Page 100 of Chasing Headlines

“Why do you say he hates you, dear?”

I shoved the phone back in my bag. “Who? Oh, right, Coop. He hates all reporters.” I shook my head. “There was a guy?—”

“Yes, I know all about that nonsense. Seems pretty justified to me.” Dotty ran water from the water cooler into her electric kettle.

“What, that he called me a snake when all I've done is try to help him? I saved his sorry butt from being expelled.” My blood ran hot as it rushed through my veins.

“Then if that were the only reason? Shouldn't be a problem, now, right?”

My stomach flipped over, then sank. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if he just doesn't trust reporters. And you helped him out, problem's solved.”

I blinked. Was that possible?

A loud knock rapped against the door. She glanced at me, then at the door.

“Are you expecting someone?” I stood up. Maybe it was some regular routine something or other? Or an appointment? I didn't know how senior facilities worked.

“Not in the slightest. Be a dear and answer it will you?”

I moved to the door, opened it, and stared. There, in the hallway stood a bleary-eyed Coop holding a small bouquet of pink and white flowers. “What the hell? Why areyouhere?”

I sighed. “And problem not solved.”

He paced. Like a caged, really tall animal, he paced Dotty's small apartment. “You look like you could use a cup of tea. Really strong tea.” She told the giant-sized pest.

“The trick is not to invite them in.” I offered.

“Not to invite who, dear?”

“The six-foot pest invading your apartment.” I looked at my teacup. “When was the last time you had this place sprayed for bugs?”

“They come quarterly, dear.” She huffed then sneezed. “They really need to come and change the AC filters more often, though. I used to have my late husband Jasper change them every month. You'd be surprised at the amount of sand those things pick up.” She sneezed again. It was this dainty high-pitched “choo” sound. She grabbed a kleenex from a cross-stitched, decorative box—like my own Grandmother possessed.Must be an old people thing.

“Won't you sit down, Mr. Cooper?”

He glanced at me. Our eyes met for a brief instant. Those deep blue irises framed with . . . I looked away.

“Will you at least tell me the occasion? The alstroemeria are lovely, but?—”

“Just thank you.” Came the grumbled reply. Dotty raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together. She turned on the kettle, and it was like the two of them stepped out of the world I was in, and into their own.

“I've told you before,” she said.

“It's not that simple.”

“You're unbelievably pigheaded. And I promised myself I wouldn't ask for details, but when you show up like this.” She motioned at him.

He stopped pacing.

“Sit down, you overgrown . . . giraffe. You make the ceilings look too low in this place.”

He spun my direction, and it was like I had the whole of his attention. “Why are you here, Milline?” His voice came out in some raspy-growly tone that I found far too appealing for my own good.

“She came to interview me. I told her not today, but she stayed for tea.”

“She does that.”