If he hadn’t been pressed so close to her, he wouldn’t have noticed the fleeting stiffness of her muscles. “Ah. I didn’t know.”
“Very few people did. See, I was so busy that we’d been engaged almost four months and I still hadn’t made time to tell my family.”
“Maybe I’m a cynic, but to me that sounds more like you weren’t certain about her, rather than simply being too busy.”
Funny, Meredith had said almost the same thing when she gave him back the ring. He knew it wasn’t true, but she hadn’t believed him.
“Anyway, I left the office at a decent hour and spent the night thinking about what I really wanted.”
“Which was?”
“To help people.” He laughed. “I know. Corny, but true.”
“You are such a Boy Scout.”
The kiss she applied to his nose told him that she didn’t have any problems with that.
“I wasn’t going to help anyone except the partners by staying where I was. I sat down and figured out what I had to do, and then I spent the next night talking to Meredith about it.”
“I assume Meredith was the fiancée.”
“Right.”
“You didn’t think that she should have been part of those initial plans?”
“I had to figure it out for myself before I could talk to her. None of it was carved in stone except the part about changing jobs. The rest was open to negotiation.”
“I take it she didn’t see things the same way.”
“There was a strong difference of opinion as to what I should be doing with my life.”
“Is that lawyer-speak for you had a huge fight and she threw the ring in your face?”
“I means, she was fine with helping people as long as it meant staying in New York. City, not state.”
“That’s a pretty far cry from mayor of Calypso Falls, Sparky.”
“Tell me about it.” Frankly, he couldn’t have been happier about that. “She suggested working with some philanthropic organizations, something like that, and I did look into them. Most of them were doing some excellent work and I definitely could have made a difference working with them. But as I went on the interviews and did my research, it became clearer and clearer to me that I needed something different. More hands-on.”
“Allow me to say that I am a huge fan of the hands-on part.”
Damn, this woman was good for his ego. “Stop interrupting. I’ll never get back to the office.”
She clamped that alluring mouth closed, but the way she curled against him, her hand tightening at his waist, told him that she would be totally fine with him sticking around for a bit longer.
If only he had more time
“Anyway, there I was, hunting for something that felt right for me in the city, starting to get the eye at work because I wasn’t putting in my usual sixty-plus hours each week, and then my grandmother died. I came home for the funeral. The plan was to come down, stay a day or two, and then go back. But I got here, and it was like . . . I don’t know. Like I was seeing everything with new eyes. I saw people I’d grown up with who were buying houses and getting married and having kids, and they all seemed . . . I don’t know. Exhausted and busy, yeah, but in a different way. Like they were okay with it because they knew they were doing it for a good reason.”
“Like they had a purpose?”
“Exactly. Then my mom asked me to stay a couple of days longer to help her go through Grandma’s house, and I got in there and remembered that way back when I was a kid, my grandfather had set up the front part as his office—he was a lawyer, too—and I walked through and thought, damn. This would make a great legal office. And from there, everything fell into place.”
“Except Meredith.”
“Yeah. She tried. She did. I hoped that if we were here, where things would be a little slower-paced . . . But in the end, it turned out that she couldn’t see herself being happy here, even with me. And I couldn’t see myself being happy there, even with her.”
“Well that sucks. But trust me, it’s better to end an engagement than to go through a divorce.”
“It did suck.” But probably not as much as it should have. “As it turned out, she ended up meeting someone else pretty fast and got married within a year, so for her, it definitely worked out okay.”
“I’m glad.”
He laughed. “You were worried about a woman you never met?”
“Only in the theoretical sense. But if she hadn’t ended up in a better place, you wouldn’t have been able to really move on. So I’m glad she’s happy for your sake.”
Well, hell. He had never really thought about it that way, but as her words sank in, they felt so right that he knew she’d hit on the truth. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even started dating again until he heard that Meredith was engaged. He hadn’t made any connection—after all, moving and starting a new practice and renovating the house had taken a huge chunk of time—but now that Jenna mentioned it, he was pretty sure there had been something else at play there.
“How did you get to be so smart about that stuff?” he asked.
He felt, rather than saw, her smile against his chest. “Years of experience.”
Most of it hard-won, he was pretty sure.
He lifted his head to check the time, groaned, and kissed her forehead. “I really need to get back.”
“I know. Kyrie will be home soon anyway. But better something than nothing, right?”
He could have believed that a lot more easily if her smile hadn’t lacked its usual brightness.
“About the weekend . . .” He debated for a second. “I can’t guarantee it, okay? But you’re right. It would be good to get away.” He clarified. “It would be great to get away with you. So let me look at the schedule and see what I can and can’t move. If I can make this happen, I will.”
“Sounds more than good.”
On that, he couldn’t have agreed more.
***
Jenna wasn’t supposed to be at the debate. Not as a member of Cole’s team, anyway. But Allison’s kids had the flu and Ram had his hands full handling the information table and Tim was out of town and Aubrey called Jenna in a panic to say that she had a migraine coming on and she had to leave immediately while she could still drive home. So with twenty minutes to go before the debate, Jenna pulled into the parking lot at Town Hall. Ram was waiting by the door.
“Thanks for coming.,” he said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your job is to sit in the back, take notes on the debate and what you hear people saying about Cole and Tadeson, and try to avoid anyone seeing that you’re one of us.”
“Understood.”
He shoved a notebook into her hand and squeezed her arm. “Sorry if that sounded harsh. You know it’s not you.”
“I know.”
Town Hall was housed in a former elementary school. Jenna had vague memories of attending first grade here, but then everyone had been moved to the new school, which was on the (then) edge of the town and offered more room for a playground and soccer fields. All those former classrooms had been repurposed into offices and meeting spaces. The building housed the police station, the library, the senior center, and the town offices. All it needed was a doctor’s office and it could have been a real cradle-to-grave facility.
The debate was being held in the former auditorium/gymnasium. The pros? Lots of space to set up folding chairs. Good, because the room was filled close to capacity. The bad? There was no such thing as a dark corner. There wasn’t even a post to hide behind. Jenna felt like there was a spotlight on her as she made her way to the back corner opposite the door.
Head down, mouth shut, no eye contact . . . Jeez. Was she taking notes for a political campaign, or was she doing the walk of shame?
Given her name and history, it was probably a little of both.
There were two older women sitting in the prime chairs already. Jenna squinted and was pretty sure that she had seen at least one of them in Margie’s shop before. Probably best not to sit near them. She would get tugged into conversation and be unable to concentrate. Besides which, if she needed to escape, it would be difficult to do so if she was trapped in the middle of the row.
She eyed the bit of the floor in the corner, sighed, and gave silent thanks that she had pulled on her most comfortable shoes.
Once settled in the corner, she flipped open her notepad and bent over it, keeping her head down and her ears open. Right now it was hard to hear anything in particular. The crowd muttered. Chairs squeaked. Fans clicked on. Jenna did a cursory estimate of attendance and scanned the room in search of any potential donors or event hosts. She spotted a couple of possibilities and was writing down names when there was a new energy to the modified din surrounding her.
Time to start? Probably. She finished making her note, raised her head from her pad, and spotted a gut-sinkingly familiar face marching toward the back of the room.
Dear God in Heaven, what was her father doing here?
Rob’s face was the definition of blank as he hunted for an empty seat. The din shifted into a constant sibilant whisper: “Elias . . . Elias . . . Elias.”
Jenna looked down again, fast, praying that Rob hadn’t spotted her. She didn’t think he had. But as she monitored him from the corner of her eye, holding her breath as he continued toward the back of the room, she had the terrifying feeling that he was headed straight for her. Why else would he be bypassing the few empty seats?
Though maybe years in prison had left him with that same feeling that cops always had, that they needed to sit with their back to the wall and a clear view of everything around them.
Head bowed, she waited.
Nothing.
At last, shielding her face with her notebook, she risked a glance. Rob was on the other side of the auditorium, standing against the wall about halfway between the back of the room and the stage. He had a clear view of the room, the stage, and her.
Maybe she could move . . .
But just then, the moderator—the teacher in charge of the high school’s debate team, how cute—stepped up to the microphone. The lights dimmed slightly. Jenna shrank back into the shadows, ordered her leg to behave, and prayed that she could get through this without screwing up anything.
Breathe, Jenna. Concentrate. This is for Cole.
She allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight of him behind his podium. Good man. He’d gone with the solid navy suit she had suggested, rather than the pinstripe one Allison had favored. The pinstripe went better with his eyes, but the deep blue looked richer and more substantial beneath the lights. When he was up against Tadeson’s slightly gray respectability, his whole aura of trustworthiness, Cole needed all the Solid and Knowledgeable points he could get.
The moderator introduced Tadeson first, giving a brief rundown of his years in office and notable achievements. Applause was hearty. He had a lot of fans in the town, no doubt about it.
Next came Cole. Jenna jotted down the key points of his bio as if she had never met the man. Did they really need to mention his years in corporate law? Good, remind folks he grew up in the area. Grandparents from Calypso Falls, lawyer, solid citizen . . . whoa. Eagle Scout?
She shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Mr. Tadeson, you’ll start us off tonight. Here’s the first question. Downtown Calypso Falls underwent a transformation a few years ago, but recently, the number of empty storefronts and office spaces has begun to increase once again. What is your plan for dealing with the exodus from downtown?”
Tadeson launched into his answer, making sure to work in mentions of his years as a volunteer firefighter and his own days running a shoe store downtown. He was good. The crowd loved him.
Damned crowd.
Cole stepped up and let the applause for Tadeson fade away. He waited a beat before smiling at the crowd.
He had a great smile.
Jenna could feel the shift in the crowd. People sat up a little straighter. They stopped muttering. Jenna could almost feel the folks around her readjusting their glasses and cocking their heads and waiting eagerly to hear what he had to say.
Tadeson was well liked, that was for certain. But if she had to pick one word to express how the audience felt about Cole, right at this moment, she would have to say that they were open.
Maybe this wasn’t such a Don Quixote campaign after all.
“It’s funny that you should mention your store, Paul,” Cole began, “because I remember my grandmother taking me there when I was a kid.”
He launched into a story about visiting the shoe store, stopping in for ice cream when the shoes were purchased, walking along the edge of the fountain that stood in the small green space in the heart of downtown. Jenna heard a few chuckles. She spotted a number of heads nodding, heard murmurs of agreement as Cole discussed previous efforts for revitalizing the area, praising Tadeson for what was already in place, then outlining his own plan that revolved around the creation of a pedestrian mall and better parking.
A thrill of pride shot through her at the enthusiastic applause that greeted his proposal. The increased buzz of conversation also seemed to be in Cole’s favor. She had to stare at her notebook to hide the broad grin that she was pretty sure would proclaim to one and all that she was part of Team Dekker. All of a sudden she felt a lot more sympathy for obnoxious parents at school performances who made sure everyone within hearing knew that the prodigy performing up on stage was their kid.
Not that Cole was her guy. They weren’t officially dating. They weren’t officially anything. But still, it was hard to stop the bubble of happy rising inside her when she heard that applause and thought, hey, that awesome guy standing up there, answering questions and energizing the crowd? Yeah. That awesome guy likes me.
Talk about a heady sensation.
Her joy continued through the debate. Cole never destroyed Tadeson, never wiped the floor with him, but as the night went on it became clear that the audience was impressed. They leaned forward when he spoke and listened more attentively. In fairness, this could simply be the novelty factor. They’d all known Tadeson for so long and heard him so many times that he was like a song you could sing in your sleep. Cole, though, was a fresh new voice. Of course he was going to generate interest. The fact that the fresh new voice was saying things they liked was a bonus.
She finished recording notes about the audience response to his discussion of the fire station issue, wrote down a reminder that they needed to schedule another meeting with the fire chief, then stopped before she could add the next point. Her skin felt . . . prickly. Not tight, but like every cell on her skin had gathered itself up in preparation for running away.
She was pretty sure of the cause even before she raised her head and spotted her father staring at her.
If he was expecting a wave or a smile, he was SOL. She returned his gaze with all the calm disinterest she could fake, even while her feet twitched from the need to flee. When she felt certain she’d made her point, she faced forward again, eyes firmly on Cole while she sent out telepathic orders to Rob to behave, damn it.
Somewhere out of the blue, a memory surfaced. One of Rob’s events. A parade, or a ribbon cutting, maybe. He loved to bring his girls along to those things. She remembered standing beside Bree, both of them in their poufy red plaid dresses—yes, it must have been Christmas—holding hands while a bunch of grown-ups cheered and clapped. But it had been too loud for her. Bree was okay, she was two years older, but Jenna vividly remembered going from happy and proud to scared and needy in the space of a breath. She let go of Bree’s hand, ready to turn and grab Daddy’s leg and cling to him, but before she could do that—before she could say anything or make any other move—Rob swept her up into his arms and cuddled her close. She could still smell his Old Spice as she buried her face into his shoulder. She could still feel his arms tight around her. She could still hear his voice, low against her ear, whispering that it was okay. She was okay. Daddy had her. And nothing had ever felt safer.
A burst of laughter from the audience drew her back to the moment. She lifted her chin and pushed the memory deep into the brain-closet where it belonged. Rob Elias had nothing to do with safety or security. His very presence here had her apprehensive, and if anyone were to see him and her and figure out her association with Cole . . .
This was why she had to get out of Calypso Falls. She needed to be someplace where she wouldn’t have to always worry that her name and parentage would be—at best—a complication.
Shit, but she wished she hadn’t been called in tonight.
She spent the remainder of the debate with her head down and her eyes averted, save for occasional sideways glances to ensure that Rob hadn’t moved. She didn’t even allow herself to look up when Cole gave an answer that had the audience roaring with laughter—an answer that drew on a story she had told him just three days earlier.
She would have loved to see his face as the crowd responded to her tale. She would have loved to be able to watch him grin as he approached the punch line, to see the faint blush that she knew would have crept across his face at the enthusiastic response. He was the most “aw shucks” guy she had ever met. Missing out on this chance was yet another in the long list of opportunities Rob Elias had stolen from her.
At last the official portion of the debate was over. The moderator thanked both candidates and announced that they would each take three questions from the audience. As hands shot into the air, a voice that Jenna had dreaded boomed out from the side of the room.
“I would like to know Mr. Dekker’s position on ways the town can support people who are starting over. Folks returning from deployment, folks who have managed to get clean and sober.” He paused slightly. “People who have been incarcerated.”
What the hell? What was this, some power play to make her acknowledge him? Or had he— Oh, crap. Had Rob figured out there was something happening between her and Cole? Was he trying to find out if Cole might be an ally?
She ducked her head and hunched her shoulders and stared at the white paper in her notebook so intently that she feared she might go snow-blind.
“That’s an interesting question,” Cole said. “I’m not sure if it falls under the town’s jurisdiction. It seems to me you’re talking about an area that is better addressed with county or state resources. However, I certainly can see that it would be worth looking into the town’s hiring practices to ensure that we are doing all we can to assist those who need a new direction, while making sure that we are still maintaining a quality staff that can give the taxpayers the performance they deserve.”
Good answer. If nothing else, Cole had just proved that he could think on his feet.
The moderator wasn’t as impressed, and uttered a reminder that questions were to come through him instead of being shouted out. But before he could choose someone, Tadeson stepped up to the microphone and said, “Hang on a minute, Mike. I’d like to know why Mr. Elias would ask that.”
From the emphasis Tadeson placed on the Elias, it was clear he wanted to be sure everyone in attendance knew who they were dealing with.
Rob shrugged. “Obviously, as a resident of Calypso Falls once again, I have a vested interest. But I’m not the only one. People coming back from deployment, people who have been laid off, people who have been sick or, say, recovering a long time from an injury. There’s lots of reasons why they might need a second chance.”
Holy shit. Had he just equated his law-breaking with her accident?
She was going to slip out the side door. She was going to hide in the shadows and follow him to his car. And then she was going to . . . .
She didn’t know. Slashing his tires seemed a bit extreme, not to mention probably impossible to do with a ballpoint pen. She sure as hell wasn’t going to confront him in a public place.
Maybe she could wait for him to come back to the shop and roofie his coffee. Then, while he was out, she and her sisters could tie him up and stuff him in a trunk and ship him off on the next bus leaving town.
Tadeson, the fool, was replying to Rob’s comment. Why? He was too smart to engage. Maybe he was trying to find a loophole, some way to use this against Cole. It didn’t matter, though, for Rob obviously had forgotten nothing in his years away from politics.
“Here’s how I see it,” he continued, walking into the center of the room. “People always say three strikes and you’re out, and yeah, after the third time they might have a point. But it seems to me that too many folks are ready to jump after just one screwup. When you’re trying to come back from making a mess of things—and, yes, I am talking from personal experience—sometimes it’s like there’s a line going down the middle of life, with all the people who are looking for a fresh start on one side and everyone else on the other. And the people who are sitting pretty right now seem to have forgotten that everyone messes up sometimes.”
Any hope that the moderator could regain control of the evening ended when someone in the audience shouted out, “That’s for damned sure!” Rob nodded and pointed to the guy. The crowd buzzed. Mayor Tadeson said something into his microphone but it was swallowed up by the mounting buzz. Jenna peered over the edge of her notebook to see her father holding court in the center of the room, talking to an ever-growing circle while an equal number of members of the audience made their way toward the door. The moderator shrugged and walked away. Up on the stage, Cole and the mayor exchanged a look that was equal parts resignation and annoyance. Tadeson shook his head and stalked off the stage. Cole leaned into his microphone and offered his thanks to those in attendance. Jenna was pretty sure that she was the only one who heard him.
Just before he left his podium, Cole took in the scene before him, then searched the room until his gaze landed directly on Jenna. He seemed to be taking her measure. It hit her that he was checking up on her, making sure she was okay.
She risked a direct look. Offered an apologetic smile. Read his glance toward her father and answered it with a shrug and an eye roll.
With a brisk nod, he left the stage. And in the middle of her embarrassment and anger and worry and all the other crap pulsing through her, a little ember of comfort glowed deep down inside.
It really was a good thing she was leaving town. Because damn, it would be easy to love this guy.
***
The morning after the debate, Cole wasn’t the least bit surprised by the front page story in the morning paper that gave almost as many column inches to Rob Elias as to either him or the incumbent. Nor could he say he was caught off guard by the text that showed up on his phone.
I feel the strangest urge to apologize for the way things turned out. I guess blood really is thicker than water, because I can’t help feeling that part of his behavior was due to my presence.
He knew you were there?
Oh yeah. He spotted me pretty early on.
And she had stayed through the rest of the debate? Damn. That was dedication.
I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, he typed.
My brain agrees with you. My conscience is being a lot less forgiving.
I think maybe you’ll have to apologize in person.
Excellent idea, except my sister is home tonight.
It was on the tip of his fingers to suggest that she come to his place. It wasn’t like he had to worry about neighbors drawing conclusions. The stately homes on either side of him had been turned into offices years ago, as had almost all of the houses on the street. He was one of the few who both lived and worked in his neighborhood.
But given the headlines in that day’s paper, and the wall calendar showing him that that the election was terrifyingly close, he probably needed to err on the side of caution.
Choir practice is Thursday, right?
Right. But I have a seminar I have to attend.
Good thing you invited me along to Brockport.
You’re coming????????
He grinned. It was impossible not to. He had a pretty good idea that every question mark had been accompanied by a bounce or a squeal. Maybe both.
Let me put it this way: if you’re there, I’m coming.
Her response was a highly suggestive emoticon that had him smothering his laughter when his paralegal tapped on the door.
“You have a visitor,” David said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. “And I want to be sure you’re not needed in court or anything before I let him in.”
What the . . .
Elias, David mouthed.
Oh shit.
Cole could either try to avoid the man for the next month, or he could get things on the table and move on.
“It’s okay, David. Send him in.”
A moment later, Rob walked in, as strong and confident as if he had never hijacked a debate. Or done time in Club Fed. Or harassed his daughter.
That was the one that kept Cole from standing as the older man entered.
“Mr. Elias.” He didn’t bother waving toward the chair on the other side of the desk. “What do you need?”
Rob didn’t so much as flinch. Nor did he bother to ask permission before seating himself.
So it was going to be that kind of visit.
“I’m here to tell you about a project I have planned.”
“Really.” Not to apologize for his behavior. Not to inquire as to why Cole happened to be around each time Jenna had to boot Rob’s ass out of the shop. He was here about a project?
If Cole hadn’t already been inclined to dislike the man, this in itself would have done the trick.
“I’m sure you know my background as well as the rest of the country does,” Rob said. “I made some bad choices, I served my time, I’m a free man again. I’ve had plenty of time to think over the past few years. People always talk about the need to train prisoners for jobs, get them educated, make sure they have a skill they can use when they get out so they don’t have to go back to whatever got them locked up. I’m here to tell you that one of the biggest ways to make sure prisoners have a reason to stay straight is by helping them maintain strong ties with their families while they’re inside.”
“An interesting perspective, coming from a man who chose to let his family believe he was dead for five years.”
“As I said, I made a lot of bad choices. Ones I wouldn’t make now if I’d have known how they would backfire.”
Cole studied the man. Years of reading the faces of clients and witnesses had given him a pretty good ability to tell the difference between truth and bullshit. It wasn’t any one behavior or expression that gave them away, and to tell the truth, he usually couldn’t pinpoint what activated his suspicions. All he knew was that his gut usually was right. In this case, his gut was saying that Rob’s expressions of regret were based in truth.
Interesting.
“Never having been in prison, I can’t agree or disagree with what you’re saying. What I would like to know is why you’re telling me about this.” Cole sat back in his chair. “I assume it has something to do with your question at the debate.”
“It does. By the way, I didn’t expect things to turn out like that. My question was legitimate, but I didn’t anticipate that things would snowball the way they did.”
Cole delivered his best nonverbal, squinty-eyed, Are you shitting me?
Rob shifted slightly. Embarrassed? “And I admit, old habits die hard. Even when it’s been almost two decades since they were needed.”
That, Cole could believe.
“My point is that I want to do something about the disruption that happens in a family when a member is incarcerated. I’m working with people to create a not-for-profit that will tackle this. Education, model programs, new regulations.”
“People will say that those who are in prison made their choice and don’t deserve to be coddled.”
“That might be. But does a child deserve to lose touch with a parent because that parent screwed up? People who break the law should be punished. Their families shouldn’t.”
Cole hated to admit it, but Rob had a point. A very small one, but still it was there.
“I’m sure there are already organizations that are addressing this issue.”
“There are. But there’s none that has the kind of backing I can secure.” He glanced down at the floor, swiftly. “And none of them have someone who knows how to work the system and who is instantly identified with the issue.”
Ah. That was true.
“All right, Mr. Elias. I confess, I’m interested. But I still don’t know why you’re coming to me. Even if I should win—”
“You’ll win. I know how to gauge a crowd. You had them in your pocket last night.”
Considering the source, Cole wasn’t sure if he should be encouraged or insulted.
“Thank you, but that was a small percentage of the voters. In any case, even if I win, being mayor of Calypso Falls won’t give me any ability to help your cause. As I said last night, this sounds like something that would be better served by looking to the state.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I believe the town has an empty fire station, correct?”
Cole had a sudden suspicion that he knew where this was going.
“Right. Station One was torn down after the consolidation but Station Two is for sale.”
“Or the town could rent it to the Family Ties Alliance.”
Way back when Cole was in law school, one of his professors had made an offhand comment that when a client or judge or anyone said something that was so unexpected that it was almost impossible to not laugh, the best way to buy time—and composure—was by repeating the statement back to them. Cole had lost count of how many times he had sent that prof a mental thank-you note.
This time, though, he might need to sit down and write out an actual letter of gratitude.
“You want me to promise to lease Fire Station Two to your organization.”
“That is correct.”
Well, one thing was abundantly clear. Cole now understood which parent had given Jenna the ability to ask for the impossible.
“Mr. Elias, you seem to understand the value of speaking clearly, so I won’t mince words. Partnering with you would be political suicide.”
“Of course it would be. That’s why I wouldn’t expect you to address the issue until after the election.”
“Interesting suggestion. Have you looked at my campaign brochures? The ones that talk about the need for openness and transparency?”
“Yes I have. They’re very well-done. I notice that none of your campaign materials mention my daughter.”
Cole stopped the reflexive jerk just in time. “No, they don’t.”
“By mutual agreement?”
“I can’t see how that is remotely any concern of yours.”
“Believe it or not, Cole, the happiness and welfare of my daughters will always be my concern.”
Sitting very still in his chair—mostly because he feared that if he moved, he would be tempted to lift the other man by the collar and physically shove him out the door—Cole tried to see beyond the words. Rob was after something. That was a given. Was he here simply to discuss his organization, or was he nosing around to see if he could get to Jenna through Cole?
“Mr. Elias, I admire the work you’re planning to do. It sounds like a cause that needs to be addressed, and I can see how you would be the right person to do it. However, that’s all I can give you, now or in the future. If and when I’m elected, if you want to bring your request to the town planning board, you are free to do so.”
Rob watched him intently before shrugging. “I’ll be on my way then.”
“I think that’s a good plan.” And one that was long overdue.
Rob stood and hesitated. Cole braced himself for a handshake. Instead, Rob shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Not many men would have dared to let anyone with my name be part of their staff. I think that says a lot about you, Cole. You’ll do what’s right for this town.”
“That’s the plan.”
Rob walked to the door. Hand on the knob, he stopped. Without turning around he said, “If you could tell Jenna that I hope she’s happy . . . I would appreciate that very much.”
Cole had no desire or plan to become a message carrier for Rob Elias, of all people. But there was such naked yearning in the other man’s voice that he couldn’t brush the request aside.
“I’ll pass that on.”
Rob’s head bowed. And Cole had the strong impression that, while Rob might have been sincere in his requests about the organization, his true purpose in showing up on Cole’s door had now been accomplished.