Free Town Square, The by Ava Miles

over to his office, pausing in the doorway to watch him work.
    His back was to her, and she watched with fascination as the muscles in his back shifted as he went through the rhythm of typing. Arthur demonstrated beauty and grace as he swept his hands across the machine and started again. With every press of the keys, it was like he was imprinting his vision of the newspaper story he was writing, one letter, one word at a time. So focused on telling the truth. Sharing what his senses had detected.
    The back of his neck gleamed, likely from a trip to Dave at the Barber Shop. The faint aroma of his cologne permeated his office, all forest and spice. Powerful shoulders filled out the open–collared navy shirt he was wearing.
    She could finally admit to herself that she was attracted to him. It might not sit well, but she was tired of the lies. The ones she’d told others. And the ones she’d told herself. It was time to turn over a new leaf.
    After talking it over with Maybelline last night, they’d agreed to stay in Dare for a while and sort out what to do next. Both of them were too tired to try and start over again somewhere else right now. Plus, Harriet felt like she owed Arthur a debt of gratitude. Staying to help him start up his newspaper was the least she could do.
    “I brought you a jelly donut,” she finally said, walking into his office. “Alice at Kemstead’s said you like the apricot ones best.”
    He finished the current section of his news symphony and then swung around in his chair. The smile he normally gave her didn’t appear.
    Funny how she missed it.
    “There’s been a cave–in at the mine in Blisswater Canyon. Twenty–one miners are trapped. I was just finishing up the initial story and was going to call it in before heading to the site.”
    “I can do that,” she replied, setting his coffee and pastry on his desk.
    He grabbed the pastry and devoured it in three bites, took a gulp of coffee from the cup on his desk, and then sat back down. “Thanks,” he muttered before turning to resume his typing.
    She busied herself with some filing, but her mind was elsewhere. The tension between her and Arthur could be cut with a knife.
    Fifteen minutes later, Arthur dropped the story on her desk. “Some of the townspeople are heading up to help. A few local women have volunteered to cook for the Rescue Team and families keeping vigil. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—”
    “I want to come,” she interrupted, standing up, realizing she wanted to help. She’d ignored the tragedy of the families who’d lost their children to the defective formula to protect herself, her family. Perhaps this was her chance to make amends.
    He scratched his cheek. “There won’t be much for you to do. I’ll be interviewing people, taking pictures.”
    Picking up her white gloves, she tugged them on, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I can take photos for you, or cook, or take care of any children who are there.”
    “Trust me, there won’t be any children there. It’s not a place for anyone with a soft stomach.”
    “I can take it,” she said, infusing her voice with steel even though part of her knew he was right. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.
    His blue eyes studied her. “You’ll need to dress warmly. Perhaps change into something you don’t mind getting dirty. If they have to blow part of the mine to clear out the rubble, we’ll be covered in dirt.”
    Her nod was crisp, a contrast to her wobbling stomach. “Fine. I’ll call in your story and then drop by the library to tell Maybelline. I can be back here in twenty minutes.”
    “Great. I’ll have Alice over at the bakery make us up some lunch. These things often take a while.”
    “You’ve been to a cave–in before?” she asked, a little breathless in the face of his intensity and the thought of what she’d agreed to do.
    “Yes,” he replied, putting his hands on his hips.
    “What is it like?”
    His eyes narrowed.