He straightened his T-shirt and stood three inches taller. I smothered a grin. Everyone loved being on TV.
“And where have you been?” Carrie asked when I arrived back at my desk an hour later.
“Quirky robberies are afoot. Chips are paying the price. I must right this wrong.”
“Quirky, you say?”
“It’s too early to talk about, but it could be interesting.” I paused. “Your eyes look extra blue today, and you seem energized. Why is that?”
“Hmm. Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
I opened my laptop. “Hot date?”
“Jury is still out on that one.” She didn’t linger. Picked up her makeup bag and left for the studio while I tried to figure out exactly what our last exchange had meant. Was she talking about us? Some other person she was seeing this week? So many possibilities. I wasn’t complaining. Because when Carrie was around these days, my skin tingled and my world hummed pleasantly with the kind of electricity that made everything feel purposeful and fun. Plus, a little mystery never hurt anyone.
* * *
When the weekend came, I was surprised to see that Carrie’s house was smaller than I would have guessed, given her fame and reputation. She was San Diego elite, appearing on billboard ads and serving as the face of a number of different charities. Her home, however, was a modest one-story stucco, not on the beach, but two blocks in. It did come with some pretty fantastic landscaping, though. I’d give her that. I followed the winding sidewalk through all sorts of greenery of varying heights with little pops of color coming from flowers I couldn’t name if I tried. I wondered if Carrie had done all this herself, and then remembered how busy she was and likely rich.
“What’s caught your interest out there?”
I looked up, the sweating bottle of wine I carried by the neck dropped at my side. My offering. “I was just admiring your curvy garden walk. It’s beautiful.” I’d worn a casual purple sundress and flat sandals, which thankfully seemed to line up with her red halter top and cropped faded jeans. I took a minute to absorb the very casual version of her. She had ten years on me, but today, you’d never know it. Today, she appeared youthful and bright-eyed, her blond hair down with the longest layers falling well beyond her shoulders.
“Thank you. Little passion project.”
I gestured to the plant with the palmlike leaves. “This was you?”
“And these.” She held up her hands, signaling they’d done the work. Two rings and a bracelet adorned. My stomach went tight. Oh, I liked her hands very much. “Come in. Let’s relax. I have the back door open. You can’t see the ocean, but you can hear it.”
“What smells so amazing?” My senses went into overload as I entered the home. She was baking something. Or had. And it was heavenly. My eyes scanned her living room—gray furniture arranged in a U-shape, open to three towering bookshelves full of not just books, but elegant looking objects. Vases, a small lamp, a series of awards, a photograph of her accepting one. She was such a fucking grown-up and impressive person. One of the reasons I’d forgiven her so quickly after our early missteps. I wanted to know this woman. I craved knowledge of her.
“Rosemary bread.” I turned and saw her in the open kitchen, slicing into a loaf with a large bread knife. “How about a warm slice with some butter?”
“If you greet all your guests this way, you’re going to have a line.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Not me. I swear. Do I still get the bread?”
She slid a small plate my way. That’s when I realized I had no small plates at home. I needed to get on that because I suddenly felt like a hospitality heathen. “The rosemary is fresh from that garden you were just admiring.”
“Wow. Thank you.” I stared at the thick buttery slice, and my mouth watered. I heard the splash of liquid in a glass and grinned as I saw her pouring rosé into two oversized wineglasses. “You’re spoiling me now.”
She raised a shoulder. “It’s the weekend. We all need a little extra care.”
“I like the philosophy.”
She met my gaze. A smile. She looked away. “So, what do you think?”
I paused, unsure of the subject matter. “About the bread? It’s probably the most wonderful thing I’ve tasted in years.” Not a lie. Hot, fresh bread needed some kind of medal for its contributions to society, and Carrie needed to be thanked in the speech.
“KTMW. You’re beyond the brand-new zone at this point. How are you liking the job?” She sipped her wine and waited for my reply.
“Well, now that all hazing has come to an end…”
She raised a finger. “That statement might be premature.”
“Now that all hazing has tapered off, I’m starting to feel at home. I understand how the place works.”
“And that’s different than WBBA?”
“They’re different planets. The competition for just a bite at a good story is not something I dealt with there. Everyone played nice in the sandbox and brought brownies.”
Carrie slid a piece of the warm bread into her mouth and took a bite. I had trouble deciphering her words for a moment. “Brownies could be nice.”
“I prefer a career that’s actually going somewhere.”
She came around the kitchen island and paused next to me, hip kicked against the counter. “I think you’re more than on your way. I’ve never in my life seen Tam hire someone from such a small market. You skipped about four steps.”
“Trust me. I’m well aware. I’m still not sure why he took a chance on me.”
She lifted her chin. “There’s something about you.”
“What?”
She shook her head looking at me. Unabashed. “I’m still not sure.”
“Is that why you made my first couple of weeks difficult? Because you thought I hadn’t earned it?”
Carrie exhaled slowly and reached for her wine, signaling that she might need it to tackle this question. “I’ve actually thought about it a lot because it’s very much out of character for me.”
I winced. “That bad, huh?”
“I think the answer is a two-parter. You’re young, beautiful, and you have this really noticeable presence. The trifecta had me—how should I say this? Intimidated.”
I stepped back and drew an X in the air. “No. I refuse to believe that you”—I gestured up and down her body—“being who you are, could experience even an ounce of intimidation at the hands of some new puppy of a reporter.”