Page 17 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

He had this way of talking that held you in place and made the world disappear. I couldn’t believe people thought he was cold and rigid. They didn’t know the Leo I knew. But they would. I’d make sure of it.

“Thanks, buddy,” I cracked out.

His eyes stayed on me an extra second longer. I exhaled when the light turned green.

“Put California behind you for the next month, though. First, help me win this damn election.”

* * *

We drove through downtown Sourwood,cluttered with mom-and-pop shops. Things seemed peaceful here. I’d only spent brief cameos in Sourwood on my visits, and I was excited to explore what this town had to offer.

We pulled into the driveaway of a familiar white colonial house with black shutters and an American flag sticking out from a pole by the front door. The house was big and picturesque, surrounded by oak and maple trees with colorful leaves. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed fall, a nonexistent season in LA.

Leo retrieved my bag from the trunk. He eyed it suspiciously. I noticed a rip in the corner and could feel him judging it.

“Thanks,” I said as I took it back.

“I’ll get you a new one. And tell me how much I owe you for the plane ticket.”

“It’s fine.” I waved off the offer and carried my suitcase up the front steps.

“I insist. Please.”

“Is this part of your campaign budget?”

“No. It’s me, thanking you for doing this.”

I didn’t want pity plane fare. Despite where my life was at, I could afford my own plane ticket, even if “afford” meant “put it on a credit card and deal with it later.”

Inside, I could feel the age of the house. Off to the side, the kitchen had been updated, but in the main hallway and living room, the oldness of the house could be heard in creaky floors and seen in classic hardwood.

“Looks the same,” I said of the house.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

I was about to say I wasn’t hungry, but on cue, my stomach rumbled. It was dinner time in LA. “Actually, yes.”

Leo pulled out Tupperware from the fridge. “I made slow cooker chili for the kids. There’s some left. I swear I don’t know how I’d feed these kids without the slow cooker.”

He glopped chili into a bowl, covered it with plastic, and stuck it in the microwave. I ambled into the living room, which was majestic and cozy and the real selling point of the house—high ceilings, a huge, inviting fireplace, and windows that looked out into the woods.

“How often do you sit on your couch and stare out the window? It’s so peaceful.”

“Uh, never. I don’t have time to sit and stare,” Leo said from the kitchen.

True. That was a luxury of the single and unattached.

“While it’s heating up, let’s take your stuff to the guest room.”

“And the bed!” I yelled out. The best sleep of my life awaited me.

Leo came behind me and slipped the luggage out of my hand. He carried it up the stairs like it was a shopping bag. I might have watched his ass as he walked in front of me.

Was this a new thing I was doing? Checking out my friend? Jet leg, man.

I followed Leo to the end of the creaky hall, and he plopped my luggage into the guest room. The bed and dresser were leaps and bounds better than what I was used to—real furniture that came assembled. I was in a comparative lap of luxury. My old mattress was lumpy with springs that jabbed into my back and rang out like a church organ every time I turned.

I sat on the bed, and my body sang in pleasure. Oh, I would sleep well tonight. Did I moan out loud? I might have. I would never take a good bed for granted ever again.

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