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I’d given in.
How could I not?
He’d told me he wanted to see where things would go, and he’d been so sweet and earnest and gorgeous.
And he’d been holding me.
And…I’d given in.
We were doing this, and I’d agreed to go on a date, a real date, and to make a real effort.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to be destroyed in the end.
It was like lining up for a rollercoaster that I knew was going to make me sick and woozy at the end, but the ride was going to be so damned good it would be worth puking up my breakfast.
So…here I was.
It was election day, and I was going to dinner with Joel to await the results of my uncontested mayoral election.
I was going on adatewith Joel.
With Joel.
Clearly, I was much more worried about that than results of an election where no one was running against me.
Because a date was real.
A date wasn’t fucking in the dark of night and doing the walk of shame before the sun came up.
A date meant giving into the hope I’d carefully shoved down, hadn’t allowed myself to really feel, hadn’t allowed to blossom into wanting Joel for more than he could give me.
A date was the beginning of something.
It was potential.
And it was something that had the potential to go wrong.
So, so wrong.
And with this date, with the town’s gossip tree still firmly in place, everyone would know when it went wrong.
And they’d know it was because of me.
Because as much as Joel said he liked my spreadsheets and mind for meetings and living for my work, that would grow old. He’d want more than I was capable of giving, or he’d see all that I was, and it wouldn’t be enough and—
“Why aren’t you out on the streets?”
I blinked.
The weather was gorgeous—the cool glint of November in the air, tightening the skin of my cheeks, making me glad for my scarf. But the sun was still shining, and it felt good on my hair and my clothes, sinking slowly into my skin.
I’d been going all day. All week. All month.
Going in a way that meant exhaustion was clinging to my body—meetings and talking to people in town, walking through the new neighborhoods, making certain there weren’t any concerns I was unaware of. The previous weekend had been slammed too. Friday morning, Joel and I had gotten breakfast (he’d brought protein bars and we’d eaten at my desk) before he’d met up with the team to get on the bus and hit the road, and as of Friday evening, our downtown was officially open and—thank God—it was hopping. I’d made the rounds several times over, pleased to see long lines and plenty of people strolling through the mini Fall Festival I’d organized. A Grand River’s Bend Re-opening with some of our smaller local vendors—Kelly’s Cakes, The Carvery (wood and stone carvings), Elegant Essentials (clothes and jewelry), and more—set up on the sidewalks with booths.
I’d browsed with everyone else inside the shops and out on the street.
I’d bought a pair of earrings I didn’t need.
