Free Like Never Before by Melissa Tagg Page A

C.J. Cranford’s visit. And this morning, she’d woken up with the idea in her head.
    She might not know who owned the paper. But she knew how she’d save it.
    Her gaze flitted around the table now. Kat and Mikaela and Abby from the ad department. Mae, who was whipping through the pages in her folder. Ledge, the quiet giant of a man who ran the press. Taylor, their subscription and delivery manager. And Owen, half scowling as he swept up the bits of his wrapper into a pile.
    â€œI don’t even want to know how much ink you used printing this.” Mae flipped to the last page. “You could have at least printed double-sided.”
    Maybe Amelia should have left her a second plate of cookies last night. She might seem huffy now, but Amelia had seen her munching on one of the treats this morning. “The printer jams whenever I try that.” Amelia propped her elbows on either side of her half-guzzled Diet Coke. “I promise, guys, this won’t take long. We’ll be done by the time the food arrives.”
    Like most nights since The Red Door had opened last summer, a local crowd filled the tables dotting the hardwood floor. The historic bank-building-turned-eatery boasted a perfect mix of trendy and downhome with its thick redwood beams overhead, dim lighting, and amber-colored walls. In the corner tonight, a fireplace crackled while Bear McKinley wooed patrons with his Martin and a voice smooth as velvet.
    To think, Seth Walker—cousin to the Walker siblings—had started this place with nothing more than half a vision and a love for a decrepit building. Well, that and the old cobblestone he’d salvaged when the city had decided to pave Main Avenue. He’d used it to create the restaurant’s counter in back. She’d written the front-page story herself, the one about how he’d stored the cobblestone for years in a shed on his uncle’s property, never quite sure why, until he’d finally decided to pour his savings into renovating the bank building and opening a restaurant.
    It must be a Walker thing—landing on a dream and making it happen. Look at Kate and all those movies she’d written. Logan and his success.
    She cupped her hands around her pop glass. “This summer is the 100th anniversary of the paper. Freddie wasn’t going to make a big deal of it because he wasn’t sure he’d even be around. If he’d lived, the News would’ve been sold by now.”
    â€œSo we’re going to put out an anniversary issue?” Mikaela fingered through the pages in her folder.
    â€œYep. In May—exactly one hundred years after the very first issue. It’s not our usual production day, but that’s okay because this won’t be our usual paper.” She stirred her straw through her Diet Coke, ice cubes clinking as her excitement built. “Kat, Kaela, Abby—you guys are going to sell ad space like never before. Ledge, we’re going to triple our usual print run. Everyone in town gets a copy, subscribers or not. Taylor, we’ll need to line up extra delivery guys that week. I know it’s almost three months away, but the lead time is good.
    â€œWe’ll offer a special subscriber rate that week. Between the extra advertising and hopefully new subscribers, we’ll convince the new owner we’re worth hanging on to.”
    That is, unless the new owner swooped in and sold them off before they could get to the special issue. But whoever he was, he was taking his sweet time announcing himself. Maybe the lawyers hadn’t even located him yet. Maybe it was some long-lost relative of Freddie’s who lived off in Alaska or Hawaii or South America.
    She could hope.
    Their food arrived then—a still-sizzling burger and fries for her. Her stomach rumbled at the sight. Across the table, a waiter lowered some sort of fancy salad with a see-through dressing in front of Owen. He’d barely looked at