“Well, you have to, because it’s true.” She shrugged. “I’m human. I’m also not twenty anymore and am well aware of shelf life when there are cameras involved. A newer model walks in the door? Sure, I’m aware that she might be here to replace me.”
“That’s crazy.” I shook my head, mystified. I folded my arms. “What’s the second part?”
“Kind of a replay of the first part but with a more personal angle thrown in.”
I frowned. “Define personal.” Because I really, really needed to know that part.
She sighed as if I was forcing her to explain, and I was. “Young, beautiful, and that presence again. But it affected…me.”
“I don’t understand.” Was I following correctly? I surely wasn’t. My insides were going warm, though.
“Outside the job.” She just stared at me. Waiting.
“Oh.” My brain stuttered and tried to process the realization. “Are you saying…”
“I noticed you, and it had me on my toes for a whole separate reason. It wasn’t until I allowed myself to get to know you, to like you, that the intimidation seemed stupid and then faded. Well, a little.”
I didn’t have words, so I gulped my wine. Chugged it, in fact, and then extended my arm all the way out for a refill. I was going to need it.
Carrie laughed and reached for the bottle. “Okay, that was adorable.”
I reemphasized my request with a second bounce of my arm, and Carrie obliged with a laugh.
“Well, if you were intimidated by me, I was terrified of you. And in awe. I’ve been watching you on television for years, looking up to you.”
“Since you were, what? A child? A toddler?”
“Stop that. I’ll be thirty in March. Thank you very much.”
“March, huh? Nine and a half years.”
“See? We’re contemporaries.”
She laughed out loud at that one. “Sure.” A glance around as if remembering her hostess duties. “Want to see the house?”
Did I ever. “Very much. I can already tell that your skills extend to decorating. Your house looks like one of those model homes. The nine and a half years is showing in a really good way. I need to work on adulting at a much higher level.”
“You’ll get there. Decorating is another hobby. On weekends, I love to shop for this place. A rug here. A clock there. It feels like each room is always shifting with me and my style.”
She had style in spades. I was working on distinguishing mine from hodgepodge. She led me from the expansive main living and kitchen area to three bedrooms on the left side of the house, each ridiculously comfortable looking but with its own chic color combination and crisp lines. A soft lavender and gray bedroom. A blue and cream one next door. The third was clearly a study set up for Carrie with an elegant mahogany desk that brought out the flecks of brown in the tile flooring. Large windows without curtains looked out on her backyard, which was much bigger than I would have imagined. She nodded at the window. “I’m a huge sun bunny. I have to have the natural light. Gets me going.”
“I’m surprised you don’t live on the beach.”
“It’s close enough, and this way I can spread out a bit more. Garden. Set up my hammock. It’s close enough if I want it.”
I nodded and wrapped my arms around myself. “I hope to live right on the beach one day. It’s a dream of mine.” The idea of waking up early, taking my coffee outside as the ocean breeze lifted my hair and woke my senses, sounded like heaven on earth. Just the sound of the ocean gave me goose bumps.
She paused as if saving the declaration. “I think you’re going to have that. Goals are hugely important. Dreams beget dreams. They keep you hungry.”
“Is that how you did it?”
She nodded and turned off the light in the study. “I worked my ass off to put myself on the map, but even now, I can’t be complacent. There’s always someone waiting in the wings for my job.”
She made a valid point. One I’d not really ever considered. I just figured once you were Caroline McNamara, you had it made. In reality, she had a lot to lose, and the industry could be brutal. “There’s no one like you, though.”
“True. But there are younger versions.” She winked and led me through the living area to the other side of the house. “The primary retreat.”
I stared in awe at the mostly white and cream room. Retreat it was. A huge California king sat in the middle of the room with a large skylight overhead. Just beyond it sat an entire sitting area with a small sofa and two curvy chairs that I could imagine her curling up in with a book. On the side of the room, closest to the door, stood a built-in granite counter with an actual refrigerator and coffee station. “You are wildly set up in here. You don’t have to leave.”
She raised a proud shoulder. “I like to be comfortable.”
I met her gaze. “I’m learning a lot.”
“Good.”
“And this house is much larger than it looks. From the outside, I never would have known you had all this going on.” I followed her out of the room. “You have a coffee station in your bedroom, Carrie.”
“My little secret hideout. Now tell me more about you.”
It was a broad question, and while I wanted to dazzle this woman and show her that I was every bit as capable, creative, and smart as she was, it was strangely more important to me to be completely honest. “I think I’m a woman still figuring it all out.”
She sat on the living room sofa with her legs folded beneath her, and I joined her on the opposite end, keeping my feet on the floor. “I think that’s identifiable. What are some things you want for yourself?”
“A career that I’m proud of, someone to share it all with. A family one day.”
“And that house on the beach.”
I grinned, enjoying the thought. “Can’t forget the beach.” I paused. “Tell me something that you’d wished you’d known as a reporter.”
“To enjoy every second of the hunt for your story.” She shrugged. “I miss it now.”
I frowned. “You’re in the anchor chair and you miss the field? Unheard of.”
“Don’t get me wrong. There are perks to air-conditioning and studio lighting.” She winked at me. “But I do miss interacting with people, crafting the narrative. The journey. Now I’m a talking head for the most part. Not that I dislike my job. I don’t.”
“Well, you’re certainly more than a talking head. More like the quarterback.”