by Nina Bocci
“Tell us how you really feel, Em,” my father said, chuckling.
I smiled, setting it down on the now-cleared dining room table. “Hey, you asked.”
Cooper grabbed it, eyes narrowing to examine it critically. Jotting a few notes on the back of it, he nodded. “Great point. You were right, Enrico. Emmanuelle,” he said softly, turning toward me with a smile, “you’ve got an eye for this.”
My eyes slid to my father, who was beaming proudly. He slapped his leg. “I told you! My girl knows her stuff. My last reelection campaign, she designed everything.”
“It’s not like we needed to try that hard, Dad. You were a shoo-in in the past—how many elections?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Emma,” my mother said, shooting a glance toward Cooper. “You’re a natural for this type of work. Between your organizational prowess, your out-of-the-box ideas, and your priceless connections all around town, you’re a natural. Just like your father.”
Inside, I was doing a little shimmy at the praise. Though I’d never had the drive to want to run for office myself, I did enjoy the preparation that went into a successful campaign.
“I have another, you mind?” Cooper asked in a hopeful tone. I could tell he was nervous by the way he was smiling. It was crooked, unsure.
I hadn’t planned on involving myself in Cooper’s campaign. Hell, this was supposed to have been my night with my mother. Not whatever the hell this was. He had my father coaching him. I’d do my civic duty and call it a day after voting.
“Last one. I have a ton of work to do tonight,” I explained, ignoring my mother’s pout.
At that Cooper smiled, a powerful, flirtatious tool that would make anyone’s insides turn to jelly. Especially someone like me, who wasn’t used to having the full extent of it used against her. Good grief.
“Last one it is,” he said cheerfully, but I didn’t believe him for a second. There were piles still leaning against different surfaces in the room.
“Mm-hmm.” I rolled my eyes, turning my chair to face him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He brushed his hair out of his eyes.
My mother, of course, melted. “How could anyone even consider voting against you, Cooper? You’re so handsome.”
Cooper, in a rare and unexpected reaction, blushed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Peroni, but I don’t think that this”—he said, motioning to his face—“is what people are voting for.”
“You’re not aware of your fan base,” I mumbled.
Clearing my throat to break up the Cooper-does-all-things-right love fest, I signaled to my dad to get the show on the road. He turned the poster toward me, and this time, my reaction was instantaneous.
“This. Is. Perfect.”
“Really?” Cooper said, sitting up straighter. His complexion brightened, making him look like a peacock preening for attention. “That was my design.”
That made sense—he knew how to market himself to people.
“But—” I began.
“Of course there’s a but.” Cooper sighed, grabbing a Sharpie to make a note for the graphic designer on the back. “Hit me.”
“Tempting, but I’d rather not touch you and contract something.”
“Emma,” my dad admonished.
Cooper pulled a face, scrunching up his nose, but then he looked at me out of the corner of his eye and winked, making me smile. He nearly beamed. For a brief second, it was reminiscent of how we had been as kids: inseparable.
Shaking my head to bring myself back to reality, I examined the poster. This sign had the same dimensions as the first one, but it had an edge to it that made it stand out. It was what it said: ONWARD, printed in a large white font against a bold green background.
“The font for ‘onward’ needs to be a smidge larger, with a cleaner edge, so it stands out from a distance. I would also revise the background color—maybe go a shade darker on the green, so it’s closer to the town’s signature color. No one usually uses green as a background, though, so you’re already ahead of the game.”
Standing up from the table, my mother grabbed the largest sign and started to unwrap it. “Oh, you’re so good at this! Just one more?”
“I said last one—okay, fine,” I conceded, mainly because she was already turning it toward me.
The outer wrap said Billboard. “The people of Hope Lake already see you every day—do they really need to see you on their commute to work, too?” I quipped. But with just one look, I felt my heart stop. People might actually get into an accident seeing that much Cooper from the road.
I’d never seen this photo before, but I would have remembered it if I had. Whoever had taken it deserved an award. Cooper looked political, powerful, and really damn hot: a striking combination. His usually tousled hair was styled just enough so that he looked polished but not plastic. The suit he wore was tailored to his body in such a way that it made you wonder what was beneath it. And his crisp white shirt and a tie in the same shade of green as the font reading CHOOSE ENDICOTT FOR HOPE LAKE. The image drew you in and made you not want to look away.
For once I didn’t have a mouthy quip or a snarky jab to toss: Cooper had nailed it.
“Thoughts?” Cooper asked, biting his thumbnail. He crossed his arms over his chest protectively.
“Good, fine, perfect. No changes,” I rattled off quickly, feeling the heat creeping into my cheeks. I simultaneously wanted to set fire to the poster and make a thousand copies to paper the town with. “It’ll stand out against Rogers’s new signage.”
His face fell, and the thumbnail was again being worried between his teeth. “You’ve seen it?” Cooper asked nervously.
“Not exactly, but they’ll be out soon.”
“How do you know?” my father asked, stacking everything neatly and double-checking that all the posters were perfectly lined up. I got my overly orderly quirks from him.
“I saw the Rogerses at the elementary school this afternoon delivering flyers and a sign.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Cooper asked. “Did you see the posters? Did they look good?” He sounded annoyed. That was how I preferred him: curt and straightforward. Not muddying the waters with flirtatious smiles and pretending we were still friends. Thankfully, his tone cleared my head like a splash of cold water. We worked best when we were professional and indifferent and without my years of hang-ups clogging things up.
“For someone with zero political experience, he’s coming off like he knows what he’s doing,” I explained, glancing over to my father for backup. “And I’m saying something now.”
“Prior to running for town council, that is,” my father added, rubbing a large hand over his tired face. “Kirby is considering his unopposed town-council victory as his politico boot camp.”
“Listen, a win is an ego boost for anyone. But that doesn’t mean he’s qualified for mayor,” Cooper interjected.
I swallowed a snide retort. Luckily, my father was on the same page.
“Cooper,” he warned, “people could say the same thing about you and your lack of experience. Like Emma said, we need to focus the narrative on what we want and why you’re qualified—not why Rogers isn’t. We can’t let him steer this ship.”
“Yeah, well, he’s somehow managed to rile up a portion of the town by making unfounded accusations about the CDO being mismanaged and funds going missing or slandering the public works guys for being ‘on the take’—who says stuff like that? There hasn’t been a group that he hasn’t yet insulted. Why shouldn’t we play just as dirty?”
“He’s nudged a small but loud group to champion his cause,” my mother interjected. “I hear the ladies at lunch chatting about it. There’s something he’s tapping into that’s worrying me.”
“On top of that,” my father interrupted, “your charm used to work well, but now Kirby seems to have found a way to exploit it.”
“I’m surprised he’s not putting that on a yard sign,” Cooper groaned, l
etting his head fall into his hands.
“They’re too clean for that, Cooper,” I chimed in. “But they’re still going to be aggressive. After all, he’s trying to fill the position that Mayor Dad has held for more than twenty years with little to no scandal. He’s going to come at you full force.”
“Damn, we’re so behind,” Cooper said, typing furiously into his cell phone and chewing the inside of his cheek. Another nervous habit.
“Not really. If we can solidify all changes, you can email yours to the printer tonight.”
“We?” my mother offered, doing an awful job fighting back a smile.
“You, them, whoever. Don’t listen to me, I’m not steering this ship.” I waved my hand.
“Maybe you should be,” Cooper said bluntly. “Why don’t you run the campaign?”
“You’re high.” I laughed awkwardly, looking at my parents.
They weren’t laughing.
“This is ridiculous,” I said incredulously. “First the fake dating, and now this?”
I stared at the top of his head, waiting for a punch line. Was this night a joke that everyone was in on except for me?
“Emma, I wouldn’t suggest this unless I absolutely had to,” Cooper said, not looking up at me.
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
I turned to my dad, expecting to see a teasing smile, but his expression was dead serious.
“Dad?”
“He’s right, Emma,” he said slowly. “It’s not a half-bad idea.”
Damn.
“You’re both crazy to even think that I’d—”
Judging by the way they were talking with their eyes, they’d already discussed the possibility. I could tell by the way my dad took a deep breath, preparing to make the shift from conciliatory parent to mayor giving a speech: an ass-kissing politico speech meant to influence constituents, not appease angry daughters.
“Your instincts are always spot-on, Emma,” he began. “You know the ins and outs of a campaign—hell, my last win was thanks to all the work you did. Besides, it’ll look slightly less like favoritism if Cooper’s old friend was leading the charge instead of his mentor, who just so happens to be the current mayor. Think of the optics.” He clapped me on the shoulder like he would any constituent.
“Except”—I looked at Cooper—“we’re not really friends, right? We haven’t been for a long time.” I could feel the old hurt bubble up. There were warring emotions in play, and I needed to get this over with.
“We work together,” I added quietly. “That’s the extent of our relationship. I know you,” I said pointedly at my father, “don’t understand those optics, but those are the facts. There is no Cooper and Emma anymore. That’s been gone and buried a long time, Dad. Muddying the waters with . . . with this . . . would be terrible for all of us.”
Way to suck the air from the room, Emma. But it was true. Why pretend that we were something we weren’t? Fake friendship or not, someone would end up getting hurt, and that person would likely be me.
My parents’ expressions were a mixture of sympathy and disappointment. I understood why. My father saw so much of himself in Cooper and wanted us to rekindle our friendship, which I didn’t get. At all. My father was kind and upstanding and had been in love with my mother—and only my mother—since he was fifteen years old. Cooper hadn’t loved anything for that long. Except maybe the town, which was the only reason I had even considered supporting him for mayor in the first place. I could separate the principles of the candidate versus the lack of morals of the man. But that didn’t mean I wanted to be involved directly in helping him win.
Cooper’s eyes were focused back on the phone in his lap. I was about to snap at him for not paying attention when he mumbled, “The governor thought you would be the perfect choice.”
“Excuse me?” I gasped, stunned. I lurched forward. “You spoke to your mother about this?”
It was one thing for my dad to entertain this wild idea. But for Cooper to speak to Governor Campbell about it . . . I was at a loss.
How could I say no now?
“We’re just going to step into the kitchen while you two work this out,” my father said, pulling my mom’s hand.
“Peacefully, calmly, and without breaking Nonna’s china, please,” Mom added.
I put my hand up. “Oh, no. You guys are a part of this, too, in case you forgot who else agreed to this.”
They both winced but sat back down. The angrier I got, the higher my voice went, and I didn’t want to sound like a screeching crazy woman. I felt a familiar twisty, sick feeling building in my stomach when I looked at Cooper. Even though he looked distraught, I stood my ground.
“Explain,” I barked, folding my arms over my heaving chest.
He shifted in his seat, keeping his head down. “We spoke today about strategies and how we can keep a slight lead against Rogers. She stressed that one vote can make or break a campaign, so I need to maintain a solid, consistent message to garner consistent support. She’ll attend as many meet-and-greets or speeches as she can, if we think it’ll help. I said it would but that I didn’t have them set up yet. She asked when you were starting your campaign strategy.”
“Why would she ask that?”
“I may have led her to believe that you were already on board.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” I stood up abruptly from my chair and started pacing around the room, trying to calm down.
“I thought that you would agree!” he shouted. I was so angry at him that I started shaking.
“But you never even asked me! You know how much I respect your mother. Do you even realize the position you’ve put me in? How it will look for me if I say no now?” Not to you, to her, I wanted to add but kept it to myself.
“Then don’t say no,” he said hopefully. As if it were that easy.
“You know I can’t do this, Cooper. You should never have brought me into this without asking.”
My parents remained silent, hands clasped on the table, worried expressions on their faces. Cooper and I fighting was something they’d grown accustomed to. This—well, this was a different set of feelings altogether.
Cooper’s hopeful smile was gone, replaced with a genuine look of desperation. “I need your help. We both know this lead won’t last. Kirby’s coming after me.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My ears were ringing, my throat was itchy, and damn it, my heart wanted to give in because I knew that I would be a great addition to the team. But thankfully, my brain won. Taking a deep breath, I decided to stand my ground. I had to put me first. And that meant associating with Cooper Endicott only when necessary.
“You don’t need me. Your name recognition alone will get you a win—just keep your nose clean and your antics off the web. As far as Rogers goes, you, my dad, and the governor will work that out. Play to your strengths. I’m sorry. I can’t help you with the election.”
10
* * *
Bright and early Monday morning, my mood had improved slightly. I wouldn’t say that I was happy, but I wasn’t a walking ulcer anymore. There was only a fifty-fifty chance that I would tear someone’s head off if they looked at me sideways. That was probably the best anyone was going to get today.
Fact was, I’d felt awful the past two nights, tossing and turning over whether or not to text Cooper at three in the morning. I had been harsh—deservedly so, because I hated that he’d talked me up to his mother without asking—but I could have gone a little easier on him than I had. Especially after seeing him struggle so much over the laundry list of things he still had to do and how hurt he’d been when I’d said no to helping him. I’d thought about it all through church. Sitting in the pew yesterday morning, I’d festered over whether I’d done the right thing by shutting him, and his campaign manager idea, down.
But the more I reflected on things throughout the day, the more I felt at peace with my decision about staying out of the election.
&
nbsp; The urge to reconsider that gesture, however, flared up when I began checking my email over coffee at my kitchen counter.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Thank you
Dear Emma,
I hope this finds you well. I understand that my son has spoken to you about his campaign. I have to tell you that when I heard you were going to help him, I was thrilled. He needs someone like you—a take-charge kind of woman who champions the work that he’ll be able to do as mayor—to keep him focused on what has to be done and not get sidetracked by minutiae. You’re going to make an incredible team, Emma. Be his equal partner. On and off the political circuit.
You know the old saying “Behind every great man is a great woman.” This is only the beginning for him, and with you in his corner leading the way, I can’t imagine how far you’ll both go. We both know he’ll push your buttons, but I know that you’ll push right back. Without making an excuse for his behavior, know that he’s coming from a good place. A place deep in his heart that knows that you’re the best choice for him on this election. Even if he’s not willing to admit it.
If I can share some wisdom to be kept between us: look back on how Cooper was reported on before he won the primary. The articles then were aggressive but fact-based, while today’s reporting climate seems to be accusatory, debasing, and, most important, containing blatant untruths. There’s a story there. Ferret it out, and I believe this mountainous uphill battle may become paved with sand instead of tacks.
From a mother first and a governor second, I thank you for what you’re doing both for my son and for Hope Lake. You know how much the town means to me and to my family, just as it means so much to you and yours. I’m eager to see what you have up your sleeve as we push on in this election. My cell is below if you need me for anything.
All the best,
Clare
It had come through to my personal email address, not work, which meant that Cooper had given her my address. It had come through at four in the morning. I smiled—her hours were just as ridiculous as mine. I couldn’t imagine the stress she was under on a daily basis, and now she was worrying about her only child running for local government on top of everything else.
