Texas Magic

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She was perceptive, that was for sure. It was a quality that made her a great reporter and an even better editor. But he really did not want her digging in his personal life.

“What makes you think I have something other than work on my mind?”

She quirked a brow at him. “Maybe the way you seem to be in an extra big hurry to get the paper out this week.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

“Who said there was anything wrong with it? It’s just out of character for you.”

Drew tried to keep his face neutral. When Bia got a whiff that she was onto something, she read all the signs and signals until she had enough to substantiate her hunch.

“Do you have a date tonight?” she asked.

Drew looked away and started working on his computer again. Probably the wrong move—

“You do. You have a date! Who is she, Drew?”

Oh, hell. He really didn’t want to bring his personal life to the office. He’d learned the pitfalls of that the hard way when he and the woman he’d almost married both worked at the Colorado Journal of Business and Development, before they were both promoted to posts as editors-in-chief of different papers. He got the Dallas paper. Joan got the Seattle Journal.

When it became clear that one of them would have to compromise their career, it became fodder for the office gossip mill. Everyone was speculating on which one would give up the dream job for the preservation of their relationship. In the end, they sacrificed their future together. To this day, they remained good friends and even better colleagues, calling on each other for professional advice and sharing a good-natured rivalry concerning circulation and notable scoops.

After they broke up, Drew vowed to leave his personal life at home. As the editor-in-chief, it would be unprofessional to date one of his staff. In fact, Drew had instituted a no-dating policy among the staff of his paper. It just kept things cleaner. No jealousy, no bitter breakups to add to the tension of an industry that was already stressful by nature.

“Drew? You are out of it today.” Something bounced off his temple. It only took a second to realize Bia had wadded up a piece of paper and thrown it at him.

“Seriously?” He tried to frown at her but ended up smiling in spite of himself.

“You’re always the first one here in the morning and last one to leave,” said Bia. “Go on. Get out of here. This edition is almost done. I’ll see it through until the files are emailed off to the printer.”

Drew’s smile faded. He knew he was looking at her as if she had two heads. Did she really think he would cut out early on drop day? Especially after taking a three-day weekend?

“No, thanks. I got this. I can call and let her know I’m going to be a few minutes late.

Bia whistled. “I knew it.” Her voice was triumphant.

Drew cocked a brow at her to make it clear he’d let that bit of info slip on purpose.

“The news that, yes, indeed, I have a date does not need to be leaked to the rest of the newsroom.”

“On one condition,” Bia challenged.

“No conditions,” Drew countered.

“One condition. Do not be late. That is not a way to impress her. For that matter, you don’t have to permanently block out every single Thursday on your calendar from now till the end of time,” she said. “We’re just waiting on the Sugar Hill story. If you’d trust me just a little to demonstrate that I can pull it off, which is what you’ve been training me to do, we could start switching off late Thursdays. And you could get out of here early tonight and go see whoever it is that’s had you preoccupied since you got back from the wedding.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. She was right—in more than one way. For the better part of a year, he had been training Bia for an editorship. She could handle it. If she got into a bind, she could call him. But there wouldn’t really be a bind because almost everything was done except for the late-breaking Sugar Hill scoop. They were waiting to verify a few facts that would allow them to scoop the daily paper.

Then again, he could’ve waited one more night—or at least until after the paper was put to bed—to see Caroline again.

Hell, he had not wanted to wait. And Bia was right: being late wasn’t the best way to make a good first impression. So why rush the Sugar Hill story that Jeff Thomas was ironing out?

“Jeff just sent me the preliminary copy,” Drew said. “That’s what I was looking at before you knocked. Do you think you can edit and format it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, I’ll email it to you. He shortened it a little bit, but I think we probably need to cut it by at least a hundred and fifty words. Maybe a little more, depending on how much additional stuff he needs to add.”

Bia nodded.

Drew attached the file to an email and sent it to her. “If you could just give it a look and see where you think he could trim it that would be a lot of help.”

“Sure,” Bia said. “I was looking over the profile on George Hildebrand for next week. Soon as I put this one to bed, I’ll get right to that one.

* * *

It was close to 5:45 by the time Drew was finally able to extract himself from the office. He had an hour and fifteen minutes to go home, shower and shave before he picked up Caroline at seven. He made record time. Soon, the two of them were walking into Bistro Saint-Germain in downtown Celebration.

It was an upscale spot with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that folded open so that the dining room spilled out onto the patio and sidewalk outside the restaurant. The tables were covered with crisp white linens and sported small votive candles and vases hosting single red rosebuds.

As they approached the maitre d’ stand, soft strains of a jazz quartet and muted conversation buzzed in the air. The bistro was hopping on this fine Thursday night. The place obviously wasn’t hurting for business, as was evidenced by the small crowd that waited at the bar. Drew was glad he’d made a reservation.

As they waited for the hostess to gather menus, Caroline leaned in and asked, “Where’s your pumpkin tie?”

He looked down at his chest and feigned surprise.

“Probably the same place as your pumpkin dress,” he said.

She smiled. “Well, I hope they’re having a wonderful time. Wherever they are tonight, I’m sure they make a handsome couple.”

He gazed at her, taking in her emerald-green eyes and the striking contrast they made paired with her chestnut hair. Her lush lips—the top lip just a little fuller than the bottom—and the way her delicate jaw curved into her slender neck. “I’m sure they do.”

As the hostess seated them at a table for two in a quiet corner of the garden patio, he realized he’d never believed in love at first sight...until now.

He’d fallen in love with Caroline the moment he’d first set eyes on her.

It had not been that way with Joan. In fact, with Joan, he’d believed there was no such thing as a soul mate or destiny. His philosophy had conformed to the idea that people were too damaged or too busy or too self-absorbed to make room in their souls for one perfect mate. Love had always been about two damaged people finding each other at the precise moment in their lives when their flaws and needs were arranged in a pattern where they could mesh and a relationship could grow.

Not very romantic, he admitted.

He and Joan had fallen together in the workplace and had given the best of themselves to the job. They made no pretense of romance. Their flaws had mingled and aligned in the residual of what really mattered to them. When their needs shifted, their new patterns didn’t fit, and everything ended.

Then he met Caroline and his beliefs tipped on their axis.

The crazy part was he did not even know her beyond the ethereal, beyond the fact that she was damn good at making him feel equal parts electrically charged and at ease around her. There was something magical here.

Here was a woman he’d met a week ago, and already he found himself daydreaming about a future with her. Those daydreams seemed more real than anything in his past.

After ordering a bottle of wine, he gazed at her across the table.

“So tell me about yourself.”

He grimaced. He had not meant to make it sound so formal, and he racked his brain for a way to reframe his comment, to make it more personal, less...professional.

“I don’t mean to sound like I’m interviewing you. I just want to know you better. Because I don’t know much about you except that your sister just married my best friend, you seem to have an aversion to the color pumpkin and you seem to love champagne. Who is Caroline Coopersmith?”

* * *

She gazed at him across the table, pondering the question.

Who was she? Well, that was a loaded question.

Mercifully, the server brought the wine and went through the tasting formalities, buying her time to think.