‘Oh, we just had dinner at my parents’.’ It’s not like I have to hide the fact that I hung out with Devon to Hope. She knows he’s my ex best friend and she’s the one that has been inviting him to dinner dates and cookie competitions. I just don’t want her to start overanalysing things and getting excited about double dates or planning all our future cosplay outfits because I’m certainly not doing that. ‘We got in late and fell asleep on the couch. You know how exhausting it is having dinner with my mum,’ I add nonchalantly.
After the bedroom debacle and Hope’s wiggling eyebrows after too much wine on Monday night and my disappearing act with Devon on Wednesday, I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and think that Devon and I could be anything more than we are. I don’t want her bubble to burst when he leaves on Sunday. A part of me wants to let her in on my wayward thoughts but I’m scared that talking about my feelings will only make them more real. I swallow down the lump in my throat and focus on checking over some article submissions for January.
‘You didn’t text me back. I got no goodnight text,’ she says, still stood up and looking my way, a small smile tugging at her cheeks and her eyebrows halfway up her forehead, like I’m about to divulge some kind of magical night with Devon to her. I squint my eyes not even wanting my brain to go down that lane and start giving me visuals of what that would be like, especially not after this morning; I can already feel my cheeks redden.
‘Hope, you know I never look at my phone,’ I say matter-of-fact, forcing my words to come out firm and not lost in a sexy daydream.
‘So, I take it you didn’t see the latest article on your roomie?’ she asks, shuffling papers on her desk.
Why is she not working? It’s so unlike Hope to be this unprofessional.
‘Since when do I read celeb gossip?’ I reply, though I have to admit, there’s a small part of me, like a tiny weeny part of me, that’s interested to know what the world thinks of Devon; how he comes across to the masses and if they love him as much as I do. Did I just say love again? You know what I mean.
‘It seems our good friend Ruby managed to stir up a heap of interest in Devon’s love life – her taking centre stage of course, over the whole childhood sweetheart thing.’ Hope is looking at me expectantly; I wish she would sit down. I shuffle in my chair making it squeak and creak as a knot forms in my stomach.
‘Hope,’ I start with a sigh. ‘D is a grown-up – we are all grown-ups here. He can protect himself now and if he can’t see someone like Ruby from a mile away then that’s on him.’ I lean back having clicked send on an email to Clark about the winner of this week’s cookie competition and about collecting their information for January. Oh, and not that Clark – that would be pretty neat though wouldn’t it? Both work at a newspaper, both wear glasses, only one is hiding a secret superhero identity but it’s not the one who works with me, unfortunately.
‘So, you’re good if the whole world thinks that Ruby is his girlfriend?’ Hope presses.
Cue more chair creaking from behind my desk. ‘If that’s what Devon wants the world to think, then of course I am. As his former best friend, I just want him to be happy. He and his people know what sells movies, I don’t.’ I nod. It’s the one name I haven’t been able to bring up when spending time with Devon. We always end up having so much fun that I just don’t want to talk about her. In my mind I’d settled on Hope’s assumption that Ruby is styling Devon for the documentary and then I had pushed her to the back of my mind.
‘OK, fine.’ Hope finally sits down and gets back to work.
‘Great,’ I say occupying my brain with an email on “How to keep Chickens” for a sponsor of ours. It’s rather interesting and maybe Eddie could do with a friend. But it’s difficult to really take any of the words in. I don’t believe that Devon could fall for someone like Ruby, not after all she put us through at school. My Devon didn’t fit with someone with such a mean and malicious streak but then again maybe I don’t know the real Devon. People said fame changed people. I don’t think it has changed D, not after the time we have spent together, but how could I be sure? I still don’t know what happened two years ago; how he managed to pay Ruby a visit at the summer fair but not me.
An email pings into my inbox from our governors requiring more detail on how we plan to proceed with a monthly magazine. I scan over the words, grateful that they can keep my mind busy and off thoughts of “would the real Devon please stand up?” but at the same time my palms grow sweaty. There’s a lot of talk of more content and filling the pages. If it’s to be a monthly issue, then it will require more substance to justify a slight price increase. Hope is copied in to the email too.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asks, chewing on the end of her pencil. I immediately go through our staff register and try to come up with a way to expand people’s skill sets and give them multiple areas to cover. We’re only a small team. It might be tricky, but surely we can make it work.
‘We can send people out in the field more, see if they can find more hidden gems of Springhollow. It will be a meatier issue so the more stories the better. Maybe Billy can add an extra feature on horoscopes, focus on a specific one each month,’ I say, not feeling all that enthusiastic or inspired by my off-the-cuff ideas.
‘Yeah, maybe we do more interviews, ask the villagers about their favourite memories of Springhollow or favourite era,’ Hope suggests, her tone a touch shaky. As I read the bottom of the email, I understand why. The governor goes into detail about how they would like to see a mock-up of our plan going forward so they can approve our new vision. If they don’t see it creating a rise in subscriptions or it being beneficial and viable to produce, then it’s likely that the magazine will be scrapped. Oh, and they want our proposal on Monday.
‘That sounds good. See, we have ideas; it’s all going to be fine,’ I tell Hope with forced positivity, but she’s now well and truly in Business Hope state of mind and so I bring up the file of our current magazine’s formatting, side by side with a blank Word document and I will my fingers to type out the answer to our magazine woes.
*
I return from a coffee run and a quick visit to the building site to check in with my dad, as my lunch hour draws to a close. It’s always nice to get out and stretch my legs. It’s never bothered me fetching coffee for Hope, as I adore popping in to see Mr and Mrs Rolph at the bakery; they make the best coffee in town, and it feeds my own coffee addiction. I also love surprising my dad each day with a new flavour and seeing him in his element at work. He loves what he does and it’s a pleasure to watch him on the job. Today I picked up a few extra Christmas specials for Dad’s work buddies. I think the peppermint is now a favourite of theirs too.
As I go to place Hope’s coffee on her desk, she takes it from my grasp as she stands up, walks around her table and ushers me back towards the door.
With her hand on my elbow she says, ‘I need you to do a quick job for me, pretty please. I know it’s not in your usual job description but I can’t send anyone else with all the changes and altered deadlines looming and you know how much I love your writing, so can you please go to the address on this paper and cover the events taking place. We just got a phone call. Someone mentioned we might want to get the local news on it and well, we’re the local news.’ Hope barely takes a breath and it’s not like I can say no when she’s already guiding me out of the office and she’s my boss. Hope always got a kick out of the articles I used to submit to Alfred, but after being turned down so many times, I’d just stopped submitting them, even when she became the person in charge.