Anika: Lol. Sounds like a campaign slogan. Check this out.
A photo comes through. I’d do a happy dance if my feet would let me.
Me: Our line’s longer than Diablo’s!
Anika: All morning. Woot woot.
I know DK had planned to be there. I want to ask what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, to get a clear picture in my head. But that would be like waving a red flag in front of Anika.
Me: Finishing this block, then heading to the café on 15th. I need to give these feet a rest.
Anika: Meet you at 1?
Me: See you then.
The next house has a couple in their mid-sixties posted in white plastic chairs on the porch, lemonade in hand. I approach, pushing through the sting of each step.
“Good afternoon. I’m Rayne Webber, running for mayor. Mind if I join you for a few minutes and hear your concerns?”
They give me, and my Make It Rayne button, a slow, skeptical once-over.
“I recognize you,” the man says. “You’re the girl from the interview.”
I swallow the correction, keep my head high, and pick my battles. Now isn’t the time to school him.
“I’m committed to Bayside’s future, and I believe I can serve it well as mayor.”
He leans back. “Gabe’s got at least ten years on you. Family man. Banker. Good head for business.” He takes a sip of lemonade. “I’ll keep trusting this town in his hands.”
“I respect that,” I say. “I was speaking to some neighbors earlier about concerns over development. Have you looked at the cost to repair the North Pier versus replacing it?”
“I don’t need to. If Gabe says it’s cheaper this way, I believe him.”
“Cheaper now doesn’t always mean cheaper later. There could be long-term costs by weakening the shoreline structure.”
“Like flooding?” the woman asks, placing her hand on her husband’s knee. “Roy, we get water in the furnace room every time there’s a storm that raises the water level.”
He shoots her a look. “Gabe assured us the new wall will fix it.”
“Reinforcement is the more secure, cost-effective option,” I say, not pushing too hard. Instead, I place my brochure on the porch ledge. “I’ll leave this with you, in case you’d like to see what I have to offer. Thank you for your time.”
You don’t win everyone over in the first round.
I arrive at the café ten minutes early, ready to collapse into the closest chair. I reach for the door and nearly collide with the man coming out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rayne
“Excuse—”
“Loo-nah?” The name slips out like instinct.
It lands differently here. Daylight. Public. Campaigning.
I cast a quick, meaningful glance down the street at the baby carriages, dog walkers, and residents moving through their afternoon, before looking back at him. Bayside is small, and the sunlight could too easily expose secrets.
“Rayne.” He recovers in an instant, restoring his professionalism. He steps aside just enough to clear the door, but stays close enough that I can feel the kinetic pull of him. “How’s the campaign trail?”
