“K. Love you, boo.”
“Love you back.”
I pack up work soon after, pop a chocolate in my mouth, and finish a crossword before I get ready for bed. I’m under the covers when my phone buzzes at 9:58.
My heart doesn’t skip in hesitation, it thumps with a steady, certain rhythm, as his voice fills the darkened room.
“Mnandi Loo-nah.”
It’s not just a nickname, it’s the way he says it—deep with a promise of both tenderness and heat. I pull the pillow where his head should be to my chest. I hold it tight against me and close my eyes, letting his voice smooth away the distance.
This August sun is no joke. It’s not offering any breaks as I walk the streets of Ward 4. By eleven, the linen of my sky-blue suit looks a little more lived-in than crisp, and the fashionable flats I thought were so cute in the mirror at eight have officially done me dirty. I can already feel the blisters forming at my heels like penance for my vanity.
Still, it’s a minor inconvenience when I’m out here doing what I love—connecting with voters.
“Mrs. Henderson!” I call, stopping at the edge of her lawn where she’s watering her hydrangeas. “Those blue petals are giving my suit a run for its money.”
She cuts off the hose and squints in my direction. “Rayne! Goodness gracious. I remember when you were this high.” She lowers her hand toward the grass. “Cute as you wanted to be, protecting those plover nests.” She smiles. “Now look at you, running for the big office.”
“I am,” I say, leaning against the maple tree, grateful for the shade and the excuse to take the pressure off my heels. “How’s Mr. Henderson? Still baking the best chocolate chip cookies this side of Illinois?”
“Every Sunday. He’s at the hardware store. He’ll surely be sorry he missed you.”
“I’ll come back around,” I say, then shift gears. “I’m out today listening to concerns. I want to hear how I can help.”
Her smile fades. “All this talk about development worries me. Gabe Diablo’s plan to demolish the North Pier just breaks myheart. He calls the repairs a tax drain, but I can’t imagine the lighthouse not being there anymore.”
“I’m with you,” I say, remembering all the times Lot and I climbed that tower as kids just to reach the lookout point. “After reviewing the city’s own maintenance projections, it actually costs taxpayers more in the long run to demolish the pier and build a new seawall than it does to structurally reinforce what we already have. That pier isn’t just wood and stone—it’s part of our natural storm surge protection. If we tear it down, we increase the flood risk for homes in this ward.”
She frowns, her eyes sharpening.
“I’m looking at the long game,” I continue. “If we restore the pier, we turn it into a heritage asset—a place that brings in tourism revenue and helps fund our local schools and childcare. I’m not against development. We need growth for our economic survival. But it doesn’t have to be either-or. It can be both. Growing Bayside without gutting the heart of our town.”
“You think you can do that?”
“Didn’t I save those nests?” I grin.
She laughs. “You sure did.”
“I always do what I say I’m going to do.” I let that sit for a beat before the real ask. “Can I count on your vote?”
“You’re tenacious, and you’ve always cared about this town. I voted for Gabe because I believed in him, but his priority seems to be what’s new and shiny. You’ll bring the balance.” She steps forward. “You have my vote.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson.”
I climb the lawn to shake her hand, but she pulls me into a hug instead.
“You win it, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the time I reach the end of the fourteen-hundred block, the sun is relentless, and the blisters have officially crossed over into life lesson territory.
My phone buzzes.
Anika: Great turnout at the rec center. How are you holding up?
Me: Hot, blistered, and energized.
