Page 56 of Run to Me

Perfect.

I’m so far from perfect right now, I could crumble to the floor under the weight of my collective blunders, which flash through my head like a highlights reel. The raffle, the vendor sign-up, and the thousand other oversights I’ve made in recent weeks. A sliver of reason nudges my brain, reminding me I’m allowed to make mistakes, especially when I’m preoccupied with other things—more important things—like catching Maisy and stressing about Jake. But that sliver of reason is no match for the internal voices.

Failure. Loser. A total disappointment.

I usually conquer the raging thoughts by physically fighting back. Unfortunately, tearing my office apart isn’t an option, and I don’t have time to run home for a quick workout in my garage. The bar opens in less than an hour, and I’m opening alone today.

In search of a reprieve, and to stop the spiral before it gains momentum, I sneak upstairs and pray no one comes looking for me. I unlock the door and climb the steps three at a time. The tension in my body dissipates the moment I enter the room and absorb the sights, the smells, the comforts. All the reminders of her. Without Maisy around to keep me from spinning out of control, this room is the next best thing. This room, where all my memories of her come alive and soothe my tormented mind.

I sink into the papasan chair and drop my head in my hands, threading my fingers through my hair but suppressing the urge to rip the strands out of my scalp. On repeat, I tell myself I’m overreacting to the situation. People forget things—it happens—and there’s a simple solution to my current predicament. As Lydia said, I merely need to walk down the street and fill out a stupid form.

If I were mayor, my first initiative would be to switch all documents and records from paper to digital, allowing citizens to conduct their business with the town online. Not everyone wants to wade through discussions about the weather or who has the best zucchini bread recipe just to fill out a form with less than ten fields of information. But I don’t want to be mayor, so paper it is.

With thoughts of Maisy lulling my mind, I pull up my big-boy pants and trek to the town hall. Gloria Muñoz, who has worked at the front desk for longer than I’ve been alive, greets me with a warm smile, kind eyes, and coiffed hair with enough hairspray to withstand gale-force winds. I’m firmly in the camp of people who believe she single-handedly manages the town. Officially, she’s the receptionist, but her job responsibilities extend well beyond greeting citizens and filing paperwork.

“How are you, Jensen?” she asks.

I bury my restless energy and force an easy grin. “I’m well. How are you, darlin’?”

Despite her blushing cheeks, she rolls her eyes at me. “Good, thanks. What can I help you with today?”

“I’m here to sign up for the festival.”

She tuts and wags a finger. “You almost missed the deadline.”

“Almost.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t mess around with further teasing. She slides a pen and a stack of papers across the counter, and I complete the vendor form before flipping to the packet underneath it. My stomach clenches.

“What’s this?”

“The paperwork to get your name on the ballot for mayor. I heard you plan to run?” Her big, hopeful eyes make my skin prickle with heat.

Fuck.

“Uh…” Shit. I squeeze the back of my neck. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Don’t worry, you still have some time. Take the forms with you and bring them back when you decide. Be sure to complete and sign every page.” She leans forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I think you’ll win. You’re exactly who this town needs.”

Needs.

With a nod, I rap a knuckle on the counter. “Thanks.”

Crushing the packet in my fist, I exit the town hall with my ears ringing so loud that it drowns out Gloria’s goodbye. A migraine is coming on, and I’m in no state to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, I get no say in the matter when I find Jake waiting outside Bruno’s. He stands taller when he notices me, and wariness settles in his eyes.

We haven’t seen or spoken to each other since before he left for California to chase after Tatum. He was broken after their fallout, and I tried to support him despite his anger toward me.

“Hey,” he says, his body language hesitant. Then his eyebrows crease with concern, and he grabs my shoulders. “Whoa. You okay?”

“Yeah. I have a bad headache.”

“You look pale.”

My voice sounds sluggish in my head when I speak. “I’m good. What’s up?” I ask, unlocking the door.

He follows me inside the empty bar and says, “Let’s go to your office.”

Once we’re settled with the door closed, I plant my elbows on the desk, massaging my temples to ease the tension pressing against my skull. On the inside, I’m thrumming with impatience, annoyance, and anger at myself. No one understands how difficult it is to keep these feelings from spilling over and causing a fiery path of destruction. I need to get this energy out of me before I do something I’ll regret, like snap at my brother.