Kit (Chicago Blaze 8)

I smile into my cup of tea. “Did you take him to that doggie bakery?”

“I did. He looks forward to that peanut butter treat on our morning walk.”

“Thank you for spoiling him. I know I’ve been working a lot lately and you’re the one taking care of him most of the time.”

Gram pats my hand. “That’s what you have to do to work your way up, Moll. I’m proud of you. That city hall beat will be yours for sure.”

I set my mug down and say, “I hope so. I’ve been going the extra mile on every story, trying to show my boss I can handle city hall.”

“Wasn’t your interview with that hockey player today?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And did you get the research done you were working on?”

I nod as Gram gets up to heat up more water in the teakettle.

“I did. He sounds like a choirboy. Raised in a small town in Iowa, kind of a quiet kid but diligent with hockey. The coaches I interviewed from his youth teams raved about him.”

“That’s nice, dear.”

I take a sip of my tea, letting the mug warm my hands.

“I’m waiting to interview his family members until after I interview him a couple times, so I can form strong questions.”

“A couple times?” Gram arches her brows. “It’s not just one interview?”

“No. This is a soft news assignment, but that doesn’t mean I’m turning in a puff piece. I want that city hall beat, so I have to prove myself with every article I turn in.”

“Oh.” Gram nods, but looks confused.

“Maybe there won’t be much there, but I’m going to dig all the same. I’ve read everything we have on file for him at the Gazette, and I talked to our sports reporter who covers the Blaze. He said Kit flies under the radar. Nice guy, volunteers with the Blaze Foundation, doesn’t use women like a lot of pro athletes do.”

“You know, Moll, there are men out there who are actually nice, good men. Just because Zach was a disgusting pig, you shouldn’t be cynical about all men now.”

I smile at the way her sweet, grandmotherly voice sounds saying disgusting pig.

“I know that, Gram. But it’s two completely different situations. I’m looking at Kit Carter as a reporter interviewing him for a story, not as a woman looking to date him. And I’m not saying I think he’s a bad guy. I’m saying that usually, when a reporter really takes the time to listen and get to know a subject, there’s something more there than what you see on the surface.”

“Like what, dear?” Gram sits down next to me at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea now, too.

I think about how to explain this to her. “Like…maybe he had his heart broken. His great love left him to play her own professional sport across the country. Or maybe he’s supporting someone in his family with a chronic illness. Or…he could be contemplating early retirement to go play another major league sport.”

“I suppose.”

I take a couple bites of my dinner as I think about Kit Carter and what direction I want the interview to take tomorrow. “I’m not saying any of those things are true. Just that I want to take the time to figure out if there’s something more to this guy. One of my college professors teaches that there’s no such thing as a puff piece, only lazy reporters who don’t want to put in the work to make a story something more.”

“I know you’ll make it the best story it can be,” Gram says, patting my hand and yawning.

“You should go to bed. I’m just going to finish eating, wash these dishes and then I’ll be heading to bed myself.”

“I think I’ll do that.” Gram stands up and kisses the top of my head. “Goodnight, Moll.”

“Night, Gram.”

Mr. Darcy isn’t ever more than a foot away from me as I finish my food, wash the dishes and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. And when it’s time for bed, he walks right past his doggie bed and stands beside my bed instead, looking up at me with his big brown eyes.

“Okay,” I sigh, lifting him into my bed.

He makes a circle and then lays down right in the middle of the twin bed.

“Hey, can you leave a little room for me?” I ask, shaking my head. “Or did you expect us to switch beds for tonight?”

He just looks at me and sighs heavily.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” I say, climbing under the covers and curling around him. “But at least you’re warm.”

The icy wind whips against my bedroom window as I pull three quilts over me and Mr. Darcy. As I try to relax and fall asleep, thoughts of my interview with Kit Carter tomorrow race through my mind.