Page 30 of Tips and Trysts

“One public hangout a week. Wholesome but not obvious. People need to see you out and being platonic.”

“Fine,” I agree before glancing at Cora. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

Beverly is quiet, focusing on Cora’s face. “During these meetups, you should…tone it down.”

“Tone what down?” Cora responds, confused for once.

My fists tighten and tense. I didn’t know Beverly was going to go there, but in retrospect I should have seen it coming.

“You look fine right now,” Beverly goes on, holding out her hand as if she’s giving some grand compliment.

Cora looks at her rumpled gown. “I got shot earlier…”

“Right, but the outfit is demure—”

“It is ahospital gown,” she emphasizes. “Look, sitting around and drinking coffee for a photographer is one thing, but changing my appearance is another. If we’re just friends, why does it matter?”

“It matters,” Beverly assures her before tossing her long, stick straight blond hair. “Voters are only going to tolerate so much.”

Cora glances at me and I want to say that the thought of her changing how she looks makes me physically sick.

Before I can protest, Beverly lets out a slow breath. “While I understand you have an aesthetic—” She waves her hand over Cora, fingers loose like she’s not willing to exert the energy to actually point. “—I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

Cora blinks, and from one moment to the next, her big eyes and elegant cheekbones lose those glimmers of emotion. I’ve never seen her so stoic before. “And if I don’t?”

“Ask Everett,” Beverly challenges, cocking her head in my direction.

Cora faces me. Her attention goes to my parted lips—parted because I didn’t defend her when I should have. She raises her pierced eyebrow and asks, “Will you lose the election, Everett?”

I don’t answer outright, but still, my silence is an answer.

The sigh Cora releases is languid. “Fine,” she murmurs before she faces Beverly. “Whatever.”

Beverly rises. “Well, this is certainly going to be interesting,” she remarks, layering a pointed stare between the two of us. “Cora, I’ve heard they’re discharging you shortly.”

“Within the hour.”

“How American.” Beverly takes her laptop from the table and snaps it shut before tucking it under her arm. She straightens her blazer. “You’ll both hear from me soon. Remember: Not a word to anyone.”

Almost as soon as Beverly exits, my father sticks his head back in the doorway. He doesn’t spare Cora a glance now that his photographer is gone. “Everett, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I need to speak with you.”Hurry up.“Come.”Like a dog. “You’re joining me for coffee.”It’s not negotiable.

I gesture at Cora, whose eyes narrow as she takes in my father. “I’m not going to leave her. She’ll need a ride home,” I point out.

Before a classic Logan Standoff can transpire, Essie appears in the doorway behind my father, announcing, “I’m here!” before she waves at Cora and says, “Oh, thank fuck you’re okay.”

My father bobs his chin at me. “Problem solved. Everett, we’re going. Now. Say goodbye to your friend.”

Friend.

I face Cora. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, keeping it simple. “I’m so sorry.”

And I’m sorry for far more than this hasty departure: for entangling her in the undeniable swamp-fuckery of a political campaign, and also bringing her into the undeniable swamp-fuckery of the Logan family. She’ll get a better apology later. Duty calls first.

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