Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
" I think he's seeing someone else."
"Of course he is. All men cheat. It's what keeps me in business."
Bunny sat in the empty conference room of the town hall, sipping her tea as she listened to her sisters spill their tea. Her nose wrinkled, not at her sisters' banter, but at the citrus tang of the lemon she’d added to her brew. She gripped the warm mug tightly, staring at the wall lined with portraits of the town’s past mayors.
There they were: one solemn-faced white man after another, each with varying degrees of outdated hairstyles and mustaches, gazing out from the frames with an air of authority. Then came the lone woman—Deirdre Caldwell. Her portrait was hung reluctantly, slightly smaller than the others, as if the town wanted to minimize her tenure and the scandal that had ended it.
Finally, there was Teddy. His portrait stood out, not just because of his warm brown skin or his effortless charm captured in that megawatt smile, but because he looked less like a politician and more like someone you’d trust to coach your kid’s soccer team.
Bunny's eyes shifted to the blank space next to his portrait—the spot reserved for the next mayor. She traced its edges with her gaze, imagining her own face there. Not smiling, though. She’d look serious, professional. The kind of leader this town needed.
The thought sent a strange thrill through her, followed immediately by a pang of guilt. Teddy was a good mayor. People loved him. But did that make him the best mayor?
"There's no reason to stay married to him, Kitten. You both got what you wanted. Now get out."
"You don't get it, Bird Brain."
To anyone who didn't know the Chou sisters, that would've been an insult. But Birdy Chou had graduated at the top of her high school, undergrad, and law school classes. Hers was the biggest brain in the family.
"I'll be a divorcee at twenty-two," Kitty went on. "Marriage is supposed to be sacred, forever."
"Christmas is supposed to be sacred. People start celebrating it the day after Halloween and then on December 26 th , they forget baby Jesus and start worshiping Cupid. Nothing is sacred or forever."
Kitty let out a pained sigh on the phone. It rubbed Bunny's hair the wrong way. She couldn't stand when her sisters were in pain. Both were suffering for different reasons.
"I don't want to get a divorce."
"It's not like you had a real marriage to begin with. You married for money, which was a great business decision. Your business is art, which I will forever find questionable."
"What's questionable is any man ever wanting to marry you, Bird Brain."
"The answer to that is that I'm never getting married."
"Hey, you two, cut it out." Bunny's voice came out smooth thanks to her lack of running her mouth during this conversation but also because the lemon had soothed her throat.
Both her sisters settled down. They knew better than to argue with that tone. As the eldest, Bunny was excellent at the Mom Tone. She'd been blessed with having two moms in her life, though she'd been cursed to lose them both.
"Kitten, honey, you need to file the separation paperwork, at least."
"But Bunny?—"
"Just give him the paperwork and let him make his decision."
"Fine."
"Birdy, will you draw it up for her?"
"I'll get to it this afternoon and give her the family discount."
"You're not charging your baby sister for this, Birdy."
"Fine, but I need your help with my business license renewal before I'm late."
"How is it that you can keep all this legalese and red tape straight, but you choke when it comes to business documents?"
Bunny could hear her sister shrug through the phone. The middle Chou sister was excellent at taking care of other people's business. It was when it came to her own affairs that she got forgetful, and sometimes down right negligent.
"My next client is here," Birdy chirped. "I gotta go."
"Me, too," said Kitty. "Paint won’t mix itself.”
The line went dead. Bunny stuffed her phone back into her pocket and reached for her tea. It was lukewarm now.
She'd just solved her sisters' problems. If everyone in town let her manage their lives, there would be no issues. She turned back to the blank spot on the wall. Yeah, she could picture herself there, framed in polished wood, her expression calm and confident. Under her leadership, things wouldn’t just happen —they’d get done. The town would thrive. Everyone would be better off if they just listened to her.
Control freak. That phrase was practically engraved on Bunny’s forehead by now. As if trying to keep her family from self-destructing was somehow a flaw. The chaos in her family was enough to send anyone into a tailspin, but pairing it with the daily circus of the mayor’s office? That was a recipe for disaster.
From Frank's resistance to change, to Preston's preppy condescension, to Grant's constant come-ons. Grant had been another Deidre Caldwell hire. He was pretty in the face, but not impressive where it counted, just like the former mayor liked them. With his constant flattery and flirting, it was clear to see he was headed down the same path as his former boss.
But Bunny’s biggest problem wasn’t Grant, or Preston, or even Frank. It was Teddy. Mayor Theodore James Carter, with his boyish grin, his disarming charm, and his absolute refusal to stick to a script.
Bunny knew the power of words. Words could move mountains—or, in this case, secure funding, rally support, and solve every problem the town had. If Teddy would just listen to her for once, stick to the carefully crafted speeches she wrote for him, everything would fall into place.
But no. Teddy liked to “wing it,” to “speak from the heart,” and the town ate it up every time. Meanwhile, he always missed key points that she'd highlighted in his carefully constructed policy speeches, which left her scrambling at the phones when constituents called in with questions about the parts of the policy that Teddy had neglected to mention.
Bunny reached for her tea again, only to realize it had gone completely cold. “Of course.”
Pushing the cup aside, she sat back and closed her eyes, willing herself to find some semblance of calm. The weight of it all pressed down on her—the family drama, the office chaos.
She tapped her foot against the worn carpet, her gaze narrowing on the unsigned forms that would release funds for Teddy’s beloved after-school program. They had to be submitted before the end of the day tomorrow or the allocation would be delayed by months.
She’d already reminded him. Twice. Teddy had nodded, smiled that ridiculously charming smile, and said he’d get to it. And then what had he done? Gone off to play with the kids at the after-school program, or share a beer at the pub with the officers from the local precinct, or show up to the community center to flirt with the single women in the book club.
Bunny took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm. If he didn’t care enough to sign it, why should she care enough to chase him down again?
But she did care. That was the problem. Not about the after-school program—though it was a good idea—but about the grant proposal sitting untouched on her desk. A proposal she knew could make a real difference for the entire town, not just one small part of the community.
She knew she had Preston's backing. Like her, the senior policy advisor believed this was the best course for the mayor's office to take. Frank, the mayor's chief of staff, was more interested in the projects that would help get Teddy reelected—and fighting for the children was always a winner. Grant—well, everyone knew Grant thought he should be mayor and would act in whatever passive-aggressive manner would undermine the man who had the job he wanted.
Bunny headed back to her desk with a glance inside Teddy's open door. She could see right inside to his office, and his desk chair was empty. Of course it was.
Back at her desk, Bunny pulled out her laptop and opened the grant proposal she’d spent weeks perfecting. The numbers, the vision, the potential—it was all there in black and white.
She didn’t need Teddy’s permission to submit the grant. Technically, it was already approved by the council—it just needed someone with a functioning sense of urgency to hit “submit.” Someone like her.
The after-school program was important, yes, but it was one piece of a much bigger puzzle. The grant package could revitalize the entire town. It meant transforming empty storefronts on Main Street into thriving small businesses, giving families a reason to stay instead of moving away. It meant attracting tourism dollars that could fund not only the after-school program but new playgrounds, updated library technology, and better infrastructure for the next decade.
The grant was ambitious, forward-thinking—the kind of bold move that could turn their sleepy little town into a bustling community of opportunity. Bunny knew that if they only focused on patching one hole in the ship—or rather a pothole in the street—the rest would sink, anyway. This grant could keep everything afloat and moving forward.
Her hands paused, the cursor blinking at her like it was daring her to take the leap. This wasn’t exactly playing by the rules. But then again, Teddy wasn’t exactly playing the part of a responsible mayor.
She didn't second-guess herself. She knew she was right. And she pushed the button.