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“Ten brothers and sisters, a fiancée, and a new baby on the way.”

It was a lot. I’d imagined Rory had a personal life, but the specifics were new. “You don’t mess around.”

“Life’s too short. What about you?”

“No kids. Just a girlfriend who was fired from the anchor chair in a top-thirty market.”

“Over here, guys,” the photographer said. We posed and smiled as heclick-click-clicked his shutter. “Perfect. And another. Skyler, chin inyour hand, and…got it. Throw me sass. Look at each other. Sky, look at me. Rory, hold on her. Can I get laughter from you, Sky? Got it.”

Rory relaxed and turned to me, his voice hushed. “Holy shit. You’re dating Carrie?” How did he not know? His jaw dropped. “And stepping into her job at the same time?”

I deadpanned. “I am.”

“That takes balls.” He didn’t hide his horrified-intrigued combo, and I appreciated the honesty.

“It’s complicated.”

“Hell, I bet.” He nodded a lot, absorbing. “Hey, I’m sure you’ll work that out.” He offered a fist bump as if it would help. He likely believed it would. He was Rory.

That afternoon, we shot the commercial that would run for the next week before I started my new job. Lisette was handling the five and ten in the meantime. After that, I met with the consultants, who asked me to take three inches off my hair, add a subtle highlight to soften my look, and work on incorporating more jewel tones into my wardrobe. According to them, they were my best colors. I took note of all the little tips and requests, including nixing two of my favorite lip colors because they—quote—didn’t pop on air. Who knew? On my drive home that night, my head swam with all the details, the expectations, and the pressure of arriving on scene as the only Latina anchor currently in the San Diego market. I wasn’t the first, but I damn well had to make sure I wasn’t the last. Taking my torturous heels off and relaxing with Carrie and Michelangelo were all I wanted in the world.

“So, what was it like working with Rory on the photoshoot?” Carrie asked with her feet in my lap and a cocktail glass of spiced rum in her hands. She’d found a little-known distillery that made killer stuff. She knew all the secret places. “Let me guess. He missed me desperately. Did he recite a grief-laced poem?”

“Yes. It rhymed.” She laughed and I gave her ankle a shake. “He seemed a little skeptical of us.”

“Well, we’re certainly more complicated now. You stole my job.” She said it with humor, but there was an underlying truth there that we were both aware of. It never left the room and seemed to fill up space between us. More and more with each passing day. I wondered when that would end. I prayed for soon. She shook her head with a smile. “Quite the story. Ousted anchor and her replacement shack up.” I laughed, and she tugged my sleeve. “Your boobs look awesome in that top, by the way. I keep staring at them.”

“Simple is boring, and the boobs missed you today.” I stole her rum and savored a sip.

“Shall I get you a glass?”

“No. I much prefer to steal from yours.”

Carrie raised her shoulders. “It kinda makes me feel sexy, this rum.”

I sat taller because she seemed to be in better spirits today. “Well, you’re definitely that. I’ve been objectifying you since you started swirling your glass like a boss.”

She smiled. “Good. But before you do any more of that, I have news.”

I frowned. “And I don’t know it yet? How am I wildly behind? I’ve been here half an hour. Share with the class already, McNamara.”

She set her rum on the coffee table and scooted closer, wrapping her legs around my waist so we were face-to-face. Oh, I liked the intimacy of this moment very much, and as soon as the news was out of the way, I planned to use the boobs she was eyeing to my advantage. The electricity between us was already bouncing back and forth.

“Well, Sherry Tuplo called. Remember her?”

I frowned, unfamiliar and making duck lips as I searched my brain.

“You know, that producer woman with the hair and the eyelashes and the overt effervescence? Kind of a socialite.”

“Yes!” I said, pointing. We’d met her at Jack’s at a work gathering. Lots of red hair, likely extensions, and eyelashes you couldn’t help but stare at as they reached for the stars in desperation. “What did she want?”

“She’s producing a new show, kind of a San Diego food and wine weekly feature with a touch of home and gardening tossed in. A lifestyle show. An hour long. Big budget. She offered it to me outright. I’d host the whole thing and be credited as an executive producer, choosing the segments and molding the direction of the show entirely.” Her eyes were wide as she waited for my response.

I could barely breathe. Not only was this perfect for someone like Carrie, who knew all there was to know about food, gardening, decor, and all the amazing restaurants in town, but it waslocal. I found air for the first time in weeks. This meant she didn’t have to pick up and move to another news market to keep working. I just about burst into a ball of confetti right there on the couch.

“You haven’t said a word.” Carrie studied me.

“It’s too amazing to speak about. It sounds like a show designed for you. I’m gonna lose it and kiss all over your face like a lunatic.”