As she started to walk in Garrett’s direction, someone touched her on the shoulder. It was Wynn Kernstone, the News 12 reporter. “Hey, that was great,” he said in his deep TV voice.
His blue button-down shirtsleeves were rolled up to just below his elbow, showing off his muscular forearms. Callie noticed that he was even more attractive in person.
“Uh, hi,” she said, trying not to appear starstruck. She had seen him on television many times. His Hurricane Sebastian coverage was legendary—he and his cameraman went viral for rescuing a resident trapped in their home during a live broadcast.
“I just wanted to introduce myself,” he said, standing tall at what felt like half a foot above her five-foot-six frame. “I read your articles all the time in the Herald.”
Callie felt flustered. He knew who she was? “Oh, thanks,” she said, shuffling her feet below her. “And I see your reports on the news all the time, too. You’re great!” Callie felt her face get red hot.
He grinned and then scratched his head. “Hey, would you like to grab dinner?” he asked quickly, like he was nervous.
Callie froze. Was he asking her out? Or was it just a professional thing? Either way, she supposed she should answer him. “Um, sure,” she finally said.
“Great!” He clapped his hands together. “You free tonight?”
Callie felt her mouth get dry again. Tonight? That was so soon, right? “Um…” She looked around the room. Her sisters were in the corner talking to their parents, and Garrett was now talking to one of the female reporters. The petite brunette brushed her hair against her face and giggled at something he said.
Callie swallowed and tried to push the jealousy aside. Part of her blamed those stupid romantic comedies on Netflix she binged on Friday and Saturday nights while the rest of the world went on dates. They had given her false hope that coworkers hooked up at office holiday parties and that best friends could turn into something more. The most action she had received from Garrett in the six years she had known him was when they accidentally drank out of the same glass at a happy hour.
Some fairy tale… It really and truly was time to move on. She looked back at Wynn, who was now leaning into her. “I, uh—” She paused. “You know what? I’d love to.”
* * *
The Crane was the nicest restaurant in town. It featured sleek décor and brick walls covered in ivy, a classy five-piece jazz band playing live music, and a menu created by a world-renowned New Orleans chef. Callie felt a bit out of her element looking at the prices on the menu. She reminded herself, for the tenth time, she could now afford it.
Wynn flipped through the wine list and picked a French bottle of cabernet sauvignon.
With their faces illuminated by the flickering ivory votive candle on the table, Callie was amazed at how easy Wynn was to talk to. As a private journalist joke, they had been asking each other interview style questions in a lightning round. He asked her questions about herself, like what she liked to do for fun. “Is work a lame answer?” she had asked in response. It had been so long since she had gone on a first date with someone, her answers were a little rusty.
“Nope,” he replied, biting into a piece of his pecan-crusted salmon. “Especially when you have a job as cool as ours.”
“True,” Callie said before taking a sip of her wine. “Did you always know you wanted to be in journalism?”
He wiped his mouth with his white cloth napkin. “I always wanted to be a sports reporter, but when I was in college, I began gravitating more toward news and human interest. It’s been really fulfilling. Like, last year, I helped a guy get a life-saving surgery by setting up a fund-raiser for him on the air—we raised over a hundred thousand dollars and saved his life. It was one of the most rewarding moments in my career.”
“That’s awesome,” Callie said. She had her fair share of career highlights, but none with that kind of impact. She hoped one day she’d have a story like that. “What college did you go to?” She sat up in her seat. One of the occupational hazards of her job was asking people too many questions about themselves in social situations, but that didn’t count on dates, right?
“I’m from Tuscaloosa.…” he trailed off and cocked his right eyebrow.
For a moment, Callie was confused. What was that supposed to even mean? Then it hit her. She shook her finger at him. “Oh, noooo you don’t… you went to Alabama?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I can’t be seen with you. My dad will murder me if he finds out. I’ll be ousted from the state.”
“Ha!” He belly-laughed. “So, I take it you went to LSU?”
Callie shook her head. “Nope, I went to UL, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t born bleeding purple and gold.” Her family always rooted for the Tigers on college game days—even more so when they played their rival, the University of Alabama.
The two stared each other down playfully as the waiter took their empty plates. After the table was clear, Callie sat back in her seat, feeling a bit giddy. Despite Wynn’s terrible choice in college sports teams, she really liked him. It wasn’t just his perfectly coiffed hair or athletic body—it was his mind, his passion, his talent. But while the band played a moody version of “Georgia on My Mind” in the dim romantic restaurant, she glanced back at the seemingly perfect guy and wondered what in the world he saw in her. Her cynical side reminded her she did just win millions of dollars.
While the other diners looked on as they walked out of the restaurant, Wynn put his hand on the small of her back and guided her outside.
“Wynn Kernstone!” exclaimed a twenty-something-year-old drunk guy who was smoking a cigarette by the smokers’ pole. He had clearly recognized the reporter from TV.
“Hey, man,” Wynn said, giving the man a fist bump. His casual reaction made Callie think this was a regular occurrence.
“You’re famous,” she whispered against the tune of the crickets chirping in the trees. The sound surrounded the otherwise quiet parking lot.
“Haha, yeah right,” he said humbly. The wind picked up and blew Callie’s hair into her face. Without hesitation, Wynn brushed it away from her cheek. The soft touch of his skin sent tingles down her body.
Neither of them said anything for what felt like forever. The moon was glowing white and the sky was so clear that both the Big and Little Dipper were visible in the stars. “What time is it?” Callie finally asked. She had just remembered she had a budget meeting at eight o’clock in the morning.
Wynn flicked his wrist to reveal a silver bracelet watch. He studied it for a second and then looked back at her with wide eyes. “My watch stopped.” He shook his head and chuckled a little.
She tilted her head to the side. “Why is that so funny?”
He held his wrist up so she could see it. “I think it’s the universe’s way of making this moment last forever,” he whispered. His lips formed into a flirty smirk, and he looked deeply into her eyes.
Callie threw her head back in laughter and gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “Oh, that was bad,” she said, patting him on the chest.
“Was it?” He laughed, jabbing her lightly in the stomach. “I thought it was pretty good.”