Scratch the Surface

Two years ago, he came home for good to open his own law firm and sit on the board of directors of Barrett Incorporated, overseeing all the businesses his family owned. I knew that because it had been in the paper, and everyone shared the news. People were excited. The prince was back and would one day be taking over from the king, Edward Barrett, his father, who had taken over from his father, Thaddeus Barrett, before him. The dynasty remained, and the men and women who worked at places like the casino and car dealerships were thankful. It meant they could continue to provide for their families, and many—so many—unattached women started hanging out wherever they might happen to run into Merrell.

It turned out one of the places where he was most likely to be spotted was at Kingman’s. He drank there, ate there, and even had business meetings out on the closed patio, some that concerned his law firm, and others where he and his father served their managers some lunch while things like revenue forecasting were discussed.

When the signs went up around town about him running for office last year, I was not surprised. It made sense. He was four years older than me, twenty-eight, a senior when I was a freshman. He won in a landslide and was the youngest mayor Barrett Crossing ever elected.

“Good evening, Mayor-elect,” Billie Rae greeted Merrell, who ended up in line behind me as I paid for my coffee and milk. “Can’t wait for you to get into office come January.”

I said nothing, still on my high from connecting with Cam, even for a short time. Had I not been, I would have confronted him and asked why it was that lately, every time I looked up, there he was.

“Thank you kindly,” he replied, his voice, like the rest of him, ridiculously perfect, husky, almost raspy, whiskey poured over crackling ice.

I smiled, though, thinking of Cam’s silvery voice, of the rises and falls, the way he enunciated every word and syllable, and yet it was smooth, like poured honey. God, I had it bad.

“There you go, sugar,” Billie Rae crooned at me, smiling. “Rita still treating you good over there?”

“Always,” I replied playfully. “Just ’cause you don’t like her don’t mean she’s not the sweetest woman on earth.”

“Sweet, my ass,” she snapped. “She’s a viper, and she’ll turn on you and all the others one day, mark my words.”

I shook my head, thanked her, and walked out the front door, holding it open for three women who didn’t even bother saying thank you, but greeted Merrell loudly.

Outside, straddling my bike, I held a bag in each hand so I’d be balanced, not bothering to put on my helmet since I was so close to home. I was ready to kick-start the engine when I heard my name.

Turning, I saw Merrell walking toward me, crossing the parking lot to reach me, his dress shoes making scraping sounds in the gravel. I was surprised when he reached me and came closer, near the front wheel of my bike, his pale blue gaze meeting and holding mine.

“Mayor-elect Barrett.” I was baiting him a little, because I had no idea what kind of footing we were on.

“Really?”

I shrugged. “How would I know? We haven’t exactly been hanging out since you got back.”

He gave a slight tip of his head, as though acknowledging the validity of that. “Still—” He cleared his throat. “—you should use Mer.”

“Okay. Well, it’s late, so––”

“On your way home?”

I was sitting in a parking lot waiting to start my bike and had groceries balanced for my imminent departure. But because I wasn’t a smartass every second of the day and night, instead of congratulating him on one hell of an intuitive leap, I smiled and nodded. “You?”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah, I…yeah,” he mumbled, clearing his throat again like there was something stuck there.

I waited.

“I bought the Regan house. I don’t know if you heard.”

I scoffed. “Everyone heard. You bought a crumbling mansion on the biggest piece of land in Barrett Crossing. Who doesn’t know that?”

He nodded.

“Bye, Mr. Mayor!” the girls who’d been going in when I was on my way out yelled over to him from the red Mustang convertible they had climbed into.

Instant smile as he turned and waved, all fake, his face never lighting up like he’d smiled in my bed the last time we’d been naked together. I remembered him rolling over on his back, shivering with aftershocks, first grinning like he was lying outside in the sun and then chuckling as he told me that, as soon as I was ready, he wanted to do it again.

“I’ll see ya,” I announced, because I wanted to go home.

“Wait.”

So we were there together, awkward as we waited for the girls to drive away. Once they were gone and we were alone in the parking lot for a few moments, the crickets started chirping again. When I realized he wasn’t ready to talk yet, I sat back on my seat and rebalanced the can of coffee with chicory in it that I liked, and the gallon of two-percent milk.