Page 80 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

“Harlen Carruthers will not be endorsing me.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Is it because…” I put my hand on my chest. Because of my idiocy?

“No. We just didn’t see eye-to-eye on certain things.”

“You don’t need him. You’re the rock star mayor!”

“Man, Dust…” His eyes crinkled with a smile that was gone just as fast. He went into serious mode. “Can I ask you a question? What were you planning to do after the election?”

The glow of this wonderful morning quickly dimmed. Our fake relationship had an expiration date, which his question reminded me of. “I—uh, I don’t know. I guess go back to LA.”

“Yeah. Makes sense.” Leo kicked at a patch of dirt. We were like awkward teenagers all over again.

I hated being a teenager then, and I hated it now.

“Leo. Fuck.” Did being a preacher’s kid score me any last-minute points with the Lord? “I don’t want to go back to LA. I want to stay.”

“You do?” He looked up at me, suddenly flush with confidence, like he held an ace in this poker game between us.

“Yeah.”

I wanted to remember this look he gave me forever, all stubble and smolder and heart.

I pulled him by the shirt into a kiss. His strong arms wrapped around me. “I really like being your fake boyfriend.”

“Baby, who’s faking?”

22

DUSTY

We were taking things slow. I mean, we were having sex whenever we could find the time to be partially naked, but everything else we were taking slow.

Leo and I were set to go back to Maria Lopez’s office atThe Sourwood Gazettefor a follow-up article she promised would be fun. I was hesitant to believe journalism could be fun, especially when I was the subject.

The Sourwood Gazetteoffices sat in a converted Victorian house amid a strip of restaurants and upscale stores along the river. The house had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. A creakySourwood Gazettesign swung on the front lawn.

Leo rested his hand on my lower back as he led us inside, his hot touch burning through my shirt. The “newsroom” of theGazettewas about four small desks around the perimeter of what was once a living room, piles of papers and old clippings cluttering every available inch of desk space. Who knew Sourwood had so much news?

Maria got up from her desk in the corner. The wall behind her was covered with a mix of framed clippings and scraggly, colorful drawings from what had to be her son or daughter. “Mr. Mayor, Dusty. Great to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure, Maria.” Leo shook her hand with a relaxed determination. He was definitely less sweaty and desperate this time around.

“Ditto,” I said.

“Thank you for coming in today. I wanted to get your input on a follow-up piece before it went to print tonight.”

“You said it was a fun piece,” Leo stated with skepticism. “Fun for you, for us, or both?”

Maria laughed off the question. “You’re going to love it. It’s not a hit piece.” She nodded her head, and her ponytail of thick hair followed. “Come with me.”

Once again, Leo’s hand pressed into my back, and I didn’t protest. Maria took us down a narrow hall to a small room that was probably a study way back in the day. Today, it was an archive room, filled with dust as much as articles. Rusty file cabinets and stacks of cartons gobbled up the available standing room. I was dying to introduce theGazetteto a scanner.

In the center of the room was a table with pictures scattered. Familiar faces looked back at us. It took me a second to piece it together that it was our younger selves.

“What is this?” Leo asked.

The overlit and faded photographs of late ’90s disposable cameras, with their neon orange timestamps in the corners, transported me back to college.

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