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“Emma Andrews, what in the world are you doing?” said a laughing voice from above her.
Emma was lying flat on her back on the living room floor. Beneath her was the braided rug her great-great-grandma had made from scraps of clothes and blankets when she had been no older than Emma was now. Above her the ceiling fan spun lazy circles. It was something she had done since she was a young child. She didn’t have a good reason for why. It soothed her, though.
Strategic regrouping, her father called it. Emma thought it was cute her father had that much faith in her. There was nothing strategic about it.
“Go away, Suzie,” Emma said. “I’m having a moment.”
“This moment is unbecoming of your new station in life,” came another voice, also laughing. At her expense, knowing her friends.
Emma lifted her head, craning her neck until she saw Kate Gonzales half hidden behind Suzie’s ever-expanding belly. “I take it you heard the news.”
“We ran into Cesar at the hardware store. He gave us the whole story.”
Emma groaned. When Eli had dropped her off, she had stormed into the Airstream full of righteous anger and looking like a hot mess. Cesar had taken one look at her and thrown her an apron to cover herself up. That was when she had realized Eli had seen everything. It put her dramatic exit in an embarrassing new light.
That part, Cesar probably hadn’t shared. At least, she hoped not.
But the part where she had informed him that she had been conscripted as mayor and he had promptly laughed himself sick, yes, that part was fair game. The only question was how he had stopped laughing long enough to get the story out.
“Then you understand why I’m on the floor,” Emma said. “It’s the only way I can be sure the ground doesn’t disappear beneath me.”
Suzie nudged her in the ribs with her sandaled toe. “Stop being dramatic and get up.”
“No.” Emma closed her eyes and waited for them to give up.
No such luck.
“If she won’t come to us, we’ll just have to go to her,” Suzie said. “Oh my God, the ground is so far away. You’re going to help me back up, right?”
Emma’s eyes shot open in alarm as Suzie and Kate joined her on the floor, sandwiching her between them. Suzie grunted as she landed, and the hundred-year-old pine floorboards groaned, making Kate giggle.
“Shut up,” Suzie groused. “When you did this, you were seventeen. Pregnancy is different in your late twenties, let me tell you.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You have a decade of baby-making years ahead of you. You’re not old.”
“I feel old. And large, in an unbalanced sort of way.”
“Well,” Kate said comfortingly, “that’s because you are large in an unbalanced sort of way.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Can we get back to the purpose of this ambush, which is that I am now mayor of Hart’s Ridge and we are all doomed?”
“We’re not doomed,” Suzie said. “At least, no more so than normal. Things aren’t great right now, but that’s not your fault. No one can blame you for the processing plant closing.”
Suzie steadfastly refused to call it the chicken plant, like everyone else did. This was because she kept hens in her backyard and loved every single one of them, so much so that she had named them after Jane Austen characters.
Emma couldn’t help smiling a little before remembering that there was nothing to smile about. She sighed. “No, it’s not my fault. But now it’s my responsibility.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut again in a futile attempt to block out reality. She hated responsibility, mostly because her life had been far too full of it. Once upon a time she had been a normal middle-class kid. Her dad taught chemistry at the University of North Carolina, and her mom was a third-grade teacher at Hart’s Ridge Elementary. They weren’t rich, but they could afford to spend summer vacations driving around national parks in the Airstream. All that had changed when her mom got sick.
Stage II cervical cancer. At first they had thought she would be okay. Survival rates weren’t in the nineties like with Stage I, but the odds were better than a coin toss. But Emma had never won a coin toss in her life, and her mom didn’t win against cancer. It had taken five years of surgeries and chemotherapy before it killed her, during which Emma did her best to care for her. She raced home every day after school—and sometimes played hooky—to make sure her mom was comfortable. She washed her hair, made sure she took her meds, did all the cooking and cleaning. She helped her go to the bathroom, and when even that was too much, she changed the bedpan. Her dad couldn’t be there—losing his job would mean losing health insurance.
Even with health insurance, once the bills started coming, they didn’t stop. The stress affected everything. He wasn’t tenured, and then he was laid off. But the bills kept coming and they didn’t stop until she died.
But by then he had found a way to put that chemistry knowledge to use.
With her mom’s death and her dad’s arrest, Emma traded responsibility of one parent for another. She dropped out of school to work full time to cover the mortgage and the defense bills.
Being responsible for her parents was terrible, draining, stressful—and those were the people she loved most in the world. Now she was responsible for the whole damn town, and she wasn’t sure she loved more than a handful of them.
“I know it’s overwhelming,” Kate said. “We’re here to help.”
That made Emma feel marginally better, even if she suspected that their “help” would mostly consist of listening to her bitch and moan. They weren’t any more qualified to be mayor than she was. Suzie was a stay-at-home mom of two with a third baby on the way, and Kate ran a candy shop. Neither of them knew anything about being mayor.
They were screwed, all right. The whole town was screwed.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Suzie said. “Of course we’ll help. Who is replacing Mrs. Whittaker as deputy mayor?”
Her stomach twisted. Other than shouting I’ll never forgive you, Eli Carter! his name hadn’t crossed her lips in eight years. The look on his face when she said it was the same as it had been all those years ago. Resignation, sadness, and something else that was neither of those things. Something she was afraid to give a name to, because it felt like a punch to the chest.
“Eli Carter,” she said. “Because the universe hates me.”
“No!” Suzie gasped. “Are you serious?”
“What’s wrong with Eli Carter?” Kate asked. “He seems like a solid choice. Maybe a little taciturn and serious, but he’s also, you know, hot. I guess that’s not a requirement for deputy mayor, but maybe it should be.”
In unison, Emma and Suzie turned to give her incredulous looks.
“What?” Kate asked defensively. “What’s with the looks? He is hot! All broody and those muscles.”
Emma covered her face and let out a muffled shriek.
“Eli Carter isn’t hot. We hate him.” Suzie paused, considering. “Well, maybe he is a little hot. But he’s also the officer who arrested Emma’s dad. How do you not know? You’ve lived in Hart’s Ridge your entire life! It was huge news.”
Kate side-eyed them. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we didn’t know each other very well back then? Or maybe because I was neck-deep in my own grief and dealing with a daughter who didn’t understand why her daddy was never coming home again.”
Emma winced. When her own life fell apart eight years ago, so had Kate’s. They hadn’t been close friends back then. Kate was only two years older than her, but they had gone to different schools their entire lives. Emma had gone to the local public schools, but Kate’s family, one of the wealthiest in Hart’s Ridge, sent her to private school in Piedmont.
She had known of Kate, of course—gossip travelled fast between the two schools, so everyone knew about the pregnant senior. Kate had married her boyfriend, Georgef, right after graduation, the day after her eighteenth birthday. Ethan had joined the Army and was immediately deployed to the Middle East. Four years later he was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan, leaving her to raise their daughter, Jessica, alone.
“Fair enough,” Suzie said hastily.
“Sorry,” Emma muttered. “See? I’m too self-centered to be mayor.”
Kate snorted. “Right. Because the news shows us so many humble, generous politicians as examples.”
“You make a good point.”
“So back to Eli Carter. What’s the story?”
“Well, you already know that eight years ago, after her mom died and her dad got laid off, Emma’s dad was arrested for making meth with the intention to distribute it.”
Emma gritted her teeth. That was the charge, and it was technically accurate. Technically. But it wasn’t the truth, in her opinion. It wasn’t like her dad was hanging on street corners, making deals. He was the dealer’s source. Like...like a marijuana farmer, except he was a meth cooker. That was how she explained it to herself.
Kate nodded. “Go on.”
“Back then, Emma and Eli were...” Suzie hesitated. She looked at Emma. “Do you want to tell it?”
Emma shook her head. “I really, really don’t.”
“Okay. So back then, Emma and Eli were really close. They had been friends since, like, kindergarten. All three of us, and Luke, were friends in high school, but they were practically married.”
“We were not!” Emma yelled. “We never even went on a date. We were just friends.”
“Sure, whatever,” Suzie said in a tone that implied the opposite. “Anyway, after high school, Emma went to UNC and Eli joined the police force. When she came home for the summer, she discovered what her dad was up to. She confided in Eli, and he betrayed her. He arrested her dad.”
“Oh my God.” Kate’s eyes went wide as she digested this. “It’s like a soap opera. But holy crap, Emma, why did you tell a police officer your dad was cooking meth?”
“We were friends. Best friends,” Emma protested. “I didn’t know who else to turn to and he was...he was Eli. He was always the person I went to. I thought maybe he could help, because helping was what he did. Always. It’s not like I walked into the police station and filed a report. He wasn’t even on duty. I never thought he would arrest my dad.”
Emma bit her lip. That was true, wasn’t it? She hadn’t thought he would arrest her dad? It didn’t feel like a lie, exactly. Just...wrong, somehow. It was the truth, but maybe not the whole truth. The whole truth was buried in a deep, dark corner of her soul. If she shined a light there, what would she find? She didn’t want to know. Couldn’t bear to know.
She knew this much was true, at least: She loved her dad. When he was sentenced to ten years in prison, her life was turned upside down. That was Eli’s fault. And she would never forgive him for it.
“So what now?” Kate asked. “How are you two going to run this town together when we hate his guts?”
We. Emma appreciated that. Kate might enjoy a nice set of muscles, but she was nothing if not loyal.
“We made a deal. Communication will be one-hundred percent virtual. Texting, email, phone calls if we absolutely have to. Nothing face-to-face.” Emma lifted her fist, Scarlett O’Hara style.
“As God is my witness, I will never see Eli Carter again.”
***
The problem with making plans, Eli reflected, was that the universe had no qualms with breaking them for you.
He had been so sure that they could do this, that between modern technology and sheer stubbornness they could make this crazy arrangement work. So when Mrs. Whittaker called him early the next morning and asked him to meet her at City Hall, of course he had said yes. They needed to go over the basic housekeeping matters, such as getting him a badge and key to the building, passwords for the computer systems, and that sort of thing. Not to mention what the job of deputy mayor actually entailed, because Eli didn’t have a clue. As far as he knew, Mrs. Whittaker shook a lot of hands, kissed some babies, and...baked pies? There had to be more to it than that.
He hoped so, anyway. He wasn’t really the baby-kissing type. Although he did make a damn good apple pie.
He had figured he would meet with Mrs. Whittaker, get everything squared away, and text Emma after to give her the rundown. He was completely unprepared to hear Mrs. Whittaker say, “We’ll just wait for Emma and Thomas so we can get started.”
Eli blinked. “Come again?” he said, just to be sure.
“Emma and Thomas. He’s getting her badge taken care of right now, but they should be back any minute. No point in going over everything twice, is there?”
“I figured you would get me set up, and Mr. Whittaker would take care of Emma. Separately.”
Mrs. Whittaker laughed. “Don’t be silly. You will be working together, won’t you? Might as well start now. Anyway, it makes sense to do you both in one go.”
“I—”
“Yes?” Mrs. Whittaker looked at him expectantly.
Eli looked at her kind face and just couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her that Emma regarded him as a mortal enemy, and that she would rather shave her head than be in the same room with him. He couldn’t tell her they had made a deal to conduct all their business dealings virtually. If he told her all that, Mrs. Whittaker might decide they couldn’t leave after all, and the grandkids would have to wait another few years—if they lived that long. The Whittakers weren’t exactly young, and Mr. Whittaker had a minor heart attack a year ago.
Eli couldn’t have that on his conscience. His conscience had taken enough of a beating as it was.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he finished lamely. “We’ll do it together.”
Mrs. Whittaker beamed. “Wonderful.”
He doubted Emma would agree. No, Emma was going to kill him. Physically, none of this emotional warfare she had employed yesterday. She didn’t like firearms, but she struck him as the type to always have a pocketknife handy. She would have to get close enough to him to use it, though. Maybe even touch him. She might put her hand on his shoulder, catch him off guard. He didn’t want to be stabbed, so he’d have to find a way to disarm her without hurting her. They might have to wrestle...
“Are you all right, Eli?” Mrs. Whittaker asked. “You look a little flushed.”
He jerked to attention. What the hell was the matter with him? He was sitting in the deputy mayor’s office, half hard, fantasizing about a wrestling match with his ex-best friend. He was sick in the head. If Emma ever knew the turn his thoughts took, she would kill him twice.
The trouble was, there had been a distinct lack of sex in his life for far too long. Of good sex, that is. He and Claire managed to get naked usually twice a month, but it had been...well, the word placid came to mind, and that wasn’t a word that should have anything to do with sex. Placid rhymed with flaccid.
He was pretty sure Claire agreed with him on that, because when he had called her up last night to suggest they meet for coffee, she had sighed. He knew the sigh meant things were truly over between them, but she had followed it up with asking if maybe they could just break up over the phone, no hard feelings, because it was such a long drive. He was both relieved and a little insulted that she didn’t want to see him one last time, but he agreed. The whole thing was over in three minutes—a new record for him.
So it wasn’t that he needed to wrestle Emma. He needed sex—and he instinctively knew that sex with Emma wouldn’t be placid. It couldn’t be, because nothing about the way they felt for each other was calm or quiet.
He shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl-padded chair. “It’s a little warm in here.”
Mrs. Whittaker nodded apologetically. “It’s an old building. No air conditioning, but the ceiling fans work and the windows open. Still, you’re bound to feel the heat when temperatures get into the nineties, like today. Fortunately we don’t have many of those days.” She frowned, giving him an accusing stare as though he were personally responsible. “More than we had in my day, though.”
“Right.”
“There’s never enough money for those kinds of projects, it seems. We—oh, here they are now. Goodness, what happened to you?” Mrs. Whittaker exclaimed. “Thomas, you’re a mess.”
Eli turned in his chair to see what she was referring to. Mr. Whittaker was, in fact, a mess. His suit jacket was slung over one arm, and his face was red and dripping sweat.
“Elevators are out. Had to walk...six flights of stairs,” Mr. Whittaker panted. He made a beeline for the fan in the corner of the office, revealing Emma behind him. “Oof, that’s better. The stairwell was hot as Hades.”
“You should have gone slower, Thomas,” Mrs. Whittaker scolded, her forehead knit in a worried frown. “Doctor O’Hare warned you not to overexert yourself. Should I call her?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mr. Whittaker said, waving her off.
Watching them, Eli was more sure than ever that they were doing the right thing. Mr. Whittaker needed to retire for the sake of his health. He glanced at Emma, wondering if she’d come to the same realization.
Emma didn’t look messy—she looked mussed. Like...like she had been wrestling for control of a pocketknife. Her cheeks were glowing pink and her skin was glistening. Tiny blonde whisps had escaped her bun to frame her face like a halo. A bolt of lust socked him in the gut, followed quickly by annoyance. It wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to keep from touching her when she kept looking so...touchable?
He growled and everyone turned to look at him.
“It’s—it’s not right that City Hall is in such bad shape,” he said. “It’s one of the oldest buildings in Hart’s Ridge. It should be a source of pride.”
Mrs. Whittaker gave him a bemused look. “It’s wonderful to see you so...erm...passionate about our historical buildings, Eli. I’m sure you’ll think of some way to help during your tenure as deputy mayor. I feel so much better leaving the town in your hands, now that I see how strongly you feel about Hart’s Ridge.”
“Don’t know how you’ll fix up the place, seeing as we’re short on funds,” Mr. Whittaker broke in. “We’re always short on funds. You’ll learn to say no a lot in the next two months.”
Mrs. Whittaker glared at him briefly, then smiled again at Eli and Emma. “He’s not wrong. There’s never enough money for anything, it seems. Perhaps you could hold a bake sale,” she added brightly.
“A...a bake sale,” Eli repeated, dumbfounded. If the financial future of Hart’s Ridge rested on his ability to convince neighbors to buy baked goods, they were screwed. He glanced sideways at Emma, who was looking everywhere but at him. He sighed. “Sure, why not.”
“And there’s always the Fourth of July celebration. Maybe you could hold a raffle to raise the funds to renovate City Hall,” Mrs. Whittaker said.
At the mention of the Fourth of July celebration, Emma’s head snapped up. “The celebration?”
“You know about the celebration, Emma,” Mrs. Whittaker said, frowning slightly. “It happens every year. Fireworks, a Ferris wheel, food. This year is extra special because it’s the hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Hart’s Ridge.”
“I mentioned it to you yesterday, remember?” Mr. Whittaker interjected. “Permits and such.”
“Yes, but—” Emma looked at him for the first time since entering the room, her gray eyes full of panic. “But I thought...”
Aw, hell.
Eli cleared his throat. “I feel like this was maybe a bit downplayed when we agreed to take on these positions.”
The Whittakers exchanged guilty looks.
“The thing is, we would love to stay. The Fourth of July celebration is one of our favorite events. But Thomas’s health won’t allow it.” Mrs. Whittaker shook her head firmly. “The stress of planning an event like this is simply too much. Our house sold much faster than we thought it would, and we took that for a sign. It’s time for us to go.”
He couldn’t argue with that. The chair squeaked as he stood. “Will you excuse us for a moment? Ms. Andrews, step into the hallway with me for a minute, if you don’t mind.”
Judging from the look she shot him, she minded a whole lot, but she nodded and followed him out of the office. The moment the door shut behind them, she whirled on her toes to confront him.
“You said we wouldn’t have to see each other!” she hissed in a loud whisper. “It’s not even twenty-four hours later and here we are, seeing each other.”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We might have to amend our arrangement. There’s no way we can put together this kind of event without spending some time in the same room.”
She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “How much time?”
All the time. He wanted all the time. But she wasn’t going to give him that.
“An hour. Let’s say we meet for an hour every Wednesday. That’s it.”
“An hour? That’s it?”
“An hour. Not a second longer, I promise. We might not even need to keep meeting after the first few times. We just need to hit the ground running.”
“An hour on Wednesdays.” She pursed her lips. “Tomorrow is Wednesday.”
“Right.” He held his breath, waiting.
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”