Like Never Before (4 page)

“That wasn't talking business,” C.J. said now. “That was a tour. A very . . . perky, tinsely one.”

Because she'd overdone it, hadn't she? Pumped too much cheer into her voice and brown-nosed it. “Sorry—”

“You like your job. Nothing wrong with that.” C.J. crossed one leg over the other. The zigzag stripes of her tights were the one standout feature of her attire—black blazer over black pencil skirt. Black heels. Black purse.

“I do like my job.”

“Which is why you've been avoiding my calls.”

Couldn't argue that. Across the square, Mr. Baker locked the front door of his antique shop under a flapping awning. He turned, caught Amelia's gaze, waved, and then hunched his way toward his station wagon. “I did mean to get back to you.” Eventually.

The first light in the park flickered as Mr. Baker's engine sputtered down Main. “Oh, here we go. It's about to happen.”

“What's about to happen?”

“You'll see.”

Just a breath later, as if tapped by a magic wand, every
thing blinked to life at once, a glow of yellowy-white against the deepening sky—the globe lights atop the lampposts, the lanterns hanging from the band shell, strings of twinkle lights draped over wrinkled branches.

“Wow.” C.J. released the word in an awed sigh.

“Pretty, isn't it?” Wind-dusted snow sparkled against the light.

“Magical.” C.J. uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Possibly worth the cold.”

Satisfaction, warm and sweet, glided through Amelia.

Until C.J. tilted her head. “I wonder how much it costs the city to keep it lit up like this.”

The question landed with a thud. “The lights don't stay on all night.”

C.J. stood. “So where's the coffee you promised?”

Amelia swiped at her disappointment as they retreated the same way they'd come, their footprints from before already smudged out of sight. Silly, probably, thinking a few minutes and some pretty lights might change a businesswoman's mind.

But then, that was the problem with Amelia. Always hoping in the wrong things. Almost three years post-divorce and apparently the lesson still hadn't sunk in:
Some minds don't change. Some fights you
don't win.

Yeah, well, C.J. wasn't Jeremy.

And Amelia wasn't the same Amelia she'd been back in Des Moines: broken, emptied, drained of any fight.

The riverfront came into view as they rounded the block. Sheets of ice bobbed in the tumbling waterway that split the town in half. The river had flooded early last fall—damaging not only the
News
office, but the bridal store next door and the coffee shop they were about to enter. Amelia had been out here, sandbagging with the rest of the town in the hours before the flood had its way. That same summer they'd been pounded by a tornado.

But there'd been happy times in the last year, too. Seth Walker had turned an old, abandoned bank building into the coolest restaurant around. An ex–NFL quarterback had moved to town and opened up a nonprofit. The community had pulled together to keep its historic railroad running.

And in the midst of all the big things, everyday life moved in a rhythm not all that different than the river's—fast and whooshing some days, slow and serene others. But always, it moved.

“You're upset.” C.J.'s heels clipped against the sidewalk as they neared the coffee shop.

“Not upset, just . . . frustrated. It's not only paper and ink we're talking about. It's people's jobs. We're a family in that office. Kat's a single mom trying to put two sons through college. Owen's saving up for grad school.”

“Amelia—”

“If you close the office, their jobs will go away.” Along with her dream of running the paper herself, finally cementing her place here in Maple Valley. If she'd had the money, she'd have bought the
News
herself the second Freddie mentioned selling. “I'm just asking you to consider—”

“What in the world?” C.J. halted in front of the coffee shop, focus hooked on its stretching windows, a clamor of rising voices, along with the brisk aroma of Coffee Coffee's brew, eking outside.

Amelia glanced at the crowd inside. “Not unusual for Coffee Coffee to have mobs reminiscent of Depression-era bank runs. We've sorta got a town-wide caffeine dependency.” She cupped her hands to the window and peered through. “But this looks way more organized than usual.” Yes, there was Mayor Milton Briggs up near the order counter, waving his hands from his perch atop a chair.

Great. Just when she needed this town to make a good impression . . .

“Whatever's happening, the only important question is, can we still get coffee?”

“Oh, we'll get you your coffee.” This one thing she could get right. She pushed through the entrance, the jingle of bells above the doorway mingling with the commotion inside.

“Now, I know it's confusing.” Mayor Milt, with his salt-and-pepper beard and usual cardigan, stood on a chair up front, exaggerated exasperation in his voice. “But since the mother insists she doesn't like the traditional pink and blue, you'll see the ribbons are green and yellow. Green for a boy, yellow for a girl.”

All around the eclectic coffee shop, townspeople sat at tables of varying heights and lounged in leather furniture. Behind the mayor, an espresso-hued counter fronted the back wall, with its chalkboard menu and mosaic backsplash.

“What is this?” C.J. leaned toward her. “A community-wide baby shower?”

“I don't think so.” She would've heard about that kind of thing. This smacked of exactly the kind of impromptu town meeting Mayor Milt loved to throw.

“So pick whatever gender you think the baby will be. Wear the ribbon any time you come in to Coffee Coffee until next week to show your support for Megan.”

Megan. Of course.

The pang started in Amelia's heart and landed in her stomach.

“Double shot espresso.”

Amelia blinked. Right, coffee. “Got it. I'll be back.”

She arced around the throng and made for the counter, scooted behind it and—not seeing any employees in sight—went for the espresso machine. She had the cup half filled, the machine's whir nearly drowned out by the crowd, before the voice cut in behind her.

“What're you doing back here, Bentley?”

Amelia finished filling the cup before turning toward the droll voice. Megan, the coffee shop's young owner—jet-black hair and charcoal-like eyeliner, as surly as she was resilient. Meg had been forced to close for nearly a month after the flood last year.

But that hadn't been the biggest of the young owner's challenges.

Amelia glanced at Meg's protruding stomach under her purple apron and felt the knobby ache grappling through her—familiar, dense with memories.

What should have been one of the happiest days of her life taking a sudden and harsh turn.

Dani's decision to back out of the adoption.

Mary's wails in the hospital nursery.

And the chafing realization that Amelia wouldn't be the one to soothe her. Not now. Not ever.

Should it still sting so much this many years later?

“Well?” Meg's fists were on her waist. And oh, she reminded Amelia of Dani in that moment.

Amelia swallowed. “I'm making sure you get at least one paying customer out of this chaos, that's what.”

The girl, who couldn't be older than twenty-one or twenty-two, lifted one pierced eyebrow. “Can you believe this town? I tell one person I'm finding out the gender next week, and before I know it, they've turned it into a full-blown event. Maple Valley will use literally anything as an excuse to celebrate.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Even a single girl's unplanned pregnancy.”

Amelia had to work not to flinch. “I thought you didn't work on Thursdays.”

“Keeping tabs on my schedule?”

“Uh, no, not keeping tabs.” But maybe, truthfully, avoiding. Was it so wrong to know her weak spots? To do her best to keep the whispers of her past entombed where they belonged?

Focus. C.J. Cranford. The
News
. The jobs you need to save.
Things she might be able to change.

Versus things she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried.

Megan kneaded the small of her back just below her apron's knot. “Hired a new girl last week and turns out, she's about as dependable as an untrained puppy.”

“Too bad. I gotta run, but here's hoping you survive the next week.” She handed Megan a five. “Keep the change.”

She didn't run from the counter, but she might as well have for all the polish of her escape. Meg probably wondered what her deal was. They used to be friends—or friend-ish, at least. Amelia had even worked a few shifts at the coffee shop just to pad her income. Meg had asked her back when she'd reopened after the flood.

But by then Amelia had heard the news about Megan's surprise pregnancy.

And she just couldn't.

She found C.J. where she'd left her—now wearing a green-and-yellow ribbon.

“Twins,” C.J. said as she accepted the cup from Amelia. “That's my vote.”

“Don't say that too loud or Megan might chuck a sugar shaker at you.”

“Will I get in trouble for voting even though I'm not an official Maple Valley citizen?”

“Are you kidding? The mayor—everyone, really—would love the thought of sucking in an outsider.”

Amelia followed C.J. to a counter crammed with coffee supplies. C.J. set down her cup and reached for the sugar. “Listen, I need to get back, and we haven't even touched on why I'm here yet. You clearly think I want to talk about the closing of the
News.
” She popped the lid off her cup. “You're wrong.”

“I am?”

“Freddie never finalized the sale. I don't know who your new owner is, but it's not Cranford Communications.” She mixed her coffee with a stir stick.

“I shouldn't be smiling right now, should I?”

“Don't get too excited. Our board is already prepping a package for the new owner, whoever he or she is. We'll likely acquire the
News
by the end of the summer. The new owner would be crazy not to sell. It's not a financially solvent business, you have to know that.”

“Finances can change. We can work on upping our subscriptions, maybe put together some new ad packages—”

“Like I said, I'm not here to talk about that.”

The ruckus of the disorganized town meeting still rose around them.

“It's gonna be
a girl. I can tell by her stomach.”

“A
boy. No doubt.”

“It's a crapshoot, and you
all know it.”

Amelia swallowed, too many distant moments trying to swarm in. Jeremy. The hospital nursery. The social worker's gauzy voice.
“I'm sorry, this happens more
often than we'd like.”

“Amelia?”

She blinked.

“I'm not here to talk about the future of the
News.
I'm here to talk about
your
future.” C.J. lifted her cup. “I'd like to offer you a job.”

“You're not seriously doing this.”

Logan momentarily ignored Theo as he accepted a stack of files from the intern. Alena would put an executive assistant at a Fortune 500 company to shame.

“The senator's office still needs wording for that energy pol
icy press release.” She added another folder to the pile in his arms. “And the Cohen Foundation wants a bullet-point overview for the governor's fundraiser speech next week.”

“Not happening.” Logan pulled the pencil from between his teeth, eyes on the top file. He perched on the corner of the mahogany desk that claimed one corner of the small office.

So much to get done today. Especially if he meant to pack up and travel back to Iowa this week. Which he did. Theo might throw a fit, but what could he do? That certified letter from the law firm in Maple Valley hadn't left him much choice.

Oh, Freddie, you were great in so many ways. But why me?

Couldn't he have left his newspaper to someone who . . . well . . . wanted it? And how horribly ungrateful was that thought?

“Are you even listening to me, Walker?” Stress curved Theo's brow from where he stood behind Alena.

“They're concerned the governor will go over his allotted twenty-five minutes,” Alena said as she moved around him to straighten the contents of the plastic shelf on his desk marked
Inbox
. The one he rarely remembered to riffle through.

Logan dropped the files onto his chair, attention darting to Charlie playing in the corner. Books, dolls—he'd brought all her quietest toys to the office today. “Gov goes over one time and suddenly we're incapable of pacing his speech. Tell them the speech will be perfectly timed down to his every pause—twenty-three and a half minutes, with ninety seconds for applause before and after.”