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That did it. Carrie immediately pulled out a chair for me. “You know what? We need to sit for a bit.”

We? I wasn’t going to argue. I was still angry at her for the hard time on air and ongoing judgment that she always seemed to level at me, but she was the only one present. I took a seat and studied her. She was studying me right back with a creased brow. I found her beauty annoying now. In fact, I found everything annoying.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Carrie asked.

“Four,” I said blandly. “Which is better than just the middle oneI’d have predicted.” Yeah, I was apparently just saying any old thing I wanted to now. Interesting.

She smothered a smile. “Didn’t feel appropriate.”

Was she trying for levity? That was new, at least with me. I couldn’t get over how stupid I felt, careening into the countertop in the midst of what was supposed to be my big angry exit. Who screws up their own big angry exit?

“You hit pretty hard,” she said, taking my hand away from the wound and lowering the rag again. Her eyes carried concern. “The bleeding has slowed way down, so you might get your wish about dodging that stitch. We need to clean you up, though. You look like the victim in a horror movie.” She tapped my knee which made me go still and warm. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.” I was too interested in what was about to happen to go anywhere. When she returned, she carried a small first-aid kit. “Behind the assignment desk, should you ever need it. I let the night shift know about your fall. There will be paperwork to fill out.”

I winced, wishing to have kept this whole thing a secret. Workplace accidents didn’t really play out that way, though.

“You doing okay in here, Trip?” Eddie, one of the editors, asked, poking his head in. “Heard you took out a counter with your face.”

I held up a sarcastic thumb, and he shot me one back. I was beginning to feel like part of the crew, at least. Razzed just like the rest of ’em. Just a more clumsy one.

I turned my attention back to Caroline to find her applying antiseptic from a small packet onto a cotton swab. She met my eyes with her crystal blue ones. Why was her skin so flawless? Her voice was quiet. “This is going to sting like a bitch, but you got this. Deep breath.”

I nodded, braced, and inhaled. To my shock, she took my hand in her free one and squeezed gently as she applied the medicine. If the stuff hurt, I couldn’t tell. In fact, I held that deep breath, forgetting to exhale entirely. My brain was preoccupied. Hijacked. The room felt small as I studied Carrie’s jawline, her chin, her perfect lips, as I held her hand in mine. Unfair that anyone had lips like those, nearly heart-shaped, like they were drawn by an artist. She leaned in closer as she tore into the packaging of a bandage. I missed the warmth of her hand in mine. “Just want to make sure I angle this right.”

“I’m sure you could just slap it on there. It’ll be fine.”

“No, no. I want to do this correctly.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

The comment must have caught her off guard. It surprised me as well, but my nerves were worn down and my coping skills nonexistent. To her credit, Carrie seemed to take it in stride. “Because you seem like you could really use it.” A pause. “And maybe I’m a little guilt-ridden that I wasn’t so friendly before. I should have been. I also want to apologize for the challenge on air tonight. I’m not proud of how I behaved.”

She leaned in again, sharing my space as she applied the small bandage. I had not seen this coming. “Thank you,” I said quietly. It was about all I could manage in the midst of my mystification. The night had taken an unexpected turn. The woman I’d looked up to and crushed on for years was not only reclaiming a little bit of her stock but was doing so while wildly inside my personal space. I could never have imagined a moment like this one five years ago. Yet here we were. Alone after hours in the break room.

“And all done.” She sat back. “You’ll probably want to take a couple Tylenol and refrain from storming out of any more kitchens.”

I stood, feeling sheepish for my angry display earlier. “Sound advice.”

“And about that source. I have a contact in the sheriff’s office who might be able to help you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She pulled a pad from her bag and scribbled a name and number. “An old friend from when I walked in your shoes.”

I tried to imagine Caroline McNamara pounding the pavement, hunting down a story. It sent a shiver. “This is fantastic. Thank you.”

“I figure I owe you for…you know.”

“Well, if anyone was going to haze me a little…I guess I’d like it to have been you.”

“Fair enough, Skyler Ruiz. Take care of that head of yours. It’s apparently pretty hard.”

I did something dumb and knocked on it. Why? “I’ll give them a call,” I said, holding up the piece of paper.

“Who’s Kacey?” she asked, turning back.

I frowned, caught off guard. “What?”

“You said the name Kacey in the midst of your tirade. Stupid Kacey.”