The headline is printed in bold, serif letters, and below it is a picture of the bodega. The photographer had gotten down on his knees to get a shot of the construction cranes behind it. They're not related, but it paints a stark picture, especially with the accompanying headline. City does nothing to stop illegal evictions of businesses.
And beneath it: Written by Audrey Ford.
"It's a great piece," Carter says. "I read it last night before it went to print."
"Booker's additions made it stronger."
"They did. She knows what she's doing."
I lean back against him. He hasn't put on a shirt from his shower and his skin is warm. "No wonder she pushed it two weeks. Johnson's source from within the construction company really came through."
"It's a stronger piece for it," Carter says. "I also expect I'll get a call from the CEO of that construction company in about fifteen minutes."
My hand tightens around his wrist. "I didn't think about that."
He chuckles. "I don't mind. I've gotten a few calls since Acture bought the Globe , actually. Most are fun to fend off."
"Aren't people… angry?"
"Most who bother calling are," he says matter-of-factly. "When they thank us it's usually by email. But I like to remind those who are upset-and their lawyers-about the First Amendment."
I look up at him. From this angle, the tips of his eyelashes look almost golden. "Do they enjoy that?"
"No," he says, grinning. "But I do. Now, you and I have to go buy a dozen of these."
I nod, looking back down at the paper. "My parents will want one, and my grandparents too. I need to send a picture to my best friend. God, the longer I look at it, the crazier it seems."
"You've worked hard for it."
"Yes, but still… And I know I have a long way left to go. Booker said my writing style was solid, but too melodramatic." I shake my head. "She's probably right, too."
"So you'll continue to refine. That's life." He kisses the top of my head. "What solo investigative piece will be your next?"
I dig my teeth into my lower lip. "Maybe it's a long shot, but I was thinking of finally doing that piece on con artists."
"Oh," Carter says. "Do you mean… trying to find the man who swindled your dad?"
His concern, the tentative note in his voice, makes me smile. The memory doesn't hurt me anymore. It angers me instead, on my parents' behalf, and all the others who were affected. "Yes," I say, "but I realize that's a long shot. I'll keep trying, though. But the personal connection would be an in-road to a larger piece on con artists in the state, or across the country. Their methods, their victims, that sort of thing."
"Right." Carter slides his hands off my waist and heads to the coffee machine. "A refill?"
"Yes, please. Thanks." I sit down at his kitchen table and smooth a hand over the newspaper. It still doesn't feel real. "Do you know, I think this is one of the best days of my life."
"Let's see if we can keep it going," he says. But he doesn't rejoin me at the table. He's leaning against the counter instead, hand gripping the coffee cup.
I pull my legs up beneath his large T-shirt. "Carter?"
"I spoke to my parents last night," I say, trying not to smile. "And I might have told them about you."
He looks down into his coffee, his lips curving. "Did you now?"
"What did you say?"
"That I have a boyfriend. That it's very early yet, but that he's great to me. He treats me really well."
Carter's smiling fully now. "He attempts to, you know. Always."
"He succeeds most of the time." I untangle my legs and cross the space to him, forcing him to put down his coffee. My hands curl around his neck. "I told them he's smart, and capable, and funny. And one of the most infuriating men I've ever met."
"Infuriating?" Carter repeats. He's gripping my waist, a thumb smoothing over my hipbone.
"Yes, but that's okay, because I love arguing with him over what movie to watch or the best way to drink coffee."
"I'm right about the coffee thing."
"I'll let you think you're right about the coffee thing," I say. My heart feels light inside my chest, so airy it might float away. "They were very happy about it."
"Were they?" he murmurs. His eyes are locked on my hip, where his hand is smoothing its way beneath the cotton of the T-shirt.
"They asked how we met."
His voice is low. "What did you tell them?"
"The truth. Dad laughed, and Mom said you were heroic."
"Heroic," Carter repeats softly. "I'd like the chance to meet them one day. They must be pretty amazing, if they raised you."
"Open with that line and they'll love you."
He smiles crookedly. "I'll take your word for it."
"You're a charmer, and you'll charm them just as thoroughly as you've charmed me."
Carter looks back down at my body. "It's what I do best," he says.
I frown at the tone in his voice. "Well, not only, of course. You're also sweet, and intelligent, and funny, and strong, and capable, and-"
He stops me with a kiss. "Are you trying to tell me you like me, kid?"
"Yes. Glad you got that."
"Message received loud and clear." He pulls me in closer, my hips against his. But I still have one more question.
"What are we going to do about work?"
He rests his head against my shoulder, soft hair tickling my neck. "What about it?"
"Since you and I are in a relationship…"