Page 73 of The Love Bus

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

T he drive into Providence was familiar—almost too familiar. The kind of route you could make on autopilot after living here long enough.

I’d driven it plenty of times when life was simpler.

But today it felt different. Like I was moving forward and circling back all at once.

By the time I pulled into the gravel lot beside the early-century bungalow—now repurposed into a polished office space—I was holding my breath and forcing my shoulders back, determined to keep moving forward.

Inside, there was no receptionist waiting. Just soft lighting, worn hardwood floors, and the faint scent of fresh coffee.

Then a tallish woman appeared in the hallway, stepping out from one of the open doors like she’d been expecting me. She was just a little older than me, maybe five years, and dressed professionally but not stiff.

“You must be Luna?”

I nodded, my pulse still tripping along in my throat.

“Hi,” she added, offering her hand with a calm, no-pressure smile. “I’m Mallory Anderson.”

For the first time all morning, I felt my shoulders drop a fraction.

“Did you get the documents I emailed this morning?” I asked, taking the seat she offered across from her desk. Despite the stacks of file folders covering almost every surface, everything looked intentional—a controlled kind of chaos.

“I did. Brilliant work, Luna,” she said, flipping through the single folder in front of her. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to say we can turn this all around.”

Her pen tapped lightly against the paperwork.

“The pre-existing contract terms work in our favor, especially when paired with the timeline surrounding The Incident . The station’s liability isn’t as airtight as they’re trying to make it sound.

And depending on how they handled certain communications afterward…

” She glanced up with a faint smile. “Well, let’s just say there are opportunities here. ”

By the time I left her office, I felt better than I had in months.

Mallory had already set up an appointment for us at the station down in Newport, where we’d be meeting with Leo, the station manager, and their lawyers the following week.

All the way back to Walpole, my mind kept replaying everything—the incident, the betrayal, and the online posts.

But this time, I was seeing it all from a different angle.

Had I made mistakes? Absolutely.

I’d ignored red flags with Leo.

I’d trusted too easily.

I’d even let myself fall for a really, really wonderful guy when I should’ve known better than to jump into something so soon after this whole mess.

But I hadn’t done anything wrong.

And as I turned off the highway, winding through town toward Mom’s neighborhood, something new began to rise inside me—a pulse, a slow, hot throb of clarity.

I wasn’t the one who cheated. And after we broke up, I wasn’t the one who lied or twisted the truth for clicks and likes.

Leo had.

The days that followed passed in a strange, suspended kind of calm.

I kept busy.

I finished the paperwork Mallory needed, researched new cars, and avoided awkward conversations with my mom.

I cooked. Cleaned. Took long walks around the neighborhood.

I even visited the Airbnb listing of Gran’s cottage in Matunuck—to remember old times, but also to check in with the dreams I’d had when I’d been there. To remind myself that it was okay to have dreams. And it was also okay to find new ones.

Did I think about Noah?

All the time.

I thought about how he hadn’t just seen through my defenses—he’d respected them. He never tried to fix me. Never pushed. With Noah, I didn’t have to prove anything. I was already enough.

He’d called me beautiful, and I believed he meant all of me. Not just how I looked, but who I was.

He’d been steady. Present. Willing. Gorgeous. And he’d been exciting, but also grounding. A soft place to land, if I’d let myself fall. And when he said he didn’t want this to end, I believed that too.

But he had his own work to do. Maybe he didn’t fully see that yet—but I did.

So what else could I do? So what choice did I have?

All I could do was take care of my own stuff. One thing at a time.

And maybe, someday, when we were both a little more whole, we’d find our way back.

Maybe not.

One thing at a time.

So…when all this uncertainty crept in, I found myself playing words Mallory had said on one of our phone calls. “We’ve got this, Luna. You’re not the one who should be afraid.”

Even if I was, that was okay.

So by the time the following week rolled around, after driving across the bridge and into Newport, I was ready.

I spotted Mallory leaning against her car in the parking lot outside the station.

She wore a crisp navy jacket and jeans, holding a leather folder like it was just another Tuesday.

“You ready?” Her lips curved into a confident smile.

I tugged at the hem of my patchwork skirt and squared my shoulders. The peasant blouse was soft against my skin, the kind that made me feel like myself again. The skirt swished when I walked, light and familiar.

I nodded. “Ready.”

Then my gaze dropped to my feet.

Right before leaving, Mom had met me at the bottom of the stairs.

"I thought you might want these," she’d said, holding out a pair of sandals.

My K. Jacques ?

The ones I’d brought on the trip, thinking I wouldn’t be hiking through any deserts. The ones I’d left behind in my hotel room, broken.

“Babs brought them over earlier,” Mom had added softly. “Said that your friend had them repaired.”

My friend?

Noah.

Of course, he had.

He would’ve tucked them into his suitcase without saying a word. Found someone to fix them. Made sure they got back to me.

That was just…Noah.

And as I slipped them on, I marveled that the leather felt buttery again, and the stitching was neat and sturdy.

My stomach twisted and an all-too familiar ache flared for a moment, but now wasn’t the time to fall into that hole again.

Not today.

I was up for a test that might be brutal—but I’d done my homework, and I was ready.

“Let’s do this then,” Mallory charged ahead.

The blast of overactive AC hit first, sharp and sudden, then the familiar hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

Same chipped tiles. Same scuffed security desk.

Same building I’d walked into a thousand times before, only now it felt like enemy territory.

Mallory’s shoulder brushed mine as we walked, steadying me without saying a word.

At the reception desk, Janine looked up from her computer—same messy knot on top of her head, Oxford blouse as always, today’s version in pale pink.

“Luna.” Her smile wobbled slightly. Warm, but hesitant.

“Morning, Janine.” I made my voice come out lighter than I felt.

Because I was me. And no matter how messed up this all felt, politeness wasn’t something I could shake.

I took a second to introduce Mallory. Asked how Janine had been. Pretended everything was fine.

Her expression faltered, her lip catching briefly between her teeth. Maybe apologetic. Maybe not.

“They’re waiting for you in Conference B,” she said quietly.

“Okay.”

I smiled, aiming for calm and mostly pulling it off, and turned toward the hallway.

But Janine’s voice caught me before I could go.

“It was really messed up, what Leo and Kensington did.” Her cheeks flushed bright pink, but she straightened a little, pushing through. “I just wanted to say that I was not okay with that.”

Now I was the one blushing. Somehow, hearing that almost made me want to cry, even though Janine and I had never been close.

“I—thank you. I really appreciate that,” I managed softly.

She gave a quick nod, and then smoothed her blouse nervously, returning to her paperwork.

I waited a beat, but when I continued toward Conference Room B, a small flutter of warmth curled in my chest.

After weeks of being bashed and gossiped over online, hearing even one person at the station support me, in person, untangled part of the knot in my stomach.

I couldn’t get comfortable, though, because any second now, I’d be facing not only the station higher-ups, but…Leo.

Had it really only been two months since I’d dumped that bowl of filling over his head? Since we went from a seemingly loving couple—partners in business and life—to…this?

I’d finally listened to his messages, vague and friendly at first…the last one considerably less friendly, and ending with, “Call me when you’ve decided to act like a grown-up.”

All transcribed now, in one of Mallory’s files.

Along with old emails he’d sent me, about the show. About our contracts.

Still, as I got closer and closer to facing him again… Honestly? I would’ve thought I’d feel...more. More longing. More regret.

Instead, all I felt was…distance.

And as I reached the conference room door, wrapped my fingers around the handle, and pushed it open, my pulse stayed steady.

Inside, about a dozen people sat spaced around a long, polished table.

The station manager looked up first, expression unreadable.

But it was the woman next to her who rose to shake my hand. “Laura McCroft. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Faraday.” Her grip was firm, her tone clipped. “Legal council for KNPT legal counsel.

Introductions followed—polite, a little stiff—as Mallory exchanged names with the others, most of whom I only vaguely recognized.

“Miss Faraday,” said a tall woman I’d seen around the station but never officially met. Her tone was brisk, all business. “Marsha Taylor, Vice President of Programming.”

She gestured toward the far end of the table. “Vance Miller, legal counsel for Mr. Dunlap. And of course, you know Mr. Dunlap.”

Only then did I look at him.

Leo glanced up—just a flicker—then dropped his gaze to the stack of papers in front of him, as if they suddenly demanded his full attention.

Same Leo. Hair meticulously styled, though thinning now at the temples. The usual designer stubble, calculated to imply ruggedness without the commitment. Crisp shirt. Pressed slacks. Cologne I could smell from across the room.

He seemed…smaller somehow.