Chapter Nine
Rayne
“Morning, Dad,” I answer, silencing my showtunes playlist and pouring my first cup of coffee. “How are you?”
“I’m good, baby.” His voice booms through the phone. “But more importantly, how are you? Today’s a big day.”
“I’m ready for it,” I add a generous splash of milk and two teaspoons of amber honey for that perfect sip.
“I’m so proud of you, Ms. Mayor-to-be.”
“From your lips…” I grin. “I’m just going to focus on listening to what the people of Bayside want, learning all I can, and leading in that knowledge. The rest will take care of itself.”
“That’s a smart way to approach it.Listen, Learn, and Lead.Sounds like a great campaign line.”
“Yeah, it does.” I thumb a note on my phone.
“What time is your announcement going out?”
“Anika has it scheduled to hit the wire at three. I’ll handle a few things at work, then meet with Diablo at eleven.”
As Director of Bayside Tourism, I report to the Council Committee under the Mayor’s purview. Meaning, I technically work for Gabriel Diablo. Co-chairing the Waterfront Committee is separate from that, and not in his domain. It adds some contention to our relationship, though we’ve always been civil.
“I felt it was only courtesy to tell him first, face-to-face.”
“It’s the right thing,” Dad agrees. Then, always my cheerleader, he adds, “I can’t wait. I’ve been biting my tongue for months. Now I can finally shout it out. Put me to work, going door-to-door, posting flyers, kissing babies, whatever you need.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Dad. Aunt Belinda’s down for canvassing too.” Lot’s mom, married to my dad’s brother Maurice, is like a second mother to me.
“Bee and I will make a good team.” I can hear his smile. “Do you have time for a celebratory dinner with your old man this week?”
“Ship Mate tomorrow?”
“It’s a date. Call me later. Let me know how it goes with Diablo.”
“I will. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Pumpkin.”
We hang up, and I finish my coffee in the quiet kitchen. Yay, me. I hadn’t thought about DK for fifteen whole minutes—the longest stretch yet. Yesterday, I broke down and opened the app, intending to thank him for covering the hotel room and to wish him a happy birthday—nothing more. There couldn’t be.
Every piece of “conventional wisdom”—mostly written by men—says a single woman running against a family man is already on shaky ground. I hate that double standard.
Diablo will use the contrast to his advantage, and my dating life would be dissected like a crime scene. So when I started to think about running, strategy won over principle. Hence, my tumbleweed coochie… until DK.
When I checked the app, his profile was gone. No message. No attempt to contact me. He just disappeared. Not gonna lie, that shit stung.
I deleted my profile too. I wouldn’t be needing it.
Celibacy and I were headed back to the same empty bed for the rest of the campaign.
Town Hall is a local landmark. An early twentieth-century building with a sandstone exterior, four stories tall, a steepled clock tower, recessed windows, and an archway entrance. There’s a sense of eminence and history here that I pause to take in.
The paperwork, the announcement, fundraising, campaigning—all of it will follow. But this is the first step in making my run official.
I smooth my flat-ironed bun and the sweep of bangs rebelling against the heat. It was only an eight-minute walk from my office, but the humidity had been relentless. Inside, the AC blows cool air on my face and through my outfit.
I love fashion. I even have a curated Pinterest board. Though it’s gotten better, finding stylish pieces in a size twenty-two is sometimes still a challenge. But I’ve sourced out body-inclusive shops that don’t think being fat means hideous sacks to conceal us and bullshit surcharges.
