“Of course I do.”
“You didn’t just take a picture of her, did you? You interviewed her for almost two hours.”
Mac wasn’t sure where Grant was going with this. She’d noticed a wicker basket filled with crocheted baby blankets in Sylvia’s room and found out the woman sent them to an orphanage in Uganda where her granddaughter served as a missionary.
On the way back to the newspaper, Mac had decided a photograph of Sylvia wasn’t enough.
“Sylvia’s an amazing woman, but she didn’t see herself that way.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Mac. The stories you write . . . they’re like a mirror. People see themselves and realize they matter.”
Mac jumped when Grant pounded his fist on the desk like a gavel.
“If that editor at the Heritage isn’t smart enough to hire you when he reads that interview with Blake, then I will. As my assistant editor. Now I have a wedding to attend.”
“You’re going to Hollis’s wedding?”
“Beverly bought a new dress. She can’t believe she’s actually going to one of Lilah Channing’s fancy shindigs.” Grant slid a business card across Mac’s desk. “And you have an interview with Senator Tipley in an hour.”
“But—”
“What?” Grant tossed the word over his shoulder as he stomped toward the door. “I’m still your boss and I promised you this story. This was what you wanted.”
Yes, it was.
So why wasn’t she jumping up and down at the chance to meet with the senator?
And why hadn’t she already hit Send?
The door snapped shut behind Grant and Mac closed her eyes.
What should I do?
As soon as the prayer slipped out, Mac realized it was the first time she’d asked God for direction. Asked him to direct her steps, the way Ethan had, instead of forging ahead on her own.
Mac had told Grant she wanted to write real stories. She hadn’t considered that was what she’d been doing all along. Writing real stories about real people.
People who’d known her for years. People who were frustrating and quirky and fascinating and amazing.
People she loved.
People who loved her.
Hollis was right. It did change things.
What do you want me to do, Lord? I promise I’ll listen this time.
Coach always said God had a sense of humor, but Mac still laughed when her cell phone rang.
“Where are you?” Hollis demanded.
“I’m at my desk.”
“I figured that out, but why aren’t you here?”
For some reason the imperious tone made Mac smile. “Because you’re getting married in . . .” She glanced at the clock on the wall and choked. “An hour.”
“I know what time the ceremony is. I’m the bride,” Hollis said. “I thought you were supposed to be covering the wedding for the Register.”
“You hired a photographer. And I can get the rest of the details from your mother.” The excuse sounded weak even to Mac’s ears. She was hiding, plain and simple.
In fact, she’d been hiding for the past few days.
From Ethan. From herself. From the future.
Hollis’s very unladylike snort told her that she knew it too.
“I’m not technically on the guest list.”
“You’re my friend.”
The Channing siblings didn’t fight fair. “All right.”
“I’ll see you in five minutes,” Hollis said.
Panic squeezed Mac’s chest, but it wasn’t because she was imagining what the ramifications would be if she postponed the interview with Senator Tipley. She’d just taken a silent inventory of her closet. “Fifteen.”
“Ten.” Hollis hung up.
He’d lost her.
One moment Ethan had been watching Mac teach his grandfather—a man Ethan was convinced had been born wearing a three-piece suit—how to polka, and the next she was . . . gone.
“I heard you’re moving back to Red Leaf.” Grant Buchanan, Mac’s editor, blocked Ethan’s path as he reached for a cupcake on the buffet table. “Would you be willing to sit down for an interview?”
“Sure.” Ethan discreetly scanned the yard. Where was Mac? He hadn’t been able to talk to her since she’d arrived for the ceremony. Their eyes had met briefly when Hollis and Connor were exchanging vows, but Ethan had been busy making sure the day went smoothly.
Now it was time to start thinking about the future . . .
“I’ll call you Monday and set up a time,” Grant said.
“A time?”
“For the interview. Unless you want to talk to Mac about it now.” Grant’s face was the picture of innocence. “I saw her walking up the hill a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said over his shoulder as he strode toward the path leading through the rose garden.
Mac wouldn’t be going home already. Not without saying good night. Would she?
His steps slowed when he spotted a flash of yellow inside the gazebo. Mac sat on the bench, stunning in the strapless yellow dress she’d worn to the wedding.
He couldn’t repress a grin when he noticed she’d kicked off her strappy high heels.