Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
But today was their editorial meeting, and she was never late for that. Her editor did not take kindly to people showing up late to her meetings.
As she entered her one-bedroom apartment, she tried not to notice how small it felt after Jay’s mansion. Buzzy bounded over to greet her and she bent to pat him. He had been a rescue dog, featured in the Sea Shell, and she couldn’t resist rescuing him herself when she saw his photo. He was a mix of breeds, but closely resembled a cockapoo with his shaggy, toffee-colored hair and large, soulful eyes. It had been love at first sight.
“Hello, you,” she said affectionately. “We’re off to work now. I just have to grab a few things.”
Buzzy barked happily. He was excited to go anywhere Erin went.
As she moved about her apartment, she tried again to take pleasure in how compact it was. To Buzzy, she said, “We don’t need an ensuite bathroom, do we now?” And then, “This Formica countertop is practical. The whole place is quick to clean. And who needs a home gym when you have hills to walk and waves to surf?”
Buzzy barked his agreement.
“Okay, my view is of a schoolyard and not as inspiring as the ocean, but I’m happy to have it.” When Erin bought the place, she had been worried that the noise of the children might disturb her on days she worked on her articles at home. But on days their laughter and singing travelled on the breeze, she found it made her happy. She would let herself imagine what it might be like to walk her own child across the road to school and wave good-bye at the school gates. These reveries always made her smile, although she never let herself get carried away. She was about as single as they came and for now, that was just fine.
She clipped on Buzzy’s leash. “I have you, and that’s enough,” she said, rubbing his soft coat.
But for the first time, she wondered if that was still true. She looked around her apartment again and realized it felt a little lonely. What would Jay make of it? If he were here, he’d be sure to take up all the air in the room, like he always did, but strangely, she thought he might fit in. He always did at the Davenport family home.
She had mixed feelings about Jay ending up with her dream house, the one she’d never been able to walk past without imagining herself inside. On a reporter’s pay, there was no way she could afford that house—even if she saved every cent of every paycheck for the rest of her life. But Jay had simply said, “I want it,” and it was his. If she had chosen a different career, she might have been in that position too, but she’d always known her path wasn’t like those of her movie-star brother or her rock-star brother or their agent-to-the-stars friend. She didn’t want to be a top Realtor like Mila or a house builder or an app developer like Nick and Finn. She was a writer. It was all she’d ever wanted and in her small way, she was proud of what she’d accomplished.
Like all Carmel locals, she’d loved the Sea Shell since she was a little girl and had been thrilled to begin working there as an intern when she came back to Carmel with her English degree from Stanford. She’d worked her way up to the role of main reporter and one day she hoped to be the editor of the Sea Shell, maybe even own it. That was a dream she could conceivably accomplish with a lot of hard work—to say nothing of determination to make it on her own. She didn’t want to ask any of her rich relatives for help. That was important to her too. Whatever she accomplished, Erin wanted to do it with her own talent and her own money.
As she locked the door behind her, her thoughts turned to the meeting ahead. Pat Sinclair had been a top editor at the Chicago Tribune and then, burned out from stress, she’d arrived in Carmel-by-the-Sea with her wife for a holiday and fallen in love with it. When she’d taken over as editor of the Sea Shell, no one could believe it. Erin had given the woman six months before she ran screaming back to the bright lights and buzz of Chicago, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The editorial standard had definitely risen since Pat had taken over, but she’d kept the heart of the Sea Shell—the local stories, the Dog of the Week, the weekly advice column—and if anything, the paper was a lot better now than it had been. Erin admired the heck out of her and wanted to learn all she could from Pat while she helmed the paper.