Kevin nods thoughtfully. “What happens in other situations though? What if a reporter already has a job, is covering the business, and she falls for somebody she covers?”

I’ve seen this situation happen at my old paper, and I’ve seen it happen to journalists I know. “He or she is reassigned usually. Our job is to be fair. Our job is to be accurate. I’m not curing cancer or saving the whales, but at the very least, I’m trying to write something unbiased.”

His blue eyes are piercing as he stares at me. “Do you think, then, that you should tell Mr. Galloway?”

He’s tossing ethics back at me, perhaps treating me as he would a parishioner someday.

“I have to tell him, don’t I?” I squeak out. “Even though I’m not involved with Flynn, I have to tell my editor.”

He rests his palm on my hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “I read the piece. I think you did an amazing job. But I’m not unbiased either. I love you to the ends of the earth and back, and I think everything you do is amazing. I tried to give it a critical eye, and I think it’s incredible. But what if my take on it is colored by how much I love you? And what if your approach was colored by your feelings for Flynn?”

I groan and drop my forehead onto the table. “This was such a big chance for me. And I blew it by falling for this guy.”

He rubs my forearm. “I don’t know that falling for someone is ever blowing it. I don’t know if I have any answers as to what you should do. But I don’t think letting yourself feel something real and true, especially after what happened to you, is a bad thing.”

I raise my face. “But it is. I have bills to pay.”

“Sabrina,” he says, his voice firm and strong. “We’ll stretch out the loans longer.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. I made a promise to myself when Mom left that I’d look out for you. I made a promise to the state too. A legal promise.”

“I can look out for myself. I don’t have a ton of debt from college. I can handle all the loans from grad school.”

I shake my head. “This is your dream. How many men today want to be pastors? It’s noble and beautiful, and you’re mine,” I say, pointing at him. “You’re mine, and don’t you forget it.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know, but being yours doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your happiness.”

I bristle at his characterization. “I’m not sacrificing my happiness. Dude, I have other bills too. Rent, and utilities, and food. That stuff you need to fuel your body every day. You’ve heard of it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Sabrina.”

“And living. Subways aren’t free. Nor is internet access. Who can live without that? See? I need a J-O-B regardless, so don’t start thinking it’s all about you.”