Page 70 of Someone to Tempt
“I’m already doing donuts with the mayor on Saturday mornings at the community center,” I remind her.
“He’s going to sponsor the kids’ carnival at Fun Fest.”
“I’ve shifted things around in the town budget to fund almost every activity that weekend.”
“Except for the kids’ carnival.”
“I’m a good mayor,” I say weakly. “I want what’s best for this community. But I don’t have a campaign budget because I wasn’t planning on having to campaign.”
“I know.” Jodi sighs. “And all is not lost. You have grassroots options. Door-to-door canvassing, bake sales, maybe a debate?”
My stomach lurches. “What are we going to debate—family values?”
“Okay, no debate, but Joey is serious.” She tells me that as if I don’t realize it. “You need to get your shit together, Iris. Fun is all well and good, but it’s go-time, girl.”
“Go time.” I nod. “I’m on it.”
She doesn’t look convinced but gives me a thumbs up. “Let me know how I can help—signs, setting up baby-kissing events…whatever you need. You need to find opportunities to show your dedication and vision for the future.”
“Got it,” I assure her and flip open my laptop. “My vision.”
Right now, my vision is fuzzy at the edges as panic threatens to overtake me. I’m not exactly the baby-kissing type.
Jodi leaves my office and I push back my chair and lower my head between my legs, gulping for air. I’ve spent most of my life trying to prove I’m different than my mom and brother—that I’m my own person. But what if this election digs up everything I’ve worked so hard to bury? Will they see me or just my past? And will it confirm I’m exactly what they expected—the apple fallen close to the proverbial tree.
I straighten and send a text to the book club chat, asking if anyone is available to meet me at Casa Rosa after work for emergency meltdown avoidance.
As soon as I hit the send button, I regret it. I don’t like to ask anyone for help. And in my deepest, secret heart, I remain halfway convinced the only reason I’m in this group is because of Sloane. Everyone loves her, and she made it clear that we’re a package deal when she started the book club.
I remind myself to breathe. It’s okay if no one can make it. We all have busy lives. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
But my phone pings, then pings again and again. Every single member has texted in quick succession that they’ll be there.
My eyes sting. If I were a crier, this would be the moment to cue the waterworks. Maybe that would ease the weight in my chest, even a little. Instead, my body doesn’t know how to let it out, so the pressure keeps building tighter and tighter.
I force myself to take a breath and then square my shoulders. The town doesn’t stop simply because I feel like breaking down. I gather my things and head to a meeting with the parks department and then stop in at the senior center, where no one seems to mind my porcupine energy.
Jodi is gone by the time I return to the office in the afternoon, but there’s a stack of paperwork waiting for me—permits to sign, a budget report to review, and an email from the mayor of a neighboring town asking if we’d be interested in partnering for an inter-town charity drive.
I’d like to claim I don’t spend a good portion of the day thinking about Jake, but it’s hard not to when every hour on the hour he sends me a new photo or meme of an adorable, if prickly, porcupine.
Me: I’m starting to get a complex. Am I really that prickly?
His response is a picture of a sleeping kitten.
Jake: This is how I see you.
And there goes that ache in my chest again. Reminding me that even when I’m about to break apart, the world keeps spinning on.
27
IRIS
The fall airbites at my cheeks as I leave town hall, the early scent of fallen leaves hanging in the evening breeze. The restaurant is close enough that I can walk, and just as Jodi warned me, there are yard signs placed squarely on every corner like weeds sprouting overnight.
She didn't warn me about his campaign slogan: "Joey Moore. A legacy of tradition and values."
Yikes, that hits right in the feels.
