Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington Read Online Free PDF

to so many people today.” Nick swept his arm toward the lingering crowd.
    Kenny zeroed in on his friend’s eyes. “How could you, after all I’ve done for you? I took you in like a lost puppy; shared my mother’s care packages.”
    Nick lifted his palms upward, like Spanky from The Little Rascals, trying to look innocent. “Maybe I gave her a hint, but think of it this way. You’re here to write a story, aren’t you? I gave you one.”
    Kenny groaned. “You could have just introduced me to Miss Turner after the show.”
    Remembering he still needed some more good shots, Kenny took a few photographs of the pinup girl signing autographs for the crowd. Then he set his camera on one of the steps, shook his head slowly, and unleashed a surprise attack, grabbing Nick in a headlock and punching him lightly in the gut. “You have way too much fun embarrassing me. It’s gotta stop, ya hear me?”
    “Okay, okay, okay.” Nick pushed away from Kenny and moaned as if in pain, but Kenny could see the twinkle in his eye. “You gonna injure your poor, crippled friend?” He held his thigh, where shrapnel remained lodged from his run-in with the Germans.
    “Fine.” Kenny backed off. He readjusted his hat, then picked up his camera again, looping the strap over his head. “Use that excuse. Tops anything I have.”
    Nick grinned. They retreated to the other side of the steps and leaned against the platform.
    “So…” Nick’s gaze followed a pretty blond in a swooshing skirt who walked by. “You get that riveter’s phone number?”
    Kenny shrugged, remembering again the feel of Rosalie’s hand in his as he helped her down the platform steps. “I tried.”
    “You gonna try again?”
    “Nah.” Kenny glanced at the tiny brown splatter decorating the right top of his black wingtip. It was probably from the spilled Coke. “She’s not interested in me. Plus, Bixby’s on my back to bring in more softball stories.”
    “Softball stories?”
    “You know, simple, easy to hit—I mean, print. But after the Lana Turner piece, I don’t know what I’m gonna write about. I’m sure it’ll be something equally uninteresting and unimportant.”
    “You have to admit, though, the riveter was a looker.” Nick’s brain didn’t seem to register how a good-looking girl wouldn’t be worth pursuing or why Kenny was trying to change the subject.
    Who was he to argue? She was beautiful—an image of her was seared into his mind—intelligent, yet vulnerable. Dark eyes, a slender waist accentuated by slacks and a checkered shirt. A burst of affection mixed with curiosity welled up within him, but he pushed it away.
    “Yeah, she was pretty, but not really my type.” Kenny tried to shrug it off.
    The trumpet player from the band approached and tapped Nick’s shoulder, indicating he needed to get back to work.
    “I’m playing at the Igloo tonight if you wanna come watch your old friend,” Nick told Kenny, limping back up the stairs.
    “Tonight? I was going to mow my aunt’s yard. The grass has to be a foot high by now.”
    “Is that what you call fun? I’m sure it won’t hurt the grass to grow for another day. One foot and one inch. Besides, the Igloo is a cool place. You really should come. Maybe it’ll get your mind off that girl who’s ‘not your type.’” Nick winked.
    Kenny lifted a hand and turned away.
    Weaving through the crowd, Kenny crossed the square to the sidewalk on Fourth Street. The odors of vehicle exhaust and garbage, the noise and bustle—the city’s ambiance—smacked his senses as he turned and headed toward Seneca. He figured he’d develop the photographs of Miss Turner and then write the story.
    What a difference I’m making in the world . He rubbed his tightening forehead, trying to keep at bay the headache fogging his brain. If it wasn’t for that promise…
    It had seemed like the right thing at the time. He’d promised his father, an army chaplain serving in the South Pacific, that he