“And if we move over,” Tawnya chimes in, “we’ll be editing completely new fiction. Works from people like Debbie Macomber. Francine Rivers.” “Yes. If you are called to move over, yes.” And to my surprise, Tawnya breaks out into a huge grin, almost as if she’s won the lottery. Will observes her. “Does this make you . . . happy, Tawnya?” “Does it?” she says and pulls three small, thick paperbacks from her bag, lovestruck couples on each cover of peppy blues and pinks and greens. And for the first time—in a long time, really—I see Will crack a smile. For the first time, his shoulders start to
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