“Miss Hollis? Can we build a sandcastle?”
“It’s more like pebbles than sand, but we can try.”
They spent the next hour attempting to construct something castle-like out of rocks and mud, with mixed results. Lila wasdetermined, her small hands carefully stacking stones while June provided structural advice. The sun climbed higher. The beach grew more crowded. June kept glancing toward the parking lot, telling herself she wasn’t watching for anyone in particular.
And then, just after noon, a familiar SUV pulled into the lot.
June’s breath caught.
Senator Brandt emerged from the car looking like someone who had never been to a lake in her life. Linen pants, perfectly pressed. A silk blouse in pale blue. Heels that were going to sink into the grass, and expensive sunglasses reflecting the view. She stood by the car for a moment, scanning the beach, and June raised a hand to wave.
The senator spotted her and started walking. Or trying to walk—the heels were, as expected, not cooperating with the terrain, and June watched her pick her way across the grass until finally, she sighed, and bent down and removed her shoes, walking barefoot the last bit.
“Mom!” Lila had spotted her too and was already running, pebbles scattering in her wake. “Mom, you came!”
“I came.” Senator Brandt caught Lila in a hug, heedless of the wet swimsuit pressing against her silk blouse. “I couldn’t miss lake day.”
“Miss Hollis said you had work.”
“I did. But some things are more important.”
June stood as they approached, trying not to stare at the incongruous picture the senator made—perfectly polished from the knees up, but with grass straws stuck to her bare feet.
“You made it,” June said.
“I made it.” Senator Brandt looked around at the beach, the water, the families scattered across the grass. “I haven’t been to a lake since I was Lila’s age.”
“Really?”
“My family wasn’t much for outdoor activities.” A pause. “And after that, there was never time.”
“Well, there’s time now.” June gestured at the blanket. “We have sandwiches. And lemonade. And—” She stopped, taking in the senator’s outfit properly. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”
The Senator’s expression flickered. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I just left the office and came.”
June’s eyebrows rose of their own volition. That did not sound like Senator Brandt, but the woman was here, so… June bit her lip, considering. She’d thrown an extra sundress into the bag that morning—one of her favorites, soft cotton with little blue flowers—on the off chance that she’d want to change before driving home. It wasn’t Senator Brandt’s usual style, but it was better than linen and silk.
“I have a spare dress,” she said. “If you want to change. It’s probably not your size, but—”
“I’ll take it.”
June dug the dress out of the bag and handed it over. Senator Brandt disappeared toward the restrooms near the parking lot, and June stared resolutely at the lake, trying not to think about the fact that Melissa Brandt was about to wear her clothes.
It’s just a dress,she told herself.Fabric and seams and nothing else.
When the senator returned, June had to remind herself to breathe.
The dress was a bit tight across the shoulders, but it didn’t matter. The dress made the senator look human in a way she never did in her blazers and silk blouses. Her hair was still pinned up, but a few strands had escaped, and her feet stayed bare.
“It’s a bit snug,” she said, tugging at the hem in a self-conscious motion June had never seen from her before.
“It looks good.” The words came out before June could stop them. “I mean—it’s better than linen. For the lake.”
“Thank you for lending it to me.”
“Of course.”
They stood there, close enough that June could smell sunscreen and lake water and some expensive perfume June couldn’t name, and the moment stretched, awkward and charged and very muchnotprofessional, at least not to June.
