Mark and April’s relationship was no business, or concern, of hers.
“Here’s the flyer for the picnic.” April laid the paper on Mark’s desk. She looked around wide-eyed. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“No problem, April.” Mark lowered Sasha to the floor and turned his attention to the paper April had brought.
Sasha danced over to Eva. “Are you coming to the picnic?”
“What picnic is that?”
“The Fourth of July picnic. Huh, Daddy?” Sasha looked to Mark for confirmation.
Mark sat back in his chair. “Right, sweetie.” He looked at Eva. “It’s at the City Park and sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce. The entire town is invited. We’re including these flyers in the next edition of the paper.” He tapped the sheet in front of him. “We’re covering the event, of course.”
“You have to come,” Sasha said. “There are games and prizes and fireworks!”
Eva didn’t want to spend the Fourth of July—or any holiday—in Willow Beach. This occasion would be a good time to take Susan up on her invitation to stay in Seattle. “Yes, the picnic’s always been a popular celebration. It sounds like fun, but I plan to go home that weekend.”
Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “Home?”
“To Seattle. That’s where I really live.”
“Eva’s only here in Willow Beach for a year,” Mark said. “Then she’s going back to her home in Seattle.” He turned back to Eva. “But about the picnic—you’re writing the Our Town column, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And doesn’t the picnic sound like an event for your column?”
“Ordinarily. But it’s the Fourth of July. Won’t that rate a front-page feature? And wouldn’t that be you?”
She glanced at the others. Eileen and April had their gazes glued to Mark, anticipating his answer. Even Sasha, who’d been fussing with her purse, was now focused on her father.
Mark folded his arms and glared at Eva. She set her jaw and glared back.
Seconds passed. Finally, he shrugged. “Go to Seattle. We’ll get along just fine without you.” He turned away and shuffled some papers on his desk.
“I’d already made plans before I knew about the picnic,” she felt obliged to say. True enough, even though she hadn’t yet checked with Susan to see if that weekend would work for her, too. But Susan had said to come anytime, hadn’t she?
“I wish you could come to the picnic,” Sasha said.
“Never mind, honey.” April patted Sasha’s shoulder. “We’ll have a good time.”
Eileen grasped Sasha’s hand. “We need to go, honey. We don’t want to be late for your ballet lesson.”
“Bye, Sasha.” Eva waved. “Nice to see you again.”
“Bye.”
After Sasha and Eileen left, Mark turned to April. “Was there something else, April?”
“I need to talk to you.” She rolled her eyes and tipped her head in Eva’s direction.
Seizing the blatant hint as a chance to escape, Eva stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work.”
* * *
“HAVE A SEAT, April.” Mark nodded at the chair Eva had vacated.
April sidled to the chair and perched on the edge. The slight flush to her normally pale complexion sent tension rippling across his shoulders.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“I, um, thought you and Sasha might want to come to my place for dinner tonight. I’m making spaghetti, and my housemate has a night class at the junior college.”
Yep, as he’d suspected, her reason for lingering was personal. “That’s nice of you, April, but I’ll be working late. I’ll only have time to grab a bite at the deli.”
April’s forehead wrinkled. “Sasha could come, though, couldn’t she? She and I always have fun together.”
“Sorry, I’ve already arranged for her to have dinner at Eileen’s.”
April lowered her gaze and shifted in her chair. “I hope things between us won’t change now that Eva is here,” she said in a low voice.
At the mention of an “us,” Mark inwardly cringed. A few months ago, he and April had seen each other at a concert on the beach, and he’d invited her for a bite to eat afterward. Since then, she’d had the idea he was personally interested in her. As gently as he could, he’d tried to make it clear that wasn’t the case. She was a valued employee and a good friend only, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I’m still your boss,” he said carefully, “but Eva is a boss, too.”
“I’ll take orders from her if I have to,” she said in a petulant tone. “But that’s not what I meant. What about us?”
Mark spread his hands. “I’ve explained that I’m not ready for a new relationship. Don’t take it personally.”
April pushed out her lower lip. “It’s been three years since your wife died. I’d think that would be long enough to wait before moving on.”
Mark kept his voice firm. “I’ll decide when I’m ready, okay? Now, what about your Police Beat column? I’ll need your copy by the end of today.”
April huffed, “I know when my deadline is.”
After she left, Mark leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Dealing first with Eva and then with April had drained him of the energy and enthusiasm he usually brought to the job.
Seb created this mess, he realized, and for a moment, he shared some of Eva’s resentment toward the man. Had he really thought Mark and Eva would get along and be able to keep the Herald running smoothly?
* * *
EVA SHIFTED FROM side to side in the green vinyl chair, trying to get comfortable. No luck; the seat part was too short for her long legs, and the wooden arms extended at an awkward angle so that her elbows kept falling off. The small TV set that had come with the furnishings was broadcasting the evening’s news, but she wasn’t watching. She was mulling over her first day on the job at the Herald.
She’d read June Baker’s files, which, as she’d suspected, were full of the kinds of articles that appealed to the citizens of a small town: local woman bank teller promoted to manager; high-school graduate awarded scholarship to prestigious school; local truckers lamenting the high cost of gasoline.
At lunchtime, instead of eating alone at one of the town’s diners, she’d walked back to her apartment and made a tuna sandwich.
In the afternoon, Mark had emailed her an article from one of their freelancers to edit. The topic was a recent quilt show at the community center. Eva had to admit the accompanying photos were bright and colorful, but the article itself was, in her opinion, pedestrian. Still, she’d performed the best editing job she could do without drastically altering the text. When she’d ventured to suggest to Mark that the article was uninteresting, his response was that Lettie Snow, who’d written the piece, was, in his opinion, one of their most talented writers and suggested that if she thought she could do better, she was welcome to try.
This terse exchange had taken place in the hallway in hushed voices. Still, Eva had noticed Dora’s and Bernie’s heads popping up from their cubicles to see what was going on. She’d told Mark no, thank you, and marched back to her own cubicle.
After work, not feeling like cooking and not being much of a