Page 34 of Love Arranged
What if Lorenzo agrees with the Ludlow family because my part of the Historic District is run-down?
What if?—
“Oh, it’s you! Thank God.” Willow opens the door and yanks me inside before closing it.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Hopefully not,” she replies before shutting all the blinds and curtains in her living room.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes!” She turns with a huff. “We might have to swap the wine for something a bit stronger though.”
“What happened?”
“I’m having a bit of a campaign emergency.”
“Who knew a small-town mayoral election could have such issues.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Sure, but first let me give you a quick tour.” She shows me around her two-bedroom bungalow, which is nestled in front of Lake Wisteria. I love everything about the quaint space, butI’m pretty sure my sister would have a meltdown at the clashing fabrics, bold paint colors, and interesting choice of green carpet in the sunken living room area.
Design choices aside, I’m surprised Willow hasn’t sold the place because I’m sure her lakefront property is worth a million or two for the land itself.
Her phone rings in the distance.
“Do you want to answer?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I follow her into the small kitchen, where her laptop was left open beside a half-empty bottle of wine.
“Got started without me?” I joke.
She laughs while pouring me a glass. “I only needed a minute to recover from the new poll numbers I got.”
“Not what you wanted to see?”
“Nope.” She tops off her glass and uncorks a new bottle. “Just in case,” she says when I look at my full glass.
“I’m sorry about the polls.”
She shuts her eyes. “Me too. Ten points… Ugh. Lorenzo’s going to be so pissed.”
“Ten points? That doesn’t seem too bad, right?”
“It might not sound like a lot, but it might as well be thirty when we have less than five months left until election day.”
I wince. “Oh. In that case…” I hold my glass up, and she clinks hers against mine.
“I’ve been trying to help us get ahead. With single-issue voters, Lorenzo’s gained good ground, but now he’s fallen behind with more complicated swing voters.” Her computermakes a noise, and she quickly becomes distracted with something on the screen.
“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, completely forgetting about me altogether as she scrolls through some PDF with charts and graphs. “He’s going to go ballistic when he sees this.”
I’m about to say something when her phone starts ringing.
