This is new. No sizing me up… just acceptance. I go with it and tap his number into my phone, and send him a text.
“Got it,” he says at the sound of the ping, then gives me a two-finger salute. “See ya later.”
I leave soon after. The bungalow Diablo provided is a ten-minute walk from the office. Clean, spacious, minimalistfurnishings, and neutral tones. Exactly my speed. I don’t like a lot of fuss.
I text the family group chat:
Me: The pace is quiet and slow. Everyone clocks out by five. My candidate has an unexpected opponent.
Just typing that without mentioning her name makes my heart beat triple-time.
Me: The expansion project is on pause. I’m not trying to manage both. I’m doing ok. Going to play volleyball this evening.
I give them all the right soundbites to ease their worry. Then I change into a T-shirt and board shorts patterned with palm trees. Reheat the leftovers Gogo packed, bring my plate to the couch, and eat while watching the news.
Washington’s still a mess. I don’t miss any of the politics, just the hectic pace and familiarity of chaos.
But that’s not my life anymore. I click a few pieces of Lego into place. I’m building the Statue of Liberty. A symbolism of freedom while my life is governed by work-hour restrictions and app blockers.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
The walk to the lake is short. I make a conscious effort to filter out work—the dozen things waiting for me tomorrow—and let my mind drift instead to being at the beach.
I can see why the waterfront is worth protecting. Soft beige sand stretches for miles, the tiny grains catch the sun and make it glitter. Lake Michigan is clear turquoise, resembling the Caribbean at this time of year. With the tourist season in full bloom, there are many people in the water, others loungingunder umbrellas, kids getting snow cones and ice cream from the truck parked right on the beach. Someone’s boombox leaks rap into the humid air.
I kick off my shoes and head toward the volleyball net, aware of my feet sinking into the sand. It’s warm, grounding. The kind of thing Don would approve of.
Be present, he’d say.Let your body relax. Your mind will follow.
I notice Ash standing in a loose circle of people—men and women, twenties to forties. No phones glued to their hands.
“Hey.” He waves me over. “You made it.”
“I brought beer.” I lift the twelve-pack.
“Sweet.” He takes it from me, drops it into the cooler, and introduces me to a dozen people whose names I start filing away by association. Long-haired Lydia, Blue-shirt Bryan. That kind of thing.
The game soon begins. It’s comically uncompetitive. Serves go long. Dives like belly flops. More jokes than clean returns. I resist the instinct to keep score. It doesn’t matter. No one came out for that.
After a while, I find myself laughing, my shoulders loosening. I get in a good line shot. Sweat beads down my back. No thoughts crowding my head. Just net, sand, and ball.
As the sky softens, the sun dipping low enough to spill gold across the water, someone calls time. Ash cracks open the cooler.
That’s when I see her.
Not near the dunes where she told me she loves to walk. Right here. Near the pier, strolling the shoreline barefoot, sandals dangling from one hand. In a suit, I might’ve had some hope of seeing her as Rayne Webber—mayoral candidate. But with her hair piled into a careless top bun, the warm breeze teasing curls around her face and tugging at the hem of her gauzy sundress, outlining the generous curve of her hips?—
She’s the woman from five nights ago.
Mnandi Luna.
My eyes eat her up, and the memories follow. Her laugh. Her smile. Her full breasts filling my hands. The way she liked them squeezed hard and not-so-gently bitten. Our bubble bath. Our connection. The way she curled into me, a soft, perfect weight, and fell asleep. It takes me right back to the hotel. I wish I could redo it all. I never would have left.
Ash holds out a beer. I barely notice it.
She looks over. A slight gasp that I can see but not hear. Our eyes meet. One, two, three seconds.
Then her gaze drops away, her pace quickens, widening the distance between us, that feels more than just physical.
