He sinks the next shot, then turns back to me. “I don’t want that, so for the next four months, you’ll prioritize the campaign and keep the project on mid-boil until we win—and we will,” he adds, convinced. “Rayne’s smart, but she has no political experience. There’s not enough time for her to ramp up. I gotta believe her run is a Hail Mary to try to stymie expansion.”
“I don’t get the impression she acts on impulse or chance.” No. Luna is structured. That’s not just my read on her, that’s what she told me. She wouldn’t embark on something this big without it being well thought out and strategically executed. “She’s got vision and passion. That’s arguably just as valuable as experience. Sometimes more. She’s visible through her leadership on the Waterfront Committee. She’s charismatic, confident, and has a gravitational presence.”
“You got all that in ten minutes?”
“I read people and situations for a living.” That much is true, even if much of that insight came from spending a night with Luna. “Her advantage is no political baggage. No record to defend. Some voters will like that she’s not a politician.”
He eyes me over his shoulder. “Sounds like you prefer her chances.”
“I’m giving it to you straight. You’re sitting at a fifty-three percent favorable rating. That was fine when you were the only option. It’s less comfortable now. There’s work to be done.”
“Then let’s get to it.” He returns the club to its case and rubs his hands together. “I’m actually looking forward to this. Givesme a chance to remind voters why they picked me in the first place.”
I nod. Short of quitting—this is the job. My responsibility is to Diablo.
But how am I supposed to go up against a woman I still want?
How am I supposed to live in the same town and stay away from her?
Or act like I don’t know what it feels like to kiss her, to hold her, to be inside her.
How is any of that possible?
At six, I’m back at the campaign office off of Main Street. It’s an old storefront Diablo used for his first run. I pack up for the evening, logging off before my work app blockers start counting down until morning.
Sometimes it feels like I have a probation officer, protecting me from falling back into dangerous habits.
The communications director and field manager have already cleared out, a reminder that I’m no longer in Washington.
“Hey, Dakarai,” Ash Reddy, CFO and the campaign’s treasurer, knocks on my open office door. A South Asian brother in his mid-thirties, beatnik style—rolled jeans, canvas sneakers, a man bun, and Van Dyke beard.
“How was the first day?” he asks.
“I mastered the coffee machine, so I’d call that progress.”
“You passed the first test then.” He laughs. “That thing should’ve been put to rest long ago. Pro tip…” He leans inconspiratorily. “Get your coffee from The Acoustic Café. Chaz will hook you up with the newcomer special. Breakfast and free refills. Best espresso you’ll ever have.”
“Good to know,” I say, remembering a time when caffeine was my life. Now I settle for decaf—another non-negotiable limit.
“Have you seen much of the town?” he asks, making conversation.
“No.” I shake my head. “Just got in yesterday.”
“Then we have to do a beach initiation,” he insists. “A few of us are meeting up a little later for volleyball and beer. Swing by.”
I hesitate. Aside from not being much of a joiner, hanging out at the beach isn’t something I would ever have done while running a campaign. I’d consider that slacking. But small-town life is different from D.C., and I can hear Don’s voice reminding me to be “human.” Before agreeing, though, I check the location. It wouldn’t be fair to show up in Luna’s space again so soon.
“Do you play near the dunes?” I ask.
“No. That’s way on the other side of the pier. Just come down the boardwalk to the center. You can’t miss it.”
“I might be rusty,” I say. “Haven’t played since a Cancun trip in college.”
“It’s casual. No talent required. We’re mostly there for the beach and beer.”
“Sounds good then. Thanks.”
“Let’s exchange numbers, just in case you ever need anything.”
