“Who else?”
“Huh?”
Cassie sat up, leaning toward Bonnie. “Who else do you know likes to read romance?”
“Uh…” Bonnie’s brow creased in thought. “Oh! Francine. She’s a professor in the physics department. She’s into the ones with motorcycles and half-naked men wearing leather chaps on the covers.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Cassie laughed. As her mind continued to whir with possibility, the weight of worry began to ease. She laughed again. “Nothing wrong with that at all.”
* * *
On Monday morning, Cassie experienced a tickle of déjà vu as she made her way to Therese’s office, once again expecting a lecture … or worse. But unlike before, when Cassie hadn’t been sure why she’d been summoned to her boss’s office, this time she knew precisely the reason.
“Before you decide anything, I’m hoping you’ll hear me out,” Cassie said, hovering in her boss’s doorway.
“Good morning to you too.” Therese nodded toward a chair.
A pang of unease rumbled through Cassie, but she quashed it and moved to sit across from her boss, diving in before she lost her nerve. “I want to reschedule my interview with the library board, but this time with the president.”
Therese considered Cassie, her perfectly lipsticked mouth pursed. After a moment, she asked, “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Look,” Cassie said, trying to do what any good impartial journalist was supposed to do—put aside her own feelings and focus on what’s important, “Chicago’s youth reading level is abysmal. Study after study shows how reading is directly linked to success in school and beyond. This interview could help launch a sustainable literacy program and raise student interest.”
“I’m aware of the potential benefits of this project, Cassie. I was the one who approved it, after all.”
Cassie nodded, swallowing hard. Point made.
“However,” Therese continued, “due to recent developments, I admit to having some concerns.”
“My friend’s doctor reads romance novels,” Cassie blurted, panicking. “Vampire ones.”
Therese blinked. “Pardon?”
Not how she’d planned to broach the subject, but it was too late to start over, so she forged ahead. “And you know Lisa Martinek?”
“The alderwoman?” For a fraction of a second, Cassie’s boss looked bewildered.
Cassie nodded. “That’s the one. She loves Nora Roberts books.”
“Well, who doesn’t?”
“Right?” Cassie smiled, then stopped. “Wait, you read Nora Roberts?” Cassie had been serious when she’d told Bonnie that everyone reads Nora, but Therese?
“I’ve been known to indulge,” Therese admitted, her tone warning Cassie she better tread carefully. “So?”
Pulse racing, Cassie leaned forward in her seat. Before, when she’d presented her original concept, she’d had months of planning backing her up. Now, all she had was a wild idea born out of desperation and too much cookie dough ice cream. But if her plan worked and the project was successful, her own discomfort and embarrassment would be well worth it. “So … smart women read romance.”
“I hardly see how that has any bearing on the situation at hand.”
“Oh, come on,” Cassie said, choosing not to dwell on the consequences of contradicting one’s boss. “It has everything to do with the situation.”
“I’m listening.” Therese folded her hands together and rested them on her desk.
A tightrope stretched across the room. On the other side, Cassie could see what she wanted. But to get there meant taking a risk. The prospect was horrifying … and thrilling.
“I want to dispel the idea that smart people, smart women in particular, don’t read romance.” Cassie folded her own hands to stop them from trembling. “Nobody should ever be ashamed of what they read,” she told Therese. “If you love romance novels, fine. If you love comic books, great. Crime stories? Thrillers? Sci-Fi … anything goes.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that reading is imperative to an individual’s success in life. My point is that it doesn’t matter what you read, as long as you pick up a book. My point is people need to come out of the book closet, find stories they enjoy, and read.”
“Well…” Therese paused, pressing her palms flat against the wood as she considered Cassie, eyes narrowed. Judge, jury, executioner.
Cassie stared at her boss’s reflection in the highly polished surface of the desk and awaited her sentence.
“You make a good point.”
Cassie glanced up, holding her breath.
“Let’s see if the CPL board president agrees with you. I’ll get that interview rescheduled so you can ask her.”
Shoulders collapsing in relief, Cassie exhaled.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, though,” Therese cautioned her. “Saving this project is only the start. If you want to keep this segment going long-term, I’m going to need to hear what you plan to do next.”
“No problem.” Cassie had dozens of ideas, but as she sat there, trying not to panic while mentally filing through her list, she knew none of them was the right idea. She needed something to make her journalistic instincts hum, make her spidey senses tingle.
“Think about it and put something together for me,” Therese suggested. “Let’s plan on a pitch session right after Christmas, before I head to Key West for New Year’s. Does that work for you?” She smiled again, still benevolent, but with a gleam in her eye that told Cassie “yes” was the only available option here.
“Sure.” Part of Cassie wished she could head to Key West. It would be warm, it would be sunny, and it would be hundreds of miles away from a certain sexy Scot.
Therese stood, her signal the meeting was over. “Oh, and one more thing,” Therese called as Cassie reached the door.
“Yes?” Cassie asked, turning to face her boss and struggling to maintain an air of calm control while inside, her mind was a tornado.
“If this bombs, you’re done.” Therese tapped a slim dark finger against her desk. “I like you, Cassie. But morning television is a cutthroat profession. You have to keep your head in the game.”
Cassie nodded. Gee thanks, boss, no pressure.
CHAPTER 28
“HEY, MAM.” LOGAN shifted the phone closer to his ear to hear better over the slight buzz coming over the line from an international call. Lochalsh didn’t have the best cell reception.
“Logan! How are you?”
“I’m well.” It wasn’t a complete fib. Hearing Mam’s voice lightened the heaviness in his chest that had been weighing him down for over a week, ever since Cassie had told him to get out. The December days passed in a gray blur, marked by a hideous blend of slow and slush that the locals referred to as a “wintery mix.”
“I was just thinking about ye. I’ve about finished wrapping up the black bun, and it will be ready when you come home fer sure.”
His gut twisted. “About that…,” he began, sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, not knowing how he was going to explain to his mother that not only would he not be coming home for Christmas next week, but he’d be absent—for the first time ever—on Hogmanay as well.
“Stop chewing on it and spit it out, laddie,” Mam ordered.
“I am so sorry, Mam, but I need to be in the States for the rest of the year.”
“Whatever for?” He could hear the frown in her voice, picture the crease forming between her brows right now.
“I’ve been asked to host a New Year’s special.”
“Will it be on the box?” Mam asked.
“Aye, I expect it will.” He pulled his legs up and lay sideways across the bed.
Mam gasped. “Like Andy Stewart?”
“Ah, not exactly. It’s more like a big party with music and dancing and such.” He tried to recall the details of the event the Bobs had asked him to host. “I’ll be onstage introducing the bands, and keeping t
he crowd entertained between sets. It’s at a place here in the city.”
“Not home for Hogmanay?” Mam tsked. “I suppose it was going to happen eventually.” She breathed a heavy sigh. “Tell you what, I’ll tuck the black bun in the post tomorrow so it’s sure to arrive in time for you to enjoy.”
“That’s grand. Thanks.” He should have tried to find a way to get home and at least spend Christmas with her. But the New Year’s Eve gig gave him an excuse to stay in Chicago, on the off chance Cassie finally answered one of his calls or replied to one of his texts.
“What else is troubling you?”
“Nothing,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light.
Mam, however, knew him too well. “Och, now there’s a lie.”
The rustling sounds on the phone told Logan his mam was settling in for a long chat. He could picture her in the kitchen, a fire in the hearth and a mug of tea on the table in front of her. The thought of her sitting there, all alone in that house, filled him with a familiar, bitter ache.
“Talk to me, son.”
“How do you do it, Mam?” Logan rolled to his side and shoved the boring, standard-issue hotel pillows out of his way. He missed Cassie’s soft squeaky mattress and haphazard hill of mismatched pillows. “How do you get through each day? Alone. Without Da?”
The silence following his question made Logan wince. He shouldn’t have asked her that. What was wrong with him? Cassie was right, he was an inconsiderate sod who didn’t stop to think about how his actions affected others. “Never mind, Mam. I’m sorry I asked.”
“No,” Mam said slowly, her voice soft and lilting. “I’ve been wondering when you would finally come around. I ken you don’t like it when I talk about yer da.”
“Mam—”
“Hush, now. No use denying it. It’s all right, I ken it hurts.” Mam paused, and Logan wondered if she felt the same tightness in her lungs, if she struggled with the same inability to breathe through the pain.
Christ, of course she did. He could still remember the sound of her broken cries echoing in the dim halls of the emergency wing of the hospital. The sound like shards of shattered glass, shredding Logan’s heart and embedding in his soul.
“Aye, talking about yer da hurts,” Mam said quietly. “But not talking about him hurts worse.”
The simple truth of her bald admission cut Logan to the quick. “I’m so sorry, Mam,” Logan breathed, his voice heavy with shame. His eyes burned and he squeezed them shut.
“Shh now, shh,” Mam crooned into the phone, into his ear.
With his eyes closed, it was almost as if she were here with him, a tangible, soothing presence in the room.
“I know you’re worried about me, here in this house, all alone, with nothing but my memories to comfort me,” Mam said. “But I want you to know they are a comfort. I loved your da, I loved our life together. And I’ll tell you, it’s true I regret he was taken from me so soon. I regret the days we should have had. What I don’t regret is the time we did have.” Her voice was strong, resolute. “The pain of missing your da is well worth the joy of having loved him. Of loving him still.”
And suddenly Logan realized Mam was right. It was true enough no one could predict what would happen next, but the fact things could change at any moment shouldn’t be a reason to avoid life—to avoid love. If anything, it was the very reason to jump in with both feet and cram in as much life as you could.
When you find the person you want to spend your life with, you shouldn’t waste a single day waiting. With gut-wrenching certainty, Logan knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted every day Cassie could give him—every day he could give her. Every morning and every night, every kiss, every fight, every laugh, and every tear—he wanted it all.
He’d been a selfish ass, lost in his own feelings. No wonder Cassie kicked him out. He was such a blind, bloody fool. Losing Da had made him afraid to take anything seriously. To commit to something was to risk losing it. But now the thought of losing Cassie, of losing what they had, made him grind his teeth in frustration.
“Do you still have Gran’s engagement ring?” he asked, surprised how easily the question slipped out.
“Aye, of course I do.” Mam’s chuckle was warm as a wool afghan. “I’ll jes slip it in wi’ the black bun then, shall I?”
“Yes,” Logan said, hope lighting all the dark spaces inside him. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
* * *
On Christmas Eve, Cassie wrapped presents for her family and worked up the courage to call her mom and tell her she wouldn’t be heading home. Even as low-key as the Crow family holidays were, she didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. Tying a fat bow around the giant bug book she’d bought for her dad, Cassie picked up her phone, deleted all the new texts and missed phone calls from Logan—same as she’d been doing for the past two weeks—and dialed home.
“Now I understand why you ditched us at Thanksgiving.” Mom chortled appreciatively. “I’d choose him over Aunt Eleanor’s Jell-O molds any day.”
“Mother!” Cassie shouldn’t be surprised her mother was completely sucked in by the kilted Scot. Like mother, like daughter, right? Cassie had first developed her addiction to Highlander romance novels by stealing them from her mom’s stash. “You’ve seen the video then, I take it?”
“A few times. But I’ve been watching your ChiChat interviews too. ‘Coming Out of the Book Closet’ was very clever. I love how you turned the whole nasty mess around. Speaking of nasty, who peed in that Tiffany girl’s orange juice?”
“She has issues,” Cassie said.
“I’ll say,” her mother agreed. “Maybe she needs to read a good romance novel or two.”
For the first time in weeks, Cassie laughed. “Maybe we should get you on the show, Mom. A school principal who reads about sexy Scots.”
“Speaking of,” her mother continued, “why don’t you bring him along?”
“Who, Logan?” Cassie paused, stomach and heart breaking into a messy tango at the thought of Logan spending the holidays with her family. “I don’t think so.”
“Worth a try,” her mother teased. “It would have been nice to see him up close. How about you?” she continued, unperturbed. “When are you coming home?”
“I’m not sure.” Cassie looped her finger through the curling ribbons on one of the presents. “I’m sorry, Mom, but once this current segment runs its course, I need to be ready with a new project.”
“How soon?” Mom asked.
“I have a pitch meeting with my boss later this week.”
“That’s very soon. What’s your plan?”
“I’m still working on it.” Which was not exactly a lie, she had been thinking of new ideas … in the few moments she wasn’t sulking about her breakup. She’d ignored Logan’s calls, deleted his texts, but she couldn’t pretend she liked coming home to her empty apartment and her empty bed each day, knowing he wasn’t going to show up sometime in the night, warming her despite the kiss of winter chill he carried with him on his skin. Couldn’t convince herself it didn’t hurt to know he wasn’t going to greet her in the morning with a kiss and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. “What about you, what’s keeping you busy?”
“Raising money to buy uniforms for the girls’ basketball team,” Mom groaned.
“Why?” Cassie asked. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from Logan and his coffee and kisses.
“For years the girls’ team has had to wear the boys’ jerseys.”
“Gross.” Cassie shuddered. “Those poor girls, having to wear a basketball jersey some junior high boy had been sweating in all season?”
“Well, they’d been washed, of course, but yes, that was one of the complaints. Another was the style. Boys’ jerseys don’t fit the same.” Cassie’s mother heaved a sigh. “I don’t recall all the details, except it was a big enough deal for the parents to storm a few board meetings about it. And then it got worse from there.”
“Oh?” Cassie asked
, the back of her neck prickling. She leaned forward, recognizing the sensation. Spidey senses activated. There was a story here. A good one. “What happened?”
“The board finally approved a new budget. Great, right? Except, you know what my athletic director does? He makes the genius decision to use the money raised to buy new boys’ uniforms.”
“What?” Yep, definitely a story.
“It was a fiasco.” Mom was getting riled up and began talking faster. “Since the budget only provided enough to purchase uniforms for one team, he figured why not buy new boys’ uniforms? They were getting old anyway. What’s the big deal if girls wore boys’ jerseys? They’d been doing it for years. This way both teams could enjoy fresh new jerseys. He thought he was killing two birds with one stone.”
“How about this,” Cassie suggested peevishly, “how about the school order new girls’ uniforms and let the boys wear those? What’s the big deal, right?”
“Actually…” Mom chuckled. “A parent offered that exact solution. I’m just glad we worked it out before the situation turned ugly. Don’t you remember what happened the year you did that candy fundraiser in high school?”
Cassie sucked in a breath. “Oh my God, that’s right. My team sold all those freaking chocolate bars, and the school told us we had to split the money we raised with the boys’ team.”
Mom laughed. “Well, the boys did buy a lot of chocolate from you girls.”
“It’s not funny, Mom,” she fumed. Recalling that memory stirred a sense of injustice that still stung. Cassie’s ire dialed back a notch as a hunch formed in the back of her journalistic brain. The idea gathered speed, hurtling down the track in her mind, becoming clearer. A moment later it crystalized, pure and perfect. “That’s it!”
“What? What’s it?”
“Mom, you’re a genius!” She had her next idea, it was a Christmas miracle.
Her apartment buzzer went off, startling her. Shoving the presents off her lap, Cassie crossed to the window and looked out. A familiar thatch of red hair waited on her steps, quickly getting covered in snow.
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 29
