Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 26

  “Where do you get it?”

  “Nana, of course.”

  “That makes sense. But she’s not as … sunshiny.”

  “I know. She has that layer of cosmopolitan that I could never have. She must have gotten that in the sixties.”

  He went back to his papers.

  “You have a lot to be hopeful about,” she said. “You’ll probably win.”

  “See?” He stared at her with a perfectly serious face. “You’re still thinking that maybe you can.” He gave a short laugh. “And guess what? You just might.”

  The truth was, she understood what he was saying, and she wasn’t offended. But she wanted him to wake up from this dark mood he was in. “Of course I think I might win. Why would I run, otherwise? That’s like saying you want to ride your bicycle to the store, but you ride it in place instead. I’m not conducting a campaign just to conduct a campaign. It’s going somewhere. And even if I lose, I’m not done. Expect to see me at Town Hall.”

  He shook his head. Clasped the briefcase shut. “I have to go.” He walked up to her. Stopped.

  Maybe because she refused to move. “You never answered me about tonight.” There. She was moving, pumping those bike pedals, going somewhere.

  He looked at her shoes, beautiful heels bought in Asheville. “I can’t make it,” he said quietly.

  And then he walked by her. He didn’t push. He just hoped she would move, and she did. Slowly, like a rusty drawbridge, she moved, and he got by without even having to touch her.

  His hard luck.

  He walked out the front door, and Cissie went upstairs, picked up the consolation prize of a book, ripped off the sticky note, burned the message from Boone in a candle on the bureau (after having to look for matches for a full minute, which she eventually found in a nightstand drawer), and stuffed the book under the armchair seat cushion, where Dexter had to sit on it. It wasn’t fair to Dexter. But he adjusted quite nicely.

  And that was that.

  Maybe some future guest would find it there.

  As for Cissie, she was off to work at the library and campaign when she could for one more day. She had twelve assured votes and trembled with love thinking of those dozen people: Nana, Laurie, Sally, Mrs. Hattlebury (not the colonel—theirs was a house divided), her new hair stylist, the manager at her new favorite clothing store at the outlet mall in Asheville (she lived in Kettle Knob), Starla’s dishwasher, and the five members of the Friends of the Library who could vote (one was a Canadian and ineligible).

  She really hoped she’d crack a hundred votes so Boone would see he wasn’t quite a lock in the town of two thousand constituents. She also hoped he’d see that the woman whose free hot-tub-champagne-and-sex ticket he’d just rejected was someone he’d miss. She wasn’t going to hang out with a guy who treated her like a rusty drawbridge he needed to pass—

  However much she was in love with him.

  * * *

  The polls opened at 7:00 a.m., and Cissie was there casting her vote, her confusion and heartache about Boone hidden deep away. Today, she was running for mayor. She needed to focus on that. Even so, she couldn’t help hoping that she’d see him at the elementary school, where the voting booths were set up in the cafeteria.

  All she craved was a smile, some sense that what had happened that morning between them was a mistake.

  But they didn’t cross paths.

  Her heart was heavy when she unlocked the library earlier than usual and started going through old magazines to make up for all the time she’d lose that afternoon. She managed to stay busy—she didn’t really want to see anyone; she wished she could hide in the stacks all day—but at 8:00, she got a call from Laurie.

  “You’re not going to believe this—your Sunday Morning Coffee segment is on the network’s national weekday morning show instead. They bumped it up! I hit record—I missed getting the first twenty seconds, but that was just Anne Silver introducing the story to the anchors.”

  “Why?”

  “Shush, I’m listening!”

  Cissie strained to hear. “How is it?”

  “Sssh!” said Laurie. “Oh, my God … There you are at The Log Cabin, looking like Annette Funicello from one of those old beach movies. You need to do your hair like that again.”

  “Laurie! Put the phone closer to the TV so I can hear.”

  “Don’t you have a TV down there?”

  “But I have to go pull it out of the closet and plug it in!”

  “Hurry. That was a preview. They’re going to commercial, and they’ll run the whole thing when they get back.”

  Cissie got the TV set up in forty-five seconds. Another twenty seconds went by before it warmed up, then she had to switch channels, and there—

  There was Boone, kissing her in the shed. She was leaning on his truck.

  “What? Why is that on TV?” she yelled into the phone.

  “Um, because it’s cute? And romantic?” Laurie said. “You two look so good together.”

  “But it was private!”

  Cissie watched in horror as Anne’s voice-over said, “Neither candidate admitted that they were romantically involved, although this video tells a different story.” The camera panned across Boone’s house. “The two candidates for mayor share this residence, although admittedly, Miss Rogers’s own home is uninhabitable at the moment.”

  Then Cissie was on-screen. “A tree went through the roof. And we needed a place to stay. Boone’s got a very nice, big house.”

  She gasped. “They edited the heck out of that. I sound like such an opportunist! I was trying to say that I was glad we weren’t going to get in his way. I told you Anne didn’t like me.”

  “Gosh,” said Laurie. “The way they manipulate things, it’s … it’s not right.”

  “The question is”—Anne was on-screen again—“why stay at the opposing candidate’s home at all when you have an entire small town of friends to choose from?”

  And then there were brief screenshots of various residents of Kettle Knob chatting at Starla’s before the footage returned to Anne in the studio. “Most folks around here,” she said, “claim they would have let Miss Rogers and her grandmother live with them, but they also think that the two candidates living together under one roof is a hoot—a popular word in North Carolina. Some even hope that Cupid has struck. That scene in the shed suggests he has.”

  “This is entertaining,” said Laurie.

  “It’s not.” Cissie was outraged.

  “It is if you’re not from Kettle Knob and you just happen to see this on TV,” Laurie insisted. “I know you’re embarrassed, but you two look so cute together. Whoever is watching this right now is sighing and hoping you’ll get married.”

  “Laurie,” Cissie said, “please. Don’t talk.”

  “Okay,” Laurie said meekly.

  “Boone Braddock,” Anne Silver went on, “is a busy football coach, PE teacher, and mayor. He’s also apparently involved in a nearly daily activity at this home in Kettle Knob.”

  A shot of someone’s house was shown.

  “Where’s that?” Cissie asked Laurie.

  “I don’t know.”

  And then a shot of Boone’s ugly pickup truck pulling into this person’s backyard was shown—again and again.

  “Every weekday,” Anne said, “the mayor comes here, and apparently doesn’t want to be seen. He drives his truck to the rear of the home and doesn’t come out for at least an hour.”

  “Why?” Laurie said.

  “I don’t know,” said Cissie.

  Then they showed another outdoor shot of Boone at the house, this time with Ella Kerrison, who threw her arms around him in a hug.

  “What the hell?” Laurie said. “That’s Ella’s house?”

  Cissie was so stricken and confused, she said nothing.

  “Who is this woman?” Anne asked. “And why does Mayor Braddock visit her almost every day? We tried to find out.”

  There was a shot of Ella at her do
or. “No comment,” she said, her brow furrowed. “Please. Just leave.” And then she slammed the door shut.

  “I don’t understand,” Cissie said.

  “Me, either,” Laurie answered quietly.

  “We started with two candidates living in the same house,” Anne said. “And when you add a little mystery”—there was a shot of Ella—“and mayhem”—followed by a shot of Cissie on the stranger’s back at The Log Cabin—“we get a small town story with universal appeal.”

  Anne turned to the news anchors with a charming grin. “Guys, I can’t wait to get back to Kettle Knob to see what happens next.”

  “Me, either,” exclaimed the female anchor. “That Mayor Braddock is a real charmer.”

  “Sounds like he’s spreading that charm awfully thin.” The male anchor arched his brow.

  Anne and her colleagues laughed.

  Cissie’s heart hurt. Her whole body hurt.

  “Later today,” Anne continued smoothly, “we’ll find out which of these two candidates actually won this election to become Kettle Knob’s next mayor.”

  “Keep us posted,” said the male anchor. “Sounds like we need a reality show filmed there.”

  “Over my dead body,” Cissie told Laurie. “Anne Silver doesn’t like either of us. She’s trying very hard to make Boone look like a two-timing scumbag. I thought she was crazy about him.”

  “It’s a ratings game,” Laurie assured her. “It does look like he’s having an affair with Ella. But I hope it’s not true.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Cissie’s eyes stung. She so wanted to believe in love. It happened in the books she loved—couldn’t it happen to her?

  “But why else would he go over there almost every day and stay for an hour?” Laurie was saying. “Did he ever tell you he was going there?”

  “No.” Cissie sighed. “He never has. We don’t cross paths much in the morning.”

  “Well, he was kissing you in the shed—”

  “We did that before Anne Silver even got here.” And it was fabulous, at least until she saw it on TV. And then it looked all wrong because that had been a private moment, and tawdry, too, because Boone was also hanging out with Ella.

  “I wonder who filmed us in the shed?” Cissie said. “That’s so creepy.”

  “Yeah. Totally creepy.” Laurie paused. “I wonder what Boone thinks of this story?”

  “Maybe he hasn’t seen it.”

  “Well, if not, someone will tell him about it. That morning news show is on at Starla’s every morning. Kettle Knob doesn’t take kindly to sneaks. I never thought Perry could be one. But look at him.”

  Cissie put her hand to her forehead. “This is bad.” She’d slept with a guy who was very likely seeing another woman.

  “Hang in there,” Laurie said. “Maybe Perry and Boone can be put in Kettle Knob’s doghouse together.”

  “Not yet,” Cissie said. “I’m going to ask Boone what’s going on. I thought—”

  “What?”

  “I thought he was falling in love with me, too. But this morning—”

  “Yes?”

  “He basically ignored me.”

  “Did you by any chance sleep with him last night?” Laurie’s voice was wary.

  “Almost,” Cissie whispered. “And then his parents called. I went back upstairs.”

  “Hmm. He didn’t follow you up to your room later? Most guys would.”

  “No. He didn’t, and it’s because we have an election to think about. I specifically told him not to. And then this morning, he barely spoke to me.”

  “That’s weird. I wonder if it was really his parents on the phone.”

  “I’m sure it was. I heard them come to the door shortly after.”

  “Still, I think the guilt is getting to him. Sleeping with two women at once.”

  “Don’t be premature,” Cissie said, even though she’d thought the exact same thing. “I’ll let you know what he says, okay?”

  “Great. Meanwhile, happy Election Day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  When Boone got Cissie’s first text, he was already up to his ears in fallout from the morning show, and it was clear—very clear—that unless the majority of Kettle Knob residents had shown up at voting booths before 8:00 a.m. when the show aired, he was going to win the election only by a hair—

  Or not at all.

  Hard to believe.

  The text showed up when he was eating a takeout country ham biscuit from Starla’s at his desk at the mayor’s office around nine. He ignored the message, although it hurt to do so.

  But Cissie wouldn’t let up.

  She sent five more texts. And called three times.

  Which was why he finally caved and agreed to meet her. I can spare five minutes, he texted back using his voice dictation app. We both have places to be.

  He’d wanted to say he cared about her but had to let her go because he didn’t belong with her. Football and politics. Those were his things.

  But he couldn’t tell her all that. She’d want to make a go of it, and inevitably, they’d come up against a wall. She’d be disappointed—in him, in their relationship.

  No, he had to nip the blossoming feelings between them in the bud.

  Even so, his heart leapt when he finally saw her, his stubborn political opponent, looking sexy and pretty in a black brimmed hat and bright purple trench coat, walking toward the theater instead of being where she should be, at the library.

  He pressed the little microphone and dictated a message into his cell phone: Other side of street.

  She got it, crossed over with quick steps.

  Her, his heart clamored, that girl.

  He looked behind, to both sides, and in front of the truck. No one appeared to be sitting in any cars watching—none of those network TV people, at least. And if they had some sort of stalker filming them from a nearby house window, he couldn’t see one anywhere.

  He took his chances, got out, opened the passenger’s door, and got Cissie inside. “Great disguise,” he said as she climbed in.

  Her face was white. “This hat was in the lost and found at the library, and it’s Sally’s coat.”

  He liked having her in his truck, he decided, when he returned to the driver’s seat. “What’s this about?” he asked, knowing full well.

  Her eyes were filled with censure. And questions. “Are you sleeping with Ella Kerrison? Dating her in any capacity? And did you ignore me this morning because you’re a two-timing sneak?”

  “So I guess you saw the TV show.”

  “Everyone did, and if they didn’t, they’ve heard about it. It’s on talk radio in Charlotte and Asheville right now.”

  “My admin assistant told me. The station managers tried to get me to call in and join the conversation.”

  “Me, too. And I’ve had way more visitors than usual at the library. Normally, I’d love that. But no one wanted books. They just wanted to see if I … if I was falling apart.”

  He’d had the opposite happen. There’d been no messages, and only a few people—apart from the local TV station crews—had stopped by to say hello and wish him well at Town Hall. He wondered if he should even bother showing up at his scheduled stops throughout the day.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you.” He wished he could take her hand.

  Two red spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “You didn’t seem to care a jot about me this morning at the house.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Cissie.” Which was true—truer than anything he’d ever said before.

  “So why do you go over to Ella’s and hide your truck in her backyard?” She sounded so hurt. And scared.

  “I know I look like a real horndog—kissing you one minute, and visiting Ella in secret the next.”

  “That you do. But I know you. I might not have known you long, but something’s off here. I didn’t imagine the way things were between us. It was real. Answer me, Boone. What’s going on?”

 
He looked out his window. “You haven’t had much experience … with relationships.”

  “So? Experience doesn’t necessarily equate to wisdom.”

  He looked straight at her and willed himself to lie. “In some ways, it does. Not everything lasts.”

  There was a long, bleak silence he willed himself not to break.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, really?” She threw open her door. “You’re hiding something. And you suck for treating me this way.”

  One of Cissie’s campaign posters—one that Sally had stapled balloons to—came skidding down the sidewalk.

  Boone met her gaze. “I understand why you’re upset. And I’m sorry.”

  It hurt like hell when she slammed the door behind her. But that was the way it had to be.

  He turned the key in the ignition.

  Wished the engine didn’t purr like a kitten and start right up.

  And took off, wending his way by the gazebo on his way out of town and refusing to look at it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It couldn’t have been love, Cissie thought as she picked up her sign with the balloons. She threw it in a public trash can—it took forever to stuff the balloons in—and then began her lonely walk back to the library. Love didn’t topple like that, so quickly. Love found solutions. Endured longer than a day or two.

  Love didn’t lie.

  Boone was definitely holding something back that was keeping them apart. She knew him. She knew his soul. Maybe that sounded corny, but it was true. She loved him.

  But apparently, he didn’t love her.

  That was what he was saying, anyway, in so many words.

  Yet she couldn’t quite believe him. Not yet. She was desperate enough to keep hoping. His eyes had been too flat. Too unlike him.

  Without even thinking, she found herself detouring to Ella’s. Her house was on the edge of the town proper. It would take a good fifteen minutes to walk there.

  As she traveled block after block, passing mainly small brick or clapboard cottages, she had a crazy wish that Boone would catch up with her in his truck, leap out, and lay a reassuring hand on her arm.

  “Hey,” she could hear his whiskey-and-gravel voice saying. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”