“I can’t wait to tell this story at our reunion next week,” Gerard said. “Our valedictorian, slayer of hearts. Age not an issue.”
Jessica handed him the top of a pair of scrubs. As usual, while everyone else was just taking up space, she’d been useful.
“That was very sweet,” she said.
“Thanks.” He pulled the shirt over his head.
Levi smacked him on the back. “Good job, Con. I’ll fill out the paperwork on this, since you must be feeling dirty.” More laughter. Connor smiled begrudgingly.
“You want a ride home, Connor?” Jessica asked.
Friends. He could do friends. “That’d be great.”
* * *
IT WAS NO surprise to Jessica that Connor had been the hero of that little drama. He was good at things like...well...calming down drama. She drove toward his house, his wonderful cooking-and-soap smell filling her car, his arm just a few inches from hers.
Didn’t manage to say a word. Then again, the drive was only two minutes.
She pulled up in front of his house.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said, opening the door.
“I miss you,” she said suddenly, and her heart banged in her chest. “Nothing has changed, but I want you to know that.”
He looked at her for a long minute, his lashes so thick and curly that they were tangled in the corners. “Every time I think you can’t break my heart again,” he said, “you find a way.”
The words were like a hot knife into her heart. “I don’t mean to,” she whispered.
“Which makes it even worse.” He got out and leaned down to look at her again. “I still love you. That hasn’t changed, either.”
She looked at the steering wheel. Don’t you dare cry, she told herself. You’ll only make it worse.
“You were really great with that old lady,” she said.
She could feel his eyes on her still. “Good night, Jess.”
Then the door thudded closed, and she pulled away as carefully as she could, not looking in the rearview mirror, looking only ahead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Honor asked Jessica to come into her office. As always, Jess felt her stomach clench. “Close the door,” Honor said, not smiling as she looked up. Spike, her little teacup Yorkie, snored from her little bed.
Jess swallowed. “What’s up?” she asked, taking a seat.
“Take a look at this,” Honor said, handing over a piece of paper.
It was a press release about Blue Heron and the planned expansion to clear four acres and put in a new grape varietal—Aromelia, the first new grape to come from Cornell in a few years. There were high hopes for the grape to do well; it was a hybrid, and Jack Holland, a Cornell alum, had consulted on its development. Pru had started clearing the land two weeks ago.
Jessica had the file on Aromelia. She’d interviewed Jack in March about the grape and had all her notes in a folder, as well as a draft of an article. It was on her calendar for next week—finish Aromelia article and pitch to science editor at NPR.
This article was solid and factual, if a little dry. And the contact name listed was Honor Barlow...not Jessica Dunn.
“Marcy wrote this,” Honor said.
Jess looked up. “Why?”
“I was going to ask you that. She sent it out already.”“What?”
“She came in here earlier and said you were a little overwhelmed, so she’d taken the initiative. Are you, Jess?”
“No! This is on my calendar for next week. I have all my notes and everything.” She didn’t like the slightly terrified note in her voice.
“Marcy said she ran into an acquaintance from the Times. Pitched him the story, said it had to be done right then and there or we’d miss the window.”
“So she sent this out without asking you?” Or me?
“Mm-hmm.”
Jess would never have done that. Even with her new title, she would never have let something go out without Honor’s approval. NPR and the Times? They were too big without a green light from the boss.
Marcy hadn’t felt constrained in the least.
Jessica’s face was hot.
“The thing is, the Times is going to run it.” Honor folded her hands.
“Oh. I— That’s great.” Because yes, coverage in the New York Times was pretty damn impressive.
“I just wanted to check in,” Honor said. “If you need help, or if you’re swamped, I’d hope you’d tell me, Jessica. No one would think less of you.”
Except of course they would. “I don’t know why Marcy said that. I don’t feel overwhelmed, and I never said anything to her. I barely see her. She seems very busy with her own duties, you know?”
That was certainly true. Marcy was constantly on her phone, the little earpiece like an appendage, parading down the hall with a bride or a vendor, constantly talking, talking, talking. Jess had begun playing classical music in her office to drown her out.
Jess took a breath. “What do you think about her, Honor?”
It was a risk, asking the boss about another employee. As soon as she said the words, she wished she hadn’t.
Honor tipped her head. “Well...she’s doing a really good job. Every event has gone like clockwork, and we’ve had great reviews and happy brides. There are a thousand details to keep track of, as you know, and I’m glad it’s not my job anymore.”
Jess nodded. Honor was way too classy to say anything negative.
“She’s a little...much,” she added, and Jess almost sagged with relief. “But she has a way with customers, especially brides. And I can’t say I’m sorry we’re being featured in the Times. But I did tell her all press goes through you. You might want to talk to her.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She got up and went back down the hall, still feeling in the wrong, somehow. And shaken.
Marcy was out, probably interviewing vendors or trotting around with brides, since she was the type to micromanage... Jess had seen her at Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery the other day for a cake-tasting, and even the perpetually happy Lorelei looked a little frazzled.
But press was Jess’s job.
An hour later, she heard Marcy coming down the hall. “I don’t care what she says!” she was all but yelling into her Bluetooth. “If you want chrysanthemums, you’ve got them! Don’t worry about it another microsecond, hon! I’m on it! Ciao!”
Jess opened her door. “Marcy, can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.
“Of course! I’m super-busy, but sure!” She came in and sat down, looking around her office. “You could really warm this place up, you know. I could help you if you’re not good with interior decorating. It doesn’t have to look like you’re a temp here.”
“I’m not a temp. I’ve been here more than a year. I just don’t like clutter.”
“Well, everyone has their own taste, I guess. What’s up?”
Jessica sat behind her desk. “The Times piece.”
“I know, right? Fabulous placement. I was so psyched, I kid you not. I mean, sure, Neil—the reporter?—he and I go way back, and the timing was perfect. Yay, Blue Heron!”
Jess nodded. “The thing is, I’m the media director here, and all press should go through me.”