Page 74 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Al sent my articles toEarworm Magazine?

“And I’m sure you must have dozens of other more experienced staff far more qualified to write this feature than me—”

“I don’t,” he interrupts. “My journalists are dropping like flies. I don’t know why. Perhaps because, unlike me, they see the writing on the wall. That the magazine is one bad print away from tanking. So, this is my last-ditch effort to save it. Will you helpme? I realize it’s probably not as appealing as some of your other offers—”

I bite my lip. Why am I arguing with a man trying to give me potentially the biggest break of my career? Deep down, I know why. Because it means I’ll be following Dave for a few weeks. Following him and his band while they finish out their first real tour. Watch as he flirts with women while he lives his bachelor lifestyle. And I’ll never get the distance I need to get over my crush.

But I also need an internship, and even if the magazine folds, it’s something when I have nothing. That dream I’ve had for so many years hasn’t quite extinguished yet.

“Okay, Mister Lewis, I’m in.”

CHAPTER 22

Take My Breath Away

DAVE

“How the fuck do you check if this thing is cooked all the way through?”

Joel and James look at me from across the counter, all with expressions of utter confusion as I hover over a steaming turkey.

“How the hell do I know?” Joel shrugs, reaching forward to poke it.

I slap the top of his hand. “No, don’t touch it! Who knows where your hand has been.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Joel says, tucking his hand back in his pocket.

“Do we just cut into it?” I ask.

James shakes his head. “No way, Becks will kill me if we make a hack job of this turkey.”

“Where the hell is she anyway?” I ask.

“She said she had to get some last-minute things for tomorrow,” James says.

“Just take its temperature.”

We all turn to stare as Key walks up to us from the hallway.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Key!” I call after him.

“Now what?” Joel asks.

“Well, maybe we just turn the oven down and keep it in there until Becks gets back,” James suggests.

“I got it!” Key says, running back into the kitchen with a thermometer, sticking it under the tap, and washing it with soap and water.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel mutters. “You were serious?”

“Yeah, you’ve got to make sure the internal temperature is right.”

He sticks the end of the thermometer into the turkey, all of us standing wide-eyed and concerned for his sanity.

“There,” he says, removing the thermometer. “One hundred and sixty-six degrees. Perfect. Leave it on the counter to rest.” He looks up at the three of us not trying to hide our shocked expressions. “What?”

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