“A winning narrative,” she adds, energized while I wrestle with my conscience.
The conflict feels heavier than it did before the weekend. We agreed not to hold back. I know I owe her a real fight because she’s a real contender. But for the first time in my career, something matters more than the win.
At noon, Ash and I grab tacos from a food truck and find a bench in the shade.
“How was Grove Cove?” he asks about the cover of me spending the weekend with friends.
“Great.” My gaze drifts down the boardwalk.
Ten doors.
That’s the distance between my world and hers. Luna’s campaign office sits between a bookstore and a gift shop—alocation that invites people in. Accessible. While Diablo prefers to be at Town Hall. He’s a big-picture, talk from the podium candidate. That will give Luna the advantage. She’ll canvas hard.
I eat my tacos while Ash talks about his weekend. I’m half-listening as my eyes drift again.
“She moved in today.”
“Who?” I ask. Like I didn’t call her this morning. Like I didn’t hear the excitement in her voice through the speaker.
“Rayne.”
“Oh. Her location doesn’t matter much.”
That slanted look Ash gives me sniffs the bullshit.
I’m not proud of lying to him—he’s become a friend. But I won’t risk Luna. Not for anyone. I pivot, asking about the next poker game, but when a shop door opens, and a woman steps out, my heart stutters before I realize it’s not her.
To be this close—to know the scent of her skin, the sound of her laugh against my chest—and not be able to walk those ten doors and claim her... It’s a specific kind of hell.
After lunch, I spend the afternoon in my office, working the phones with the heavy hitters. By 5:30, my throat is raw, and my brain feels like a browser with too many open tabs. I need to sweat. I hit the gym, load the bar for squats, the weight heavy across my traps.
Luna and I had agreed not to text while at work. It’s risky for the campaign and distracting for the soul. But the silence between morning and night already feels like a vacuum.
I have to find a way to see her… and soon.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rayne
By 8:00, I’m in satin PJs and a bonnet, but my brain’s still running like I never left the office. Normally, I protect my downtime, but I begin my “Locals First” tour tomorrow, and I’m going in extra ready.
Sitting cross-legged on the couch, I tap my stylus against my iPad, highlighting the Ward 4 map in neon yellow. Diablo calls it “Progress with Purpose” from his comfy seat at Town Hall—a pretty term for dismantling the very history this district was built on.
My phone buzzes against the coffee table. Lot’s name beside a black cat emoji appears. I swipe the video icon and see her locs falling around her shoulders with Queenie on her lap.
“Hey.”
“Did you hear?” she asks, a rare spot of animation lifting her voice.
“About Lex and Chaz having a baby?” I say, smiling as I finish making a note about the North Pier. “Lexie came by the office today, showing off her baby bump.”
“Already? She’s only three months.”
“Girl, that stomach was flat as a pancake, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”
Lot laughs, and I reach for my herbal tea, the steam warming my face. “She was glowing, though. I’m so excited for them.”
“Yeah, it’s wild. C being a dad.”
