I watch Whitney’s retreating form through the window, but I don’t run after her. It’s obvious she took one look at me and ran in the opposite direction.

“Hey, Nate,” I say. “Are you still running the ad for Whitney’s art show?”

“Nah. She called and asked me to cancel it. She said she can’t afford to pay for it right now. I offered to cut her a deal, but she wouldn’t bite.” He finishes his cheese steak and pushes the empty plate across the bar.

If I tell him to run it anyway and pay for it myself, she’ll know it was me, so that idea is out. I need to do something to make sure people show up at the art exhibit, though. “What if we started a section with upcoming events in Priority?” I ask him.

“That sounds like either David’s or Eliza’s department, depending on the events.” He sips his Corona before adding, “I’m thinking something like this would go in the community news section. Talk to David.”

David had a meeting, so he didn’t join us for lunch. I’ll definitely do that, though.

“So, things aren’t any better between you and Whitney?” Nate asks.

“No. We talked on Monday, but she said she needed space.” Everyone knows that’s the polite way of saying, “Leave me alone.”

“You know when Aria and I first started...” He pauses as if searching for the right words. “I’m not sure what to call it exactly. We weren’t really dating. I guess it was a friends with benefits kind of situation, but that sounds awful.”

“I get what you’re saying. Go on.” I sip my water.

“Things went south for a while. We stopped talking. Or she stopped talking to me. She didn’t even answer the door when I stopped by before taking the job at The Sentinel.”

That’s harsh, not saying goodbye to your best friend. “How did you two manage to work through it?”

“I guess it came down to us both realizing we didn’t like our lives without the other in it. I left The Sentinel, intent on returning to Priority and winning her back. Turns out she beat me to the punch and came to get me back.”

If only something like that would happen for Whitney and me, but we don’t have the history Nate and Aria do. “I’ve only known Whitney for a short time, but since I met her, I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“That’s how I felt about Aria. Right from the start, I knew we were meant to be together. It took her a lot longer to see it, but in the end, I’m glad we didn’t rush into things. If we had, we might not be together right now. We had a lot of growing up to do, since we were only kids when we met. It’s different for you and Whitney, so who knows what will happen?”

Not me. That’s for sure.

* * *

By the time the street fair rolls around on Saturday, I’m ready to jump out of my skin. I convinced David, Aria, and Mr. Monohan to include a community section in the paper. The online version at least. It highlights all the upcoming events and smaller news stories that might not otherwise make the paper. This week, the focus is the street fair, but when it’s time, Whitney’s art exhibit will be the featured upcoming event. I plan to make sure of it.

Mrs. Hershel is beaming, red nose and all. The sun is high in the sky, making the chilly weather a little more tolerable. I’m sure her sales were great for this event thanks to Whitney’s mural. Just about every business in town purchased a wreath from her. And the houses along the parade route all have similar looking potted plant displays that I remember seeing in Bonnie’s Boutique when I was there last. Thoughts of the boutique bring Whitney to mind. But then again, it doesn’t take much to do that.

I walk up and down Main Street, looking for signs of Whitney. She apparently isn’t planning on showing up. Her future art studio still stands empty. She hasn’t begun to paint or furnish the place. I just hope she didn’t call Mr. Ambrogi and back out of the agreement. After all, she painted the mural he asked for. Though if she’s really hurting for money, she might have opted to take cash for it instead of three weeks rent.

A cute blonde woman walks up next to me and wraps her arms around her midsection. “Brr. I can’t believe how cold it is.” She continuously rubs her arms.

“At least the sun is shining.” Last year, it rained. Everyone looked like drowned rats by the time the parade had ended.

“True.” She stops rubbing her arms and blows on her hands. “I should have worn gloves.”

I know she’s probably trying to make polite conversation, but I’m not in the mood to talk.

When I don’t say anything, she says, “Would you like to walk around with me? It’s too cold to stay in one place.” She huddles closer to me, like she’s trying to absorb my body heat.

I step away from her. “You should stand directly in front of one of the buildings. It will block the wind for you.”

“It’s true. It will.”

I turn around to see Whitney’s friend Elana walking over to me. “Hey,” I say, grateful for the interruption.

The blonde woman eyes Elana, who I have to admit is very attractive, and walks away.

“Thanks for that. I was trying to be polite, but she wasn’t taking the hint.”

Elana stands next to me, watching the parade of people march by in their costumes. She huffs, letting out a big puff of steam. “You could have just told her you have a girlfriend.”

“I’m not sure if that’s still true,” I say. Maybe Elana will shed some light on what Whitney’s thinking about me right now.

“I haven’t seen her much this week. She’s busy painting.” She lifts one foot then the other, tapping them against the sidewalk to the beat of the drummer now parading in front of us.

“I figured she would be.” I’m not sure how to broach the subject or if Elana will even be willing to help me since she’s only met me once. “Does she talk about what happened?”

“You mean how you tried to control her life?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

She holds up her gloved hand and turns to me. “Relax. I get why you did what you did. But you need to know that Whitney has been on her own for eight years. She had to grow up quickly after her mom died. She’s always looked out for herself and everyone around her.”

I want to ask why she has so much trouble accepting help from others if she’s used to helping people herself, but I don’t want to chance pissing off Elana. I settle for, “I don’t have many friends in this place.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “I only wanted to do something nice for someone who I thought would let me.”

“Like I said, I get why you did it. You have to be careful around Whitney, though. She’s tough, and if you do anything that suggests otherwise, she’ll fight back to prove you wrong.”

Like painting murals all around town when the school threatened her job. “Can you give me any advice? She won’t answer my calls. I’m not even sure if she’s listening to my messages.”

“She will, but not until she’s ready. She gets to be selfish right now. Don’t try to take that away from her.” She stares at me and sighs. “If you can’t give her the time she needs, then move on. That’s my best advice.”

I don’t want to move on. I want Whitney. “I can’t.”

Elana nods. “I figured you’d say that, so here’s the deal. I’ll keep trying to talk some sense into her, but I’m not promising anything. I’m not willing to jeopardize my friendship with her just so you can get laid again.”

My eyes widen.

“Yes, she told me. Don’t look so surprised.” She turns back to the parade. “That’s the best I can do for you.”

I’ll take it because I have no other plan. “Thanks,” I say.

“You can thank me by introducing me to some of your good-looking male friends once this is over and you and Whitney are back together.”

I laugh. “I don’t have many.”

“Friends or good-looking friends?” she asks, her mouth curving up in a half smile.

“I guess both. I haven’t met that many people to hang out with outside of work. And most of those guys are already spoken for.”

“You included,” she says.

“Me included,” I echo, knowing she wants to hear me say I’m sticking this out and waiting for Whitney.

“I’m assuming I’ll see you at the art show.”

There’s no way I want to miss it, but is Elana hinting that it might not be a good idea for me to show up? “Is that a problem?” I ask.

“No. But don’t crowd her or try to force her to talk to you. That’s her night.”

“I only want to see her. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll accept that.” It will kill me to do so, but Elana’s right. Whitney’s working too hard for this event for me to screw it up.

“Good. Enjoy the rest of the parade, Alex.” She walks off.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the lover boy who cost me my job.” Oliver Strauss’s voice instantly makes my fists clench in my pockets.

“What are you doing here? I heard you have several restraining orders against you and your mommy’s house is on the market.” I thought he’d be long gone by now. Wishful thinking, I guess.

“Yeah, you and your girlfriend did quite a number on me, though I’m guessing she’s not your girlfriend anymore, seeing as how you’re alone.”

“My personal life is none of your business, Oliver.”

He laughs. “But it is, because it’s your personal life that cost me everything I had going for me in this city.”

“No, that was your own stupidity.” I turn toward him, yanking my hands free from my pockets. God, I’d love to drive my fist into his face and pay him back for that sucker punch at Whitney’s place. But I’m sure that’s what he’s hoping I’ll do so he can press charges against me.

“Well, as it turns out, things aren’t all bad. I have a new job.”

“Who the hell would hire you after the way For the Record destroyed your reputation as a reporter?”

“That’s the beauty of freelance. I can submit stories under any name I want.”

He’s lying about his identity to publish articles? “Who are you writing for?” I ask, intending to put a stop to this immediately. It can’t possibly be For the Record. Aria knows Oliver’s writing style. She’d see it a mile away.

“Like I’m going to tell you. Give me a little more credit than that. I will tell you this, though. I’ll be an art critic very soon.”

My fists clench again. I’ve never struggled so much to refrain from throwing a punch. “I’ll be at Whitney’s art show. If you so much as come within a hundred feet of it—”

He steps toward me, like he’s begging me to lose my shit, which I’m so close to doing. “You’ll what? It’s a public event. I have every right to attend.”

“You tried to force your way into Whitney’s house. I’ll have the police there to make sure you don’t threaten her again.”

“And how will you do that with Whitney not speaking to you? If you go behind her back and have the police stationed at her show, she’ll never speak to you again.”

How much of my conversation with Elana did he overhear? If only I could make him throw the first punch, I’d be justified in retaliating.

He smirks. “No response? No worries. I’ll see you at the art show, Alex. I’d say wish Whitney luck for me, but I have a feeling she’d answer a call from me before she’d answer one from you right now.” He turns and walks away with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Needing to hit something, I walk toward the bounce house set up at the end of the street. Several kids are waiting for their turn. There are five inside, bouncing and laughing and having a grand old time. It doesn’t seem fair. They’re living it up, and I can’t even take my anger out on a stupid blow-up house.

I turn and walk toward my car because there’s nothing else I can do. My hands are tied where Whitney is concerned. And I can’t even do anything about Oliver Strauss. My life couldn’t suck any more.