reporter.”
“Wants to break big stories, does he?” He knew that feeling. “He won’t do that from the mail room.”
“He has those two little brothers and the widowed mother, remember?” Her tone chided him gently. “At this point, he’s happy just to be working for a newspaper while he dreams of big stories. He’s determined to be the best mail room boy ever.”
“I see he has a big cheerleader in you.” He could almost empathize with the kid. Still, he’d never had to work his way up through the mail room. A position had opened up automatically for the congressman’s son.
“I like to encourage people.” The dimple peeked out again.
Intrigued by the dimple, he leaned toward her, his gaze on her face. He saw her eyes widen and her pupils darken as he neared. A pulse beat visibly in her neck, and he fought the urge to touch it, even to put his lips over hers.
Whoa. Back off. He couldn’t do that. He was her boss. They were in the newsroom. Was he asking to be charged with harassment?
He eased away from her, seeing the recognition in her eyes that must mirror his. They were attracted. Okay, they both got it. And they also both got that they couldn’t act on that attraction.
He got up, the chair rolling soundlessly back. “Well. I’d better get on my way. Let me know if any of my suggestions pay off.”
“Suggestions?” For an instant her eyes were glazed. Then she blinked and glanced toward the computer screen. “Yes, right. Thank you.” She took an audible breath. “Good night, Ross.”
“Good night.” He turned and walked quickly away before he could give in to any of the impulses that rocketed through him.
Chapter Five
A manda’s steps hastened as she went up the stairs to the beach house. It had been a tense day in many ways, mostly because of Ross, and she was relieved to be on the island, safe from the pressures of the newsroom.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected after those moments she and Ross had alone in the newsroom last night. Maybe a little easing of his attitude toward her, at least, or a sense that he remembered.
Instead he’d been curt to the point of rudeness all day. She’d finally escaped the newsroom, taking C.J. with her. They’d wandered around the Market—Charleston’s venerable open-air institution. She’d been gathering photos and interviews over the summer with some of the women who made sweetgrass baskets, hoping at some point she’d be able to do a story on them. Certainly it was more interesting than most of the pieces she did.
She hurried inside. “Miz Callie?”
“Right here, darlin’.” Her grandmother emerged from the kitchen, beaming at the sight of her, and enveloped her in a hug. “Did you remember the rolls?”
“I sure did.” She handed over the bag of still-warm rolls from the Magnolia Bakery and brushed a kiss on Miz Callie’s soft cheek.
Sometimes she thought that no one in her life ever expressed such obvious pleasure at the sight of her. It was a good feeling, to be so clearly loved, and every one of Miz Callie’s grandchildren knew it.
“Supper’s almost ready, and Georgia and Matt and little Lindsay are joining us. Come along in.”
They found Georgia in the kitchen, forking fried chicken onto an ironstone platter. Through the glass doors, Amanda could see her cousin’s fiancé, Matt Harper, and his eight-year-old daughter, Lindsay, knocking the sand off their shoes. They must have walked across the beach from Matt’s house next door.
She went to open the sliding door for them and stood for a moment, inhaling the wind-borne salt scent of the sea. The tide was out, leaving long tidal pools and a swath of wet sand that glistened, beckoning her to plant some footprints there among the ghost crab trails.
“Hi, Amanda.” Matt, tall and tanned, bent to press his cheek briefly against hers. “It’s good to see you. Lindsay, come give Amanda a hug, honey.”
Matt was beginning to sound like a good old boy after
“Wants to break big stories, does he?” He knew that feeling. “He won’t do that from the mail room.”
“He has those two little brothers and the widowed mother, remember?” Her tone chided him gently. “At this point, he’s happy just to be working for a newspaper while he dreams of big stories. He’s determined to be the best mail room boy ever.”
“I see he has a big cheerleader in you.” He could almost empathize with the kid. Still, he’d never had to work his way up through the mail room. A position had opened up automatically for the congressman’s son.
“I like to encourage people.” The dimple peeked out again.
Intrigued by the dimple, he leaned toward her, his gaze on her face. He saw her eyes widen and her pupils darken as he neared. A pulse beat visibly in her neck, and he fought the urge to touch it, even to put his lips over hers.
Whoa. Back off. He couldn’t do that. He was her boss. They were in the newsroom. Was he asking to be charged with harassment?
He eased away from her, seeing the recognition in her eyes that must mirror his. They were attracted. Okay, they both got it. And they also both got that they couldn’t act on that attraction.
He got up, the chair rolling soundlessly back. “Well. I’d better get on my way. Let me know if any of my suggestions pay off.”
“Suggestions?” For an instant her eyes were glazed. Then she blinked and glanced toward the computer screen. “Yes, right. Thank you.” She took an audible breath. “Good night, Ross.”
“Good night.” He turned and walked quickly away before he could give in to any of the impulses that rocketed through him.
Chapter Five
A manda’s steps hastened as she went up the stairs to the beach house. It had been a tense day in many ways, mostly because of Ross, and she was relieved to be on the island, safe from the pressures of the newsroom.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected after those moments she and Ross had alone in the newsroom last night. Maybe a little easing of his attitude toward her, at least, or a sense that he remembered.
Instead he’d been curt to the point of rudeness all day. She’d finally escaped the newsroom, taking C.J. with her. They’d wandered around the Market—Charleston’s venerable open-air institution. She’d been gathering photos and interviews over the summer with some of the women who made sweetgrass baskets, hoping at some point she’d be able to do a story on them. Certainly it was more interesting than most of the pieces she did.
She hurried inside. “Miz Callie?”
“Right here, darlin’.” Her grandmother emerged from the kitchen, beaming at the sight of her, and enveloped her in a hug. “Did you remember the rolls?”
“I sure did.” She handed over the bag of still-warm rolls from the Magnolia Bakery and brushed a kiss on Miz Callie’s soft cheek.
Sometimes she thought that no one in her life ever expressed such obvious pleasure at the sight of her. It was a good feeling, to be so clearly loved, and every one of Miz Callie’s grandchildren knew it.
“Supper’s almost ready, and Georgia and Matt and little Lindsay are joining us. Come along in.”
They found Georgia in the kitchen, forking fried chicken onto an ironstone platter. Through the glass doors, Amanda could see her cousin’s fiancé, Matt Harper, and his eight-year-old daughter, Lindsay, knocking the sand off their shoes. They must have walked across the beach from Matt’s house next door.
She went to open the sliding door for them and stood for a moment, inhaling the wind-borne salt scent of the sea. The tide was out, leaving long tidal pools and a swath of wet sand that glistened, beckoning her to plant some footprints there among the ghost crab trails.
“Hi, Amanda.” Matt, tall and tanned, bent to press his cheek briefly against hers. “It’s good to see you. Lindsay, come give Amanda a hug, honey.”
Matt was beginning to sound like a good old boy after
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