Page 2 of Breaking News

He removed one hand from his pocket to fiddle with his tie, his lips curling upward in the subtlest smile as he said, “Due to the sudden precipitation you encountered this morning.” I laughed, watching him nod a quick hello at Xander before turning back to me. “I was just waiting for that to happen.”

“You were watching? I didn’t see you in here.”

He scratched his cheek. “I catch the broadcast from my office when I can. They gave me a TV that drops down from the ceiling and everything. Makes me feel like Tony Stark.”

Xander’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he shot Graham a sidelong glance. “Fancy,” he muttered in his usual unimpressed tone. And, turning back to me, he said, “Anyway, I came down here to tell you I probably won’t see you until tonight. Meghan’s insisting I cover the Art Walk.”

“Okay. Do you still want to ride together to the Gardners’, though?” I asked, raking my hand through my short, blonde hair. My strands just grazed the tops of my shoulders, but I’d soon be able to pull my hair up into a ponytail without half of it slipping loose.

Finally.

“Yeah. I’ll text when I’m on my way,” Xander replied, shooting an awkward glance at Graham, as though to question what he was still doing standing at the news desk with us. Graham was preoccupied with a notification on his watch, though, and didn’t seem to notice Xander and I were having a conversation. Either that, or he was ignoring us.

Xander hesitated, glancing down at the desk like he was searching for something else to say. His hands hung casually at his sides now, but the subtle clench of his jaw hinted at his discomfort. Letting out a faint, annoyed sigh, he took a step forward.

Without a word, he leaned across the desk and pressed a quick peck to my lips—a kiss so unromantic and lacking in passion that I almost didn’t realize it had happened until it was over. It was the kind of kiss that saidI don’t really want to do this right now, but I feel like I must.

Still, it made me grin. I knew Xander wasn’t a fan of PDA—he’d made that pretty clear early on. However, he must have thought this was what boyfriendsshoulddo, so he put forth the effort and did it. It was endearing, in a way. This was another tiny crack in his icy exterior, which I’d been chipping away at for the past four weeks.

Progress!

Catching my expression, he rolled his eyes with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t make it weird,” he said, pulling away from the desk. “See you later.”

“Bye, handsome,” I replied just before he turned away, raising his eyebrows ever-so-slightly. I heard a frustrated grunt escape from his mouth as he left the studio, but I could tell there was a smile behind it. Scrunching my nose, I watched the back of his head until it disappeared through the studio doors into the hallway.

I’d been trying out a lot of affectionate nicknames on Xander, testing to see which ones made him squirm the most. He really disliked the southern ones—sugar pie and darlin’ and honeybun—especially when my Tennessee drawl came out.

As for Xander, the most I’d gotten out of him was shortening my name to Jill.

“The Gardners’ again, huh?” Graham asked, eyeing my hands as I gathered my notes. Maybe he hadn’t been ignoring us. “Am I going to have to call in a noise complaint?”

He was trying not to smile, but the crinkles in the corner of his eyes deepened. Just last week, Graham moved into the house next to Owen and Sarah Gardner. In fact, last week he had some furniture delivered in the middle of our Friday night gathering. The guys paused their poker game to help him with a massive sectional the movers left on his porch. Owen even invited him over after, but Graham insisted he was too exhausted to join us. “And he said he’d ‘ruin the vibe’,” Owen had said when the guys returned.

“And he’d be right,”was Xander’s response.

I chuckled at Graham as I tapped my papers against the desk. “You’re going to have to get used to our backyard summer shenanigans, Graham. You might as well join us tonight.”

His hands returned to his pockets as he gave a quick nod to Chase, our field reporter, who’d just returned from covering a ribbon-cutting ceremony downtown. “Well,” Graham said, “I appreciate the invite, but I’ve got papers to grade and I’ll have the kids tonight.”

“Papers to grade?” I asked, removing my lapel mic.

He gave me a half-shrug, looking into my eyes. “Yeah, I’m teaching a summer journalism class over at White River College. Actually,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “I need to head that way shortly.”

“Wait. You’re a… professor?” How did I not know this?

He gave me an amused glance, as though my reaction was unwarranted, but all I could think about was Graham Harlowe amidst the backdrop of academia. My imagination ran wild before I could stop it: him in a tweed jacket with elbow patches, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, maybe even a pipe in his hand. Not that he smoked, but it seemed like somethingProfessor Harlowewould do while explaining the ethics of investigative journalism.

I swallowed, trying not to imagine Graham that way. I’d always had a sort of quiet crush on him. Well, not exactly quiet, considering how many times Meghan covered her ears when I gushed about how sexy he was. He was her editor at the time, and she didn’t want to hear it. But ever since Xander and I had made things semi-official, I’d pushed aside my attraction to Graham.

Oh, and crushing on the CEO of your company was probably frowned upon.

“Adjunct professor,” Graham clarified, pausing to clear his throat. “Corrupting the minds of tomorrow’s journalists, one naive student at a time.”

I rested my hands on my hips. “Wow. I think I’ll start calling you Professor Harlowe.”

“Please, even my students don’t call me that.”

“What do they call you?”

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