Page 43 of Her Wild Coast Promise

“On paper, it’s a wonderful program. I loved working with families, giving them hope after a tragedy, you know?” She takes a bite of her roll, chewing slowly. “But there are a lot of grueling hoops to jump through, and a lot of disappointment too. The percentage of families I was actually able to help was pretty low.”

“Sounds heartbreaking,” I say.

“At times, it really was,” she replies, her tone wistful. “I don’t love the circumstances, but maybe it was the nudge I needed to try something different.”

Crap, am I paying her enough? I want her to be able to leapfrog into whatever her heart desires after her stint running my campaign. “What do you think you’ll take on next? Back to state government?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

I pause my fork in midair to shoot her a curious glance. “You’ve given this some thought.”

She laughs softly. “It’s not the work so much as the environment. The people. Most of my coworkers acted threatened if I talked about having fun on my time off. I tried to make friends, or at least find common ground, but it sort of backfired because it cost me my job.”

“Ouch. Like someone stabbed you in the back?”

Her cheeks flush. “It doesn’t matter.”

I raise an eyebrow. It’s clear to me that it does matter. Something happened with this job, something that hurt her feelings or made her feel insecure, and I don’t like it.

She sips from her water, her eyes not meeting mine.

“What about law school?” I ask to change the subject.

“Maybe?” she replies. “It’s a pretty major commitment, and I don’t know if I’d like being a lawyer any more than what I was doing before.”

“What about being a professional campaign manager?” I ask, popping the last bite of my roll into my mouth.

She gives me a look. “I’m only doing this for people I care about.”

I reach for my water glass. “Doesn’t mean you can’t turn it into something bigger.”

“Running people’s campaigns for a living isn’t really appealing.”

As a cop, I can sense discomfort in another human as easily as a weatherman can read the clouds. I also know when people are secretly eager to share something if the mood is triggered in just the right way.

“Curious why you think so.”

She adds butter to a bite of roll. “The job requires a lot of energy.”

“Which you have.”

This is not an interview and Cora’s not a suspect, but I like the idea of teasing this problem apart, together.

“True.” She chews her bite of roll and swallows, eyeing me with a keen focus. “But I’d be living out of suitcase, traveling from town to town.” After a swallow of water, she looks me in the eye. “It would be hard to have a career like that with a family.”

“Oh.” My fully fueled engines come to a screeching halt. She wants children, of course she does. And she absolutely should have a family. She’ll be an amazing mom. Devoted, kind, patient.

So why is my gut in knots?

Her eyes glisten, but it’s too late for me to realize that we took a wrong turn somewhere. “I have to start thinking about what I really want, Seth.”

“That’s wise,” I say, swallowing hard.

“When you called, I was at a crossroads. I was out of a job, newly single, and about to be homeless.” She dabs her eyes with the pad of her middle finger, a motion that tears at my heart. “I’m grateful for this opportunity. It’ll give me space to get my life back on track.”

The sense of distortion in this moment makes my head throb. “What makes you think your lifewasn’ton track?”

She laughs, but it’s not kind. “I didn’t love my job, or Doug, or my place the way I thought I would. When it all ended, I realized that I had been holding on, hoping it would change. I’m scared I’m going to make the same mistake again.”

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