Bay might have been a quiet town but it surprised Molly how busy it was. They liked their festivals and events and activities. Their motto ought to have been The more the merrier.
“That’s coming up soon, isn’t it? I haven’t been over to the center to check out the progress but I might later today,” Molly said, thinking of photo opportunities. Jill was supposed to do a feature with the director, but the woman had put her off several times already.
“Good luck. Keep your head down when you go or you’re likely to get it snapped off,” Dean said. An atypical scowl creased his normally passive face.
Molly frowned, her brows arching up. “Not going so great? I’ve yet to meet the infamous Magnolia Sweet.” She’d heard plenty about her though. From several sources.
“Let’s just say she runs a tight, unfriendly ship,” Calli said, checking her Fitbit.
“She doesn’t smooth some feathers, she’s likely to have a mutiny on her hands,” Dean said, shaking his head. “She’s an awful woman.”
Molly was surprised by the venom in Dean’s voice. He was as easygoing as Calliope was friendly. This woman must have really gotten under his skin. “I told Sarah I’d help with painting the set during rehearsals tonight. Maybe I should just stay backstage.”
Two people wandered up the street—an older man and woman holding hands and laughing with each other.
“Look at this service, honey,” the man said, his moustache twitching. “They hold the door right open for you.”
“I told you this place was friendly,” the woman answered.
Dean’s features relaxed and he stepped inside. Molly moved back as Calli laughed, waving them in. “If you’re looking for friendly people and delicious food, you are definitely in the right place. See you later, Molly. Duty calls.”
Dean and Calli waved to her and Molly snapped another shot of the flowers for good luck. There had to be a couple of good ones. She continued down the sidewalk, waving to shop owners through windows as she snapped pictures of vibrant and varied barrels. The Spring Flower Barrel challenge encouraged all local proprietors to welcome spring with unique and colorful creations. So far this morning, Molly had seen flowers arranged in the shapes of hearts, a map of Britton Bay, houses, people, flowers, and the pier. The creativity blew her away.
Traveling around the world for her father’s job in the Army had allowed Molly to see dozens of places around the globe. Between that and her own desire to pick up and move when the urge struck, she’d been something of a nomad. Until Britton Bay. This town, the people—one very good looking and sweet mechanic, in particular—and the community itself, had hooked her hard. For the first time in forever, she felt like she’d found a home.
Heading back to the Britton Bay Bulletin, she felt much calmer than she had when she’d left.
“There you are,” Elizabeth, one of their feature writers, said. She was a lovely woman. Despite having no children of her own, she was the best friend of the owner’s wife and quite motherly in everything she did. Molly adored her.
“Did you miss me?” Molly pulled the camera off of her neck and rolled her shoulders.
“Just worried you’d let Clay get under your skin,” Elizabeth said, patting Molly’s arm.
“I’m fine,” Molly assured her, walking over to the layout table. It was mostly true. By the end of the day, she’d have shaken Clay’s mood off completely. In the long run, they’d all have a more peaceful work environment without the troubled young man.
The Bulletin was another piece of Molly feeling tied to Britton Bay. She’d found the job posting online at a time in her life when she’d been looking for some direction. There’d been more than a few hiccups in the beginning, with Vernon’s death and Molly’s guilt-complex pushing her to solve the mystery of his murder. At first, she hadn’t been entirely sure she was going to stay. Finding a dead body had a way of making a girl question whether or not she was in the right place. But the town had pulled together more than once in the face of tragedy and Molly felt connected all the way through to her bones. She’d never had what some would call roots, and this hundred-year-old perfectly square building had played a large role in giving her some.
“How you doing, Molly?” Jill asked, coming out of the back where there was a small kitchen, bathroom, and storage area. She held a large mug in both hands. It was the same pretty blue as the blonde woman’s eyes, and matched her cheery nature.
“I’m fine. Honestly. I think I got some decent shots of the barrels,” Molly answered, eager to shift the conversation to work.
In addition to Elizabeth, Jill, and Molly, the newspaper staff included Alan, the owner, and his niece Hannah, a high school senior who worked part time for them. Clay hadn’t pulled his weight, but he had still done some things, which meant they were now strapped for bodies.
“Good. I’ll download the pictures and take a look,” Jill said.
Alan came out of his office, which was nestled in the corner of the main area that looked out onto Main Street. His salt and pepper hair looked like he’d run his hands through it several times already this morning. He’d lost the suit jacket and his tie, and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His family had owned the newspaper since its inception and when Molly arrived, she’d been the man’s last-ditch effort at salvaging his legacy. Fortunately for all of them, the paper was doing better than ever. But it wouldn’t stay that way if they all ran themselves ragged.
“I’ve put in calls to a few people who’ve applied here in the past but I think I need to draft up something formal and get it online. We just can’t keep up the pace we’ve been setting,” he said, settling onto one of the stools around the layout table.
The main work area was a combination of desks, gray partitions, and a large layout table. They often gathered around it or in front of the whiteboard Molly had installed. Though the building was old, the huge storefront window brought in light and the smiles of passersby.
“I can reach out to my journalism professors and see if they can recommend anyone,” Jill said, taking a seat beside Alan.
“That’d be great,” Alan said.
Elizabeth joined them at the table, opening her day planner. Like Molly, Jill, and Hannah, she helped with the paper’s online presence, but she preferred pen and paper to the calendar on her phone.
“I’ll get a job posting up this evening,” Molly said, uncapping a whiteboard marker.
She wrote down the stories they were currently working on, putting “Spring Play” at the top and following that with Barrel Challenge and Shop of the Month—a new feature they’d added to boost local businesses.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the others.
“Hannah is working on interviewing several graduates. If we start spotlighting them next week, we should be able to include the top ten in the graduating class,” Alan said.
Molly wrote it on the board along with Elizabeth’s reminder of the features she was doing on the addition being added to the high school, the acting mayor’s plans for the community, and the upcoming election in which, if he ran, he was expected to win.
“That’s
