Page 53 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

“That’s because he serves alcohol,” Cal said, decked out in full scouting uniform. He was taking a lunch break from manning the Falcons scouting booth, where he, Russ, and their troop were doing rope-tying demonstrations.

“I’m only serving hard apple cider,” Mitch corrected.

“Which is alcohol. Festive alcohol, but still alcohol.”

Mitch shrugged his shoulders. He was busy and proud of it. Across the way, Leo was chatting with people at his booth, which had a sign that read, “AMA: Ask Mayor Anything.”

“He’s like the Energizer bunny. He can keep going and going,” I said, watching Leo.

“Every vote counts,” Cal said.

“He loves it.” Mitch watched with a twinkle in his eye.

“I never want to get into politics, but some people are born for it.” Cal wiped off excess ketchup from his mouth. “Leo’s found his calling.”

I felt a pang in my chest. I didn’t want to fuck this up for him. The mayorship meant too much to him. Whatever feelings I felt for him had to stay tucked inside.

“How are you doing with all the campaigning?” Cal asked in between large bites of a hamburger.

“Campaigning is just a stuffy synonym for talking with people. Everyone I’ve met in Sourwood has been really nice and down to earth.”

“I’ll bet you’ll miss them when you go back to the airheads on the West Coast.” Cal chuckled to himself, then stopped. “No offense.”

“None taken. I’m an East Coaster at heart.”

“I’m an actor, so I’m part airhead anyway.”

Jokes aside, a cold burst of reality hit me. Sourwood wasn’t my home but seemed more like it each day.

“The election will be over soon. Keep your head in the game,” Mitch said before he had to jump on the register to serve more walkups.

My head I could do. My heart was another story.

I had Mitch make a chicken caesar wrap and ferried it over to Leo’s booth, catching him in a rare moment without a visitor.

“Thank you. It’s hard to be charming and hangry at the same time.” He looked in the bag. “Chicken caesar wrap! It wasn’t on the menu.”

“I asked Mitch for a special exception.”

“How’d you know—”

“Remember that time you came to visit me? You made us go on a Harold and Kumar-like quest for a chicken caesar wrap across Santa Monica.”

“That was a great wrap. Where was that place—”

“Finley O’Connor.”

Leo let out a chuckle, his eyes creasing at the corners, making me swoon. “An Irish pub with the best chicken caesar wrap.”

“America is a melting pot. Eat. Before you get bombarded with more visitors.”

Leo gestured for me to get closer. He planted a glorious kiss on my lips—soft but with intention, a guiding hand on my cheek. I loved how his body felt on me, how protective he was.

A guy could get used to this. Though he very much should not.

“What do you think of Applefest?” he asked.

“You are the eight billionth person to ask me that. I love it. Yay apples! Yay fall! This is an Instagram post come to life.”

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