Mayday (22 page)

He heard the front door open, her quick tread going down his porch steps. The door closed again a few seconds later as she returned inside. The distinctive rustle of paper came from the entry hall, and he knew she was skimming the news articles ahead of time, making sure she could break the news to him gently if she had to.

The minute she spent reading dragged into an eternity of waiting. And when she appeared at the doorway to the bedroom, he couldn't decipher her expression.

“You ready?” Her eyes met his, and he nodded in agreement.

With a deep breath shuddering through his lungs, he reached for the paper she held out to him, turned it right side up, and braced himself. Then he began to read.

“T
old you,” Helen said with satisfaction.

“I can't believe it,” Wes repeated for the umpteenth time, flipping through the paper to look at the headlines again. On the first page alone, two separate articles: M
AY
D
AY
C
ELEBRATION
D
RAWS
T
HOUSANDS TO
D
OWNTOWN
and L
OCAL
B
USINESSES
S
EE
R
ECORD
S
ALES
. In the op-ed section, two more: M
AY
D
AY
E
VENT
R
EMINDS
U
S OF
I
MPORTANCE OF
C
OMMUNITY
and S
PRINGTIME FOR
N
ICEVILLE
, T
HANKS TO THE
M
AYOR
.

Nothing about penises. Only a line or two about so-called “minor setbacks,” despite the inherent newsworthiness of a mayor trespassing on a constituent's property and being greeted with a shotgun. Apparently, Mark had done a good job getting everything wrapped up for the night, because Wes couldn't see anything indicating problems after he and Helen had left. Overall, he couldn't have asked for better media coverage of the weekend.

Wes took a long, slow breath. “We did it. We really did it.”

“Of course.” Her brows rose as she sent him a pointed look. “At the risk of repeating myself, I told you the event would be successful. I said you could make it work, no matter how many protests, disappearing Maypoles, and flaming trees got in your way. So, in conclusion, once again, I told you so.”

She grinned at him, her dimples peeking out. “I love being right.”

“You and every other woman on the face of the Earth.” But he couldn't resist leaning forward and giving each of those adorable indentations a kiss.

“Come on,” she said. As he watched with interest, she stripped out of her dress and kicked off her shoes. “Like men don't get all smug when they're proven correct about something. They usually just assume they're right from the beginning, though. You haven't lived until a smelly male patron has mansplained the G-spot and menstruation to you, all while itching his belly and spraying you with saliva when he talks.”

His face had apparently healed sometime in the last couple of days. When he cringe-laughed, it didn't even hurt. “I'm going to ignore that image in favor of the much more attractive one in front of me. Are you coming back to bed?”

She shot a quick glance at his lap, where the sheet was rapidly forming a tent. “Though I'm impressed by your, uh”—her lips quirked—“remarkable vigor, I need to get going. Today's a workday for me.”

This time, she put on her underwear before donning the dress again. At the sight of so much delicious flesh disappearing from view, he couldn't help it. He pouted a little.

“Call in today,” he coaxed. “You've been working so hard. Don't you deserve a day off?”

Her brow furrowed as she slid her shoes back on her pale feet. “You've forgotten, huh?”

“Forgotten what?”

She was burned onto his brain, every inch of her. He couldn't forget her if he wanted to.

“Forgotten that I have my interview later today. I'm the last person they're talking to, so I'll find out whether I got the Community Outreach position in the next couple of days.” She didn't look at him as she checked the room for any other scattered possessions.

Oh, Christ
. In the midst of all the May Day craziness, he
had
forgotten.
You're a sucky boyfriend
, he told himself.
Too focused on your own future to remember hers
.

He suspected, though, that he'd also pushed the interview out of his mind for another reason. A tiny, selfish part of him didn't want her to get the job. Didn't want anything tying her to Niceville, so that when he left, she'd have no reason to stay behind. Other than her family, of course. And her friends. And the rest of the life she'd built for herself.

He wanted her to be happy. And he didn't want her to think he didn't care about her life or her dreams. He did care about them. He simply wanted to be at the center of them all.

“I apologize, baby.” He stood and tugged her into his arms. “I should have thought about the interview. I know it'll go well, though. How could it not? You're the perfect person for the job. And you have a glowing recommendation from the mayor to bring with you if the search committee needs a little extra persuasion.”

“Um . . .” She bit her bottom lip.

“What?” he asked, confused by her hesitation. “Did you misplace it? Do you need me to print you another copy?”

She sighed. “I'm not using the recommendation. Everyone pretty much knows we're involved, so you kind of lost your credibility as an unbiased observer of my work.”

“Shit, Helen. I'm so sorry.” He stepped back and peered at her face, trying to read her expression. Was she angry at him?

But she gave him a faint smile, even though her eyes seemed a bit sad. “I'm not. No matter what happens, I don't regret our time together.”

His eyes narrowed. That sounded kind of... odd. Almost as if their relationship was in the past already. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Fine. I just need to get going.” She went on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss. “Wish me luck.”

“You won't need it,” he said against her lips. “But good luck. I'll call this afternoon and find out how the interview went.”

“Thanks. And I'll be wishing you luck for your conversation with Bea.”

After a last, bone-crunching squeeze of her arms around his waist, she headed for the door. Deep in thought, he watched her pull out of his driveway. Just like yesterday afternoon, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. But what was it? Was she angry he'd forgotten her interview? Frustrated that their relationship had taken away the usefulness of his recommendation? Just tired?

Before he could come up with a good working theory, he heard his phone ring. It was buried in the pocket of his jeans from last night, so it took a while to find. Midway through the fourth ring, he finally grabbed it and saw who was calling.

Bea. It was time for her verdict.

“Hello?” He tried to hide his breathlessness and anxiety, struggling to sound calm. Professional. Like the sort of man to whom she could entrust the future of her city.

“Good work, Mayor Ramirez,” she said in her cool voice. “I see from the morning paper that this weekend proved successful. Your May Day celebration drew locals and tourists to your downtown, brought the community back together, and did great things for your local businesses. Everything you wanted.”

“Thank you.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I appreciate your kind words.”

“It was everything you wanted,” she repeated, and then paused. “Also everything we want in Clearport.”

His eyes closed. He waited for her decision, afraid to hope. Worried that he was misinterpreting the drift of her comments.

“You've convinced me. I made a few calls this morning, and my three colleagues agree. We'll offer you our wholehearted support if you run for mayor of Clearport.”

Relief and exultation exploded inside him at her words, and he clutched the edges of his bedside table for support.

At last, he could see a future outside Niceville. There was a big world waiting for him, one in which he could make a name for himself. Make himself, Helen, and his parents proud. No more small potatoes. No more disappointment and failure and dashed dreams.

Stay cool
, he ordered himself.
Don't let her sense how anxious you were about this
.

“Glad to hear it.” He let go of the table and stood up straight. “What's the next step?”

“As we discussed previously, we'd love for you to visit Clearport on Thursday so you can attend a City Council session. The good news is that we don't have to keep you a secret anymore,” she said dryly. “The bad news is that you're probably going to endure some grilling from our opponents, who'll be looking for weaknesses they can exploit during your campaign. If you choose to run, that is. I don't expect a final answer from you until after your visit.”

Should he answer now? He already knew he'd accept, no matter what happened. But he didn't want to seem overeager. He also didn't want her to question his ability to make calm, considered decisions.

“Sounds good.” He cleared his throat. “I'll move my meetings for Thursday and Friday, so I can stay through the weekend.”

Maybe he could even convince Helen to go with him. Could she get the time off? Surely someone should be able to cover for her.

“I'm heading back to Virginia today, but I'll be in touch tomorrow with more specific plans,” Bea said. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns.”

“Will do.”

As soon as he disconnected the call, he scrolled through his contacts, looking for Helen's number. Then he paused and reconsidered. He didn't want to distract her before her big interview. She'd dreamed of that job for a long time, and he refused to let his thoughtlessness or excitement over his own news overshadow her opportunity.

Of course, he also hoped the interview's outcome would prove immaterial to her future. Whether she got the Community Outreach position or not, he wanted her with him in Clearport. As his girlfriend, at the very least. Maybe even as his fiancée or wife.

He'd go to the library in person later, he decided. After her interview. Hopefully both of them would have good news to celebrate.

 

She called him as he was driving to the library that afternoon, but since he was only five minutes away from seeing her, he didn't answer.

When he got to the Downtown Niceville Library, he didn't bother to visit the library director or any of the officials with whom he met so frequently. Instead, he strode straight to the third floor Adult Reference desk, where Helen was likely stationed. At the top of the stairs, he saw her bright head of curls behind a computer and smiled in anticipation as he drew closer.

If he read her body language correctly, the interview must have gone well. She was beaming, laughing with a patron near her desk, her expression warm and animated.

Then he got a better look at the man standing near her, and Wes halted in his tracks.

Not a patron. She was laughing with Sam, the IT guy she'd dated at least once.

“No kidding,” she was saying to him. “At this point, Marvel could pretty much pick a random box of tissues from a single frame of one of their comics, create a story starring that box of tissues, and make it a blockbuster. It's crazy.”

He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but Sam obviously did. He probably understood all the references she made to various books and movies in her horrifying stories too. Unlike Wes.

“Marvel would give it a catchphrase and sell little plastic tissue boxes as action figures,” Sam agreed. “It would say something like—”

“Blow me!” she cried.

They burst out laughing. Then Helen finally noticed Wes standing to the side, and she started in surprise.

“Wes!” She came out from behind the desk and grabbed his hand. “I didn't expect to see you this afternoon. Did you get my message?”

He used that hand to pull her closer. “You called while I was driving. I haven't had a chance to listen to it yet.” Wrapping a possessive arm around Helen's shoulders, he turned to Sam. “I don't think we've officially met. I'm Wes, Helen's boyfriend.”

The other man's lips quirked upward at the special emphasis Wes put on the last two words. “Yes. I figured that out at some point.”

“Good.” Wes turned back to Helen and smiled down at her, tacitly dismissing Sam. “Can you take a break now? I want to hear about your interview, and I have some news too.”

A voice came from behind them. “I can watch the desk for the rest of your shift, Ms. Murphy. Why don't you go home? I know you worked long hours over the weekend because of the May Day celebration.”

When they turned, he saw a familiar-looking woman with a steel-gray bob and sharp but kind eyes. Tina, the assistant library director, if he remembered correctly. He didn't usually have meetings with Tina, but he'd heard good things about her from both the director and Helen.

Helen slid out from under his arm, despite his subtle resistance. “Are you sure?”

The older woman nodded. “You've earned a break.”

She seemed surprised when Helen strode over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Tina. For everything.”

Well, that seems like a good sign
, he thought.
The interview couldn't have gone too badly if she's kissing Tina, rather than kicking her
.

Helen's hand reached for his again. “Bye, Sam. Bye, Tina. See you tomorrow!”

She tugged him back toward the stairs, speaking quietly as they left. “I can't wait to talk to you in private.”

He murmured back, “I can't wait to do other things in private too.”

“Perv.” But she was smiling as they hustled to the parking lot.

As soon as they climbed into his truck and closed the doors, she swiveled toward him. “Spill it,” she ordered.

He couldn't suppress a wide grin. “Bea called. I have her support.”

He didn't have time to say anything else before she pounced on him and planted a smacking kiss on his lips. “I knew it. I told you so!”