod as we walk into the bar together. I recognize the bartender, Caleb. He’s owned the place for years now. But Alex must actually know him because he waves to him immediately. Caleb wipes down the bar and motions for us to sit.

“How are you, Alex?” he asks. “And who do you have with you?”

“Caleb, I’d like you to meet Whitney. Whitney, this is Caleb.”

“Hi,” I say.

“You’ve been here before,” Caleb says. “I recognize you.”

“Yeah, I’m a local, born and raised.”

Caleb smiles. “My favorite, but don’t tell my fiancée that. Sara didn’t move here until she was in her twenties.”

“Are David and Emily here yet?” Alex asks, looking around the bar.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me I’m about to be invaded by the For the Record crew.” Judging by Caleb’s tone, he wouldn’t mind at all.

“No, only those two and me. I have an idea I need to pitch to them ASAP.”

Caleb’s gaze travels over my head to the door. “Speak of the devil.”

I turn in my seat to see the couple walking in. She looks a little younger than him, but other than that, they’re an almost perfect match. They both have dark hair and are equally attractive. David’s arm is around Emily’s waist, and her hand is on his chest. I get the impression these two are constantly touching each other.

Alex waves them over, and I take a deep breath. I know he’s trying to help, but I’m worried about how many questions they’ll ask me. Alex never outed me as the painter behind the murals, but they both must know it was me by now. Before I can worry about it any more, David and Emily are standing behind me.

Alex swivels in his seat, and I do the same, so as not to be rude. “Thanks for meeting me, guys. This is Whitney.” He gestures to me, and I give a small wave.

“Did you invite us on a double date?” Emily asks in a teasing tone, but David’s eyes narrow on me.

“Not exactly. Though...” His gaze meets mine, and I can tell he’s hoping I’m considering what’s going on between us to be dating.

“Why don’t we call it a double date for the sake of my nerves,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden.

“Double date it is,” David says, pulling out a stool for Emily and taking the seat between her and Alex. “Is this okay, or should we get a table?” he asks.

I look at Alex, hoping he’ll suggest a table since I’m not that keen on the idea of spilling my story in front of Caleb. He might be a nice guy, but bartenders talk to a lot of people. I’m not sure I want him to know all the details of my story.

“Let’s get a table.” Alex turns to Caleb. “That okay with you?”

“Sure. Go sit. What can I bring you all?” Caleb asks.

Alex looks at me, waiting for me to order. “Oh, I’ll have a Coors Light.” It’s never been my prime choice of beer, but I don’t want to get hammered and tell David and Emily more than they need to know.

“Amstel Light,” Emily says, and David holds up two fingers.

“What about you, Alex?” Caleb asks.

He looks at me. “Coors Light works for me.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to come off as a united front or if he just doesn’t want me to be the odd one if I’m drinking the watered-down beer alone. He motions for me to lead the way.

I step off the stool and walk to the booth in the back, hoping no one will pay any attention to us back here.

“So, tell us your idea,” Emily says, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Whitney’s an art teacher at Priority High. The school board is planning to cut the art program this Tuesday night at the board meeting unless we can do something to stop it.” Alex gestures to Emily and David.

Emily nods. “You want us to write a column to convince people to protest this and hopefully change the board’s mind.”

“Exactly.”

Emily’s brow furrows, and she studies me. “Art teacher, huh?”

I freeze, not wanting to admit it even though Alex already told her exactly that.

She unfolds her hand and taps a nail on the tabletop. “You’re a great artist too, aren’t you?”

Oh God. Please don’t let her be connecting the dots.

“How did you two meet exactly?” Emily motions back and forth between Alex and me.

Neither of us answers, but we don’t need to. Emily cocks her head. “So you are her, the Whitney who painted the murals,” she says before turning her attention to Alex. “And you covered it up. That could have been a huge breaking story, but you covered it up.”

The strange looks David’s been giving me make sense now as he looks right at Alex and says, “You begged me to let you write the story, and you left out the most important detail.”

“David, listen—” Alex says, holding his hand up.

“When you told us Whitney’s name, I thought you’d tracked her down to get her side of the story. But you’ve known it was her all along. How am I supposed to give you more stories like this if I can’t trust you to report everything you uncover?” David isn’t the least bit happy about this, and it’s my fault. My God, if I don’t do something, I might be responsible for Alex joining me in the unemployment line.