Silver Mayor: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  I ignore the heat of Charity’s stare and the coldness of Charlie, returning my attention to Wyatt, who is still complaining about the money.

  “I think one way to find money in the community is to have a fundraiser. Perhaps a charity walk, where the money is a donation to the new walking trail in the name of the donating town member. Participants would earn a brick in the walk as commemoration of their generosity.”

  I pause.

  “Being as you aren’t from here, who would you suggest we name the community center after?” Charity Bernard questions, and I wonder if it’s typical for the mayor’s assistant to be present at a meeting. Then again, she is taking copious notes on all that’s said, but her question is meant to stump me and remind me that I’m not from her precious town.

  “Well, we could leave that up to a town vote. Suggest names. Maybe Sally Maywood as she was the Parks and Recreation Facilitator for decades.” This has Charlie’s attention. “Or perhaps a youthful community member, maybe someone special.”

  The silence in the room grows heavy, and I fear I’ve suggested the wrong thing. Charlie lowers his head, no longer scribbling or doodling or whatever he was doing on the paper before him but flattening his palm and resting it against the paper while he stares at his fingers.

  “It’s just a suggestion,” I mutter, hoping to defuse the thick tension and move on.

  “A walking trail, a community center, and a playground area?” Charlie lists, and I hold my breath. “And each named after someone?” He’s clarifying, like a checklist of my suggestions. “And all this for a million dollars? It sounds a bit ambitious.” Charlie isn’t exactly cold but detached as though he wasn’t altogether listening, and he’s trying to catch up.

  “Well, potentially. It might cost more. It might cost less.” My vague answer is met with a distant stare from him. “Of course, I can look into this more. Once the town approves a plan to move forward, we will have better estimates.” We’ll need a landscape architect to draw plans and suggest a budget. I’ve researched several potential prospects, but their fees can run steep. A man in Missouri looks the most promising.

  Charlie nods, glancing back at the pad of paper before him, and then notices the time on his watch.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I suggest a lunch break. Let’s think about this and reconvene after the holiday.”

  Charlie means the Fourth of July, which is in a matter of days. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I suppose I’m to go back to my office and stare at the summer schedule already decided for the community. Back to the kitchen, like Wyatt might want of a woman. I thought Charlie was more progressive than this, but I feel wrong about him on many levels.

  After we’d been caught in his parents’ bathroom, he ignored me more than ever despite all he’d said in the bathroom. As soon as I could, I made an excuse for Vega and me to leave, and I didn’t look back. With damp panties and a rumpled dress, I did the walk of shame once again.

  As we stand to break for lunch, I’m gathering my things, although admittedly I don’t have a good grasp on them. I’m balancing a notebook on top of my closed laptop with pens in one hand and a diet soda in my other. I’ve just collected everything when Charlie’s nephew and law partner, Jordan, enters the conference room.

  “Did you hear the news? Richard Swank just got traded to Atlanta.” His excitement is lost on me as the pens slowly trickle to the floor. The notebook slides next as my laptop slips forward. In a comical reaction of trying to catch the notebook while still holding something else in my opposite hand, my diet soda releases. As I bend forward in hopes to recover it, the laws of physics somehow keeps it upright, landing with a thunk, and the carbonated drink pops upward like a Mentos candy fountain, spraying my chest with cola.

  For a moment, I remain bent over, my chin dripping, and my blouse soaked, but I can’t even consider my condition. I’ve broken out in a full-body tremble. My fingers visibly shake as I reach for the overflowing soda can and the pens scattered on the floor.

  “Janessa?”

  My eyes close. This can’t get any worse, but with witnesses to my mess—both physically and mentally—this is one of the most embarrassing positions I’ve ever been in.

  A hand comes into my view and picks up the sticky soda can, and I slowly swipe at my face.

  “Janessa, are you okay?” Charlie’s voice softens as I look up at him, lifting as though I’ve strained my back. I shake my head once on instinct instead of fighting the response. Charlie’s brows pinch, and my head continues to shake, hoping he takes it as a dismissal of his question instead of an admission of my emotions.

  “I’m so clumsy,” I say although I’ve never been. My teeth chatter, and the reality of the cold soda dripping down my neck hits me.

  “Come here,” Charlie says, setting the soda on the conference table and placing an elbow at my arm. He guides me to his office, excusing himself from his law partner. I’m holding the laptop to my chest like a shield.

  I should go to my office.

  I should get a new shirt.

  I should leave Georgia.

  Charlie stands before me once his office door is closed. Two large hands grasp my upper arms.

  “You’re shaking. Is the soda cold?” He chuckles softly, but it isn’t that. When I look up at him, his eyes widen for a second, reading something in my expression. “Actually, you’re trembling.”

  He steps away from me, making quick work to open a closet and pull out a dress shirt on a hanger. Walking back over to me, he removes the laptop from my clutched hands and begins to unbutton my white blouse—a new shirt now ruined by my mishap. I don’t have money for mistakes like this. New clothes are frivolous but also necessary with new employment.

  “Charlie,” I whisper.

  “Let’s just get this off.” He diligently returns to removing my shirt, stroking the wasted material over my neck and upper chest to remove the sticky residue and then helping me into his own dress shirt. He rolls the sleeves to my elbows and then ties the longer flaps at my waist.

  “Thought I might like you in my clothes,” he mutters, but I close my eyes. I can’t do this with him. My mind races with images of Richard.

  Instantly, I’m pulled into Charlie’s chest, inhaling the scent of him. Woodsy and athletic. My arms dangle at my sides until Charlie lifts one for his shoulder and the other for his neck. I’m scooped up, cradled to his chest, and I melt against the warmth of him. If only he could protect me, keep me safe, but I know better than to rely on a man. Too many promises from Richard. Too much evidence to the contrary.

  “What is it?” Charlie says as he sits on the couch in his office with me on his lap. I’m still wrapped around his neck, and I settle there, telling myself I’ll only take a minute. I’ll soak all this up and pretend he cares. “Tell me what happened. You’re still trembling, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I shake my head in the crook of his neck. I can’t tell him. Slowly, I loosen my hold on him, but he catches me on my sides, his hands near the swell of each breast. A hand lifts, and he cups my chin, tipping it upward so I’m forced to look at him. His eyes search mine, shifting from one to the other, and then he leans forward, kissing me with the most tender of kisses. Like a flower petal drawn over my skin. Like a butterfly tickling my wrist.

  He leans back.

  “Just relax,” he says quietly. “Whatever it is, you’re okay.”

  My eyes widen for a second as if he can read my thoughts, my concerns, my fears. The hand on my chin moves to my bare knee, the hem of my skirt riding up a bit as I sit on him.

  “Charlie,” I whisper again, uncertain if it’s a plea or a warning. His hand slips between my thighs, fingertips moving in a circular motion, massaging gently at my skin.

  “Relax,” he says again. His voice remains steady and soothing as his hand glides up my inner thigh. “Let me help.”

  I don’t need help, I want to retort, but my tongue can’t form the words. My lids feel heavy.
My core pulses. My legs separate the slightest bit, allowing Charlie’s hand room to move.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me in.”

  My eyes close completely as Charlie’s mouth comes to mine, tender once again. His fingers inch forward and swipe over the dampness of my underwear. I should curse him for what he’s doing, curse my reaction to him, but I’m weightless at the moment. I’m drifting, and Charlie is steering me. A finger curls inside the fabric of my panties and slips inward. I can only spread so far with the tightness of my skirt, and the constriction adds to the pleasure.

  “Charlie,” I purr as he takes his time to dip into me and then draw back. Reaching for my clit, he drags a finger over the sensitive nub before diving back into me. He repeats the movement several times, and my head lowers for his shoulder as I continue to breathe him in.

  “Let me do this for you,” he says, taking his time to calm me into a sweet climax and rid my thoughts for a few minutes. “Give this to me, sweetheart.”

  The gentle tone but commanding words brings me to a sweet release. One where my knees clamp together, trapping Charlie’s hand between my thighs and his fingers inside me. I rock over them, relishing every drop and drip until I’m replete.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos at my ear as my arms clutch around his neck, holding me in place against him.

  When I finally settle, my knees open, and Charlie removes his hand. Lifting his fingers to his mouth, he sucks on them.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” he states, licking his fingers while lifting a brow, insinuating his mouth hasn’t been near my center. “I can’t wait for the day when I can.”

  “Charlie,” I mutter again, letting my hand slip down his chest as I move to sit upright. His hand comes to my upper arm, holding me still on him.

  “When will that day be, Nessa? Because as much as I try, as much as I tell myself to stay away from you, I just can’t.” His mouth lifts for mine again, taking his time to savor me like the delicate way he just touched me. “Let me see you somehow.”

  “We both know that’s not a good idea,” I tell him, stroking a hand down his handsome face.

  “What happened before?” His head tips toward the door to the conference room.

  “Oh God,” I mumble, struggling to pull myself from his lap. Did he lock the door? Someone could have walked in. Someone might have seen us. Someone would…tell Richard.

  Once standing, I look down and see what I’ve done to him, his thick erection bulging in his suit pants. “Charlie, I…”

  He holds up a hand. “That was all for you,” he says. Leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, he looks up at me, those dark eyes filling with concern.

  “Let me in,” he whispers, but I shake my head.

  “I can’t,” I say, and then I turn for my laptop, swipe my ruined shirt from the chair where Charlie set it, and exit his office through the conference room without looking back.

  11

  Fourth of July

  [Charlie]

  Nowhere celebrates America on the Fourth of July better than small towns with parades honoring the local celebrities, first responders, and prominent townsfolk along with school sports teams and community groups. Blue Ridge is no different. Along Main Street, our proud parade proceeds with children on bikes and scooters or wagons pulled by parents weary in the heat, signaling the end of the festivity. The thought of a cool community center at the end of the route makes me consider Janessa’s proposal for a community center and central park.

  It’s only been a couple of days since she ran out of my office with no explanation of what upset her. Jordan simply mentioned Richard Swank, a famous center fielder, being traded to Atlanta, and she dropped everything. My gut says something about the name unsettled her, but as I haven’t seen her, I haven’t had the chance to ask. I could walk myself over to the coach house, now that I know she lives there, but for some reason, I hesitate. I want her to open up to me. I want her to come to me with her secrets. And my gut also tells me that isn’t going to happen.

  After the morning parade, an adults versus teens baseball game is played on the ballfields near the high school, and my thoughts drift again to Janessa and her town plan. A casual field centrally located would be more inviting to locals and visitors alike. It’s here that I find Janessa on the sidelines after missing her at the parade.

  “Nice home run, Mayor,” she teases me, her smile genuine but her eyes sheepish. I don’t want to think about her walking out of my office the other day. I just want to soak up this smile. She’s on one side of the fencing bordering the ballfield while I remain on the inside, but my eyes check out her outfit now that she’s so close to me. White shorts hugging those hips, accentuating her booty, and a red shirt with a miniature American flag stretches over her ample breasts. My mouth waters at her patriotism.

  “You saw that, huh? How was my batting stance?” I question, and her cheeks pinken, hopefully recalling the first night we were together. Batting practice. Sex against the cage. Me inside her. Those are the thoughts I want in her head, not whatever startled her the other day.

  “You have nice form, sir.” My own smile matches hers. I like her like this.

  “Good game, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Pint,” I say to my mini-me who has rushed up to the fence next to Janessa.

  “Dad, can Vega come to the fireworks with us?” Lucy turns to Janessa. “You can come, too. Both of you.”

  Huh? “Maybe they have plans with their own family tonight, Pint.” There are a variety of places to view the fireworks over Bolton Lake. My family has their sacred spot, and I appreciate the privacy because it allows me a few minutes to enjoy the meaning of the holiday without any fanfare or the prying eyes of the town.

  “Actually, we don’t have plans, but I don’t want to intrude on your family time,” Janessa says, reaching out to cup my daughter’s chin. The touch is tender looking and intimate, and I watch as Lucy beams up at this woman we don’t know well. Janessa’s soft expression and the heat in Lucy’s cheeks tell me my daughter doesn’t know how to respond to the affection despite the attention of myself and my family, especially my mother. Lucy isn’t for want of love, but watching this woman stroke the face of my child reminds me my daughter doesn’t have a mother’s touch in her life.

  Janessa releases Lucy’s face and reaches for her own daughter, stroking a hand down the length of one of two braids in her hair. It hits me then that both girls wear a complicated yet similar set of braids in their hair.

  “You two look like twins,” I interject, staring from one girl to the other with their matching dark locks.

  “We could be.” Lucy giggles. “Remember we have the same birthday.”

  “Well…” Janessa smiles, biting her lips. “That really wouldn’t be possible, but today you’re the star-spangled twinsies.”

  Lucy swipes her hand down one braid dangling over her shoulder. “Miss Cruz did our hair, Dad. Isn’t it cool?”

  “Yeah, cool, Pint,” I answer, lowering my voice as my fingers curl into the fencing. I want to touch her. I want to draw her into me and thank her for putting a beaming grin on my child’s face.

  “So, Dad, fireworks?” Lucy prompts, and Janessa looks up at me.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Why don’t we pick you up at eight. Is that too late?” I suggest.

  “Yes, Dad. Have them over for the cookout first?” Lucy presses.

  “The cookout is Gran’s party, honey. Not mine,” I remind my child, wishing I could just include two more people to the guest list, but sensing Janessa might not be comfortable with the invitation.

  “We already have plans with my parents for dinner, so it’s no big deal,” Janessa offers, a hint of letting me off the hook to Lucy’s pressure. I’ve never had Rosa or Henri over for dinner. While I adore both of them, respect them for their hard work, and appreciate their dedication to Lucy and myself, I don’t interact with them other than as boss and empl
oyer. Guilt taps at my chest. They’re practically a second set of grandparents to Lucy, a pair she doesn’t have on her mother’s side. I’d love to toss up the entire holiday and tell Janessa to bring her parents to my place and shift the cookout there, but I can’t upset my mother. This is her holiday, like all the rest, and it’s the one day Giant lets Mother fuss because of his military history.

  “How about seven? It’s early, but we could take dessert and drinks to the lake.”

  “Yes,” Lucy says with a bumped fist and a little tug at her side. Vega holds up her hand, and the patriotic twins high-five.

  Janessa looks up at me, and whispers, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “As your mayor, I’m deeming it your patriotic duty to spend the evening with me.” I wink, and she fights the curl of her lips. She’s so beautiful. I couldn’t have expected this evening, and I’ll need to secretly thank Lucy somehow for swinging this date even though it’s not really a date.

  Just a man and his child spending time with a single mother and her own kid.

  Yeah, and I have a mountain peak property to make me rich.

  Still, I’m excited for tonight.

  “See you at seven,” I say, pushing off the fencing.

  “See you then,” she says, placing an arm around both girls and leading them off for ice cream.

  + + +

  We agree to take Henri’s truck instead of my car as the girls convince us that the truck bed will be a fun place to hang out. Janessa says her father won’t mind, and she allows me to drive as I know the location of the private trail leading to the edge of the lake.