“Perhaps, but connections matter.” Laura took her plate to the table, still buzzing with enthusiasm. “And the little girl is an only child, so you won’t be overwhelmed. Really, this could be perfect.”
From behind his newspaper, Gary made a sound that might have been a grunt or might have been disagreement.
Laura glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Gary.”
“I said nothing.” He turned a page with deliberate slowness. “June’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices.”
Laura looked like she wanted to press, but a glance at the clock stopped her. “I need to go. Call me after, okay? I want to hear everything—what the house looks like, what the senator’s like in person, all of it.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Laura kissed her cheek, squeezed her shoulder, and disappeared into the hall. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, and her car rumbled to life in the driveway.
The kitchen was quiet now, just June and her father and the soft tick of the clock above the sink.
Gary set down his newspaper. “Your mother gets excited,” he said. “She doesn’t always think things through.”
“I suppose she’s just happy I have a job prospect.”
“She’s dazzled by the idea of a state senator.” Gary’s voice was flat, unimpressed. “Politicians. They’re all the same, Junebug. Doesn’t matter what party, doesn’t matter how nice they seem. They’re out for themselves.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know the type.” He picked up his coffee mug, turned it slowly in his calloused hands. “You came home pretty hurt a few months ago. I don’t want to see that happen again.”
“This is different. It’s work, not a relationship.”
Gary finally looked at her, his brown eyes steady and unreadable. “You’ll be living in her house. Eating her food. Taking care of her kid. That’s not just work—that’s her life, and you’ll be in the middle of it.” He paused. “People like that, theydon’t always see people like us as equals. You’re the help to them. Remember that.”
June wanted to argue, to insist she wasn’t that naive, but the truth was she understood his concern. The Hollis family had never had much. They scraped by, made do, took pride in honest work and simple pleasures. The idea of their daughter moving into a senator’s home, caring for a senator’s child, living in a senator’s world—to her father, it probably felt like sending her into enemy territory.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”
Gary held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly and returned to his newspaper. The conversation was over.
June ate her breakfast standing at the counter, too restless to sit. Then she washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, and headed upstairs to make herself presentable for whatever came next.
The house looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about successful people.
June parked her fifteen-year-old Civic at the curb, engine ticking as it cooled, and stared at the sage-green Craftsman through a windshield that needed washing. The lawn was immaculate. The white trim gleamed in the late morning sun, and the porch had a swing that looked like nobody ever sat in it. The flower beds were the only thing out of order, with their weeds creeping in among the flowers.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror for the third time. She had pulled back her curls in a low ponytail, a few strands already escaping to frame her face. She’d put on mascara and a little lip gloss, and the sundress she’d chosen—pale blue with small white flowers—was the nicest thing she owned thatdidn’t have a stain somewhere on it. She looked like she was trying. Whether that was too much or not enough, she had no idea.
Just a summer job. A paycheck to rebuild savings. Nothing complicated.
She grabbed her bag, locked the car, and made herself walk up the front path before her nerve could fail her.
The doorbell was the old-fashioned kind, the chime echoing somewhere deep inside the house. June smoothed her dress, adjusted the strap of her bag, counted her heartbeats until the door opened.
The door opened, and June’s brain short-circuited for a half-second.
She’d Googled “Senator Brandt” in the car, scrolling through images while she worked up the nerve to get out, but the photos hadn’t prepared her for the reality. Melissa Brandt was taller than June with dark hair swept back in an elegant twist and grey-blue eyes that seemed to take up everything at once. She wore a silk cream blouse and tailored navy trousers, and even in the doorway of her own home, she carried herself like someone chairing a meeting.
Oh no. She’s gorgeous.
