33. Jake
33
JAKE
D riftwood Cove has never seen so many of my damn posters.
They’re everywhere—on shop windows, pinned to telephone poles, tacked onto bulletin boards at the general store and the docks. Grace even managed to get them hung in Haven Nook, right next to her floral arrangements.
And if that wasn’t enough, she’s been selling buttons with my grinning face on them at the farmer’s market.
I told her no one would wear my face on their chest, but she proved me wrong when I saw old man Harvey strutting around town with one pinned to his overalls, tipping his cap at everyone like he was part of some secret political movement.
Rowan’s been the one making the posters, sketching out my best features—though he claims I don’t have many—and making sure they don’t look too ridiculous.
He’s even got Ash handling my speeches, which means I sound a hell of a lot smarter than I actually am.
But none of it changes the fact that I’m running against a man who’s had this town in his pocket for years.
Mayor Wallace is as slick as an oil spill, shaking hands and kissing babies like he’s the goddamn Pope.
He keeps feeding people the same line—that selling to Westbrook Real Estate will be “The best thing for Driftwood Cove’s future.”
Bullshit.
Selling means destroying everything that makes this place home. It means luxury resorts replacing the harbor, pushing out the fishermen, turning my town into something unrecognizable.
So yeah, I’m fighting like hell.
And I’m exhausted.
Election day is in a week, and my nerves are fried. I’m pacing in Rowan’s living room, running my hands through my hair as Grace watches me from the couch.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” she says, amused.
Ash snorts from the kitchen. He’s nursing a beer. “You should’ve seen him earlier, staring at his posters like they were gonna come to life and vote for him.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, rubbing my jaw. “What if it’s not enough?”
Rowan looks up from his sketchpad, where he’s doodling something obscene in the corner of one of my speech drafts. “Then you lose. But at least you tried.”
“Real fucking motivational, man.”
He smirks. “Just saying.”
Grace tilts her head, studying me. Then she pushes up from the couch, walking over like she’s got an idea forming behind those bright eyes.
“You’re too tense,” she murmurs.
“No shit,” I grumble. “My entire future’s riding on this.”
“Well, not your entire—” Grace presses a hand to my chest, her palm warm even through my shirt. “Let me help.”
I glance down at her, brow furrowing. “Yeah? How?—”
And then she’s sinking to her knees, right there in Rowan’s living room, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Rowan, who had been half-distracted with his sketchpad, freezes mid-line. His pencil snaps. “Jesus Christ, I’m leaving.”
Ash just laughs. “No, you’re not. You’re just gonna pretend you don’t hear anything, like the rest of us.”
Rowan shoots him a glare before standing abruptly, muttering, “Fuck off,” as he stomps toward the kitchen. I hear the fridge door swing open, the distinct hiss of another beer being cracked open, and the muffled sound of him probably questioning all his life choices.
But my focus is locked on Grace.
She tilts her head up, looking at me with that wicked little smile that makes my stomach tighten. “Relax, Jake.”
I exhale sharply, running a hand over my jaw. “Not sure that’s possible right now.”
She hums, dragging her hands down my torso like she’s savoring the way I tense under her touch. Her fingers brush the waistband of my jeans, teasing.
Ash chuckles from the couch, completely unbothered. “Told you he needed it.”
Grace just smiles up at me, all mischief and promise. “Relax, Jake,” she repeats.
And damn if I don’t try.
Her fingers brush carefully over my belt, like she wants me to feel every second of this. Like she’s savoring the way my breath hitches, the way my muscles tense under her touch.
She works me open with a patience that’s almost teasing, unbuttoning my jeans, dragging down the zipper—each movement precise, each one making the heat coil tighter inside me.
I let out a rough exhale, my hands clenching at my sides. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
Her lips curl in that wicked little smile, the one that always drives me nuts. “Not quite.”
She takes her time, her nails scraping lightly over my hips as she drags my jeans lower, just enough to free me. My head tips back, a groan slipping out when she wraps her fingers around me, her grip soft but sure.
“Jesus,” I rasp, my hand burying in her hair on instinct.
She doesn’t rush. She watches me as she strokes, her eyes dark with intent, her lips parted like she’s already imagining how I’ll taste. When she finally leans in, her breath warm against my skin, I swear my knees almost give out.
Ash, the bastard, chuckles. “Think we found a way to deal with the stress.”
“Shut up,” I bite out, my fingers tightening in Grace’s hair.
She just hums, her mouth brushing over me, her tongue flicking out, teasing. I swear, she’s got me unraveling with just the barest touches, like she knows exactly how to push me to the edge without letting me fall.
Rowan mutters something under his breath from the kitchen. I don’t catch it. Don’t care. The only thing I can focus on is Grace—the heat of her mouth, the way she takes me in slow and deep, her hands pressing against my thighs to keep me steady.
I groan, my head tipping back, my grip in her hair guiding her, not forcing—just holding on. Because if I don’t, I might lose my damn mind.
She works me like she’s got all the time in the world, her tongue teasing, her lips tightening around me, every flick and stroke sending heat spiraling through my body. My breathing turns ragged, my thighs tensing under her touch.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” I grit out, my voice raw. “You keep that up, and?—”
She hums, the vibration shooting straight through me, and I don’t stand a chance. My body locks up, pleasure slamming into me so hard I have to brace my free hand against the back of the couch to stay standing.
She doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull away—just takes everything I give her, her hands still stroking, coaxing, until I’m left shaking in the aftermath.
Then she pulls back slowly, lips swollen, eyes bright with satisfaction. “Feeling better?”
I let out a breathless laugh, tugging her up and kissing her deep, tasting myself on her tongue. “You have no idea.”
Behind us, Ash claps a hand over his face, groaning. “I take it back. This is worse than the stress.”
Rowan just grumbles, “I need another drink.”
Grace grins against my lips. “Told you I could help.”
Damn right, she did.
And I’d let her do it again in a heartbeat.
* * *
The election results come in while we’re all crowded into the flower shop, surrounded by the scent of roses and fresh earth. The little TV on the counter flickers as the news anchor’s voice fills the space.
“And in a landslide victory, Jake Marshall is the new mayor of Driftwood Cove.”
For a second, the words don’t register.
Then Grace lets out a squeal and launches herself at me, arms wrapping tight around my neck. I catch her, lifting her off her feet as she peppers my face with kisses.
Rowan claps me on the back with a rare grin. “You did it, man.”
Ash smirks, phone in hand, but the look shifts as a text pops up on his screen. His easy demeanor vanishes, his jaw tightening.
“What?” Rowan asks.
Ash sighs, turning the phone so we can all see.
This isn’t over.
The message is from his father.
Grace tenses in my arms, and I run a hand up her back, grounding her.
Rowan scoffs. “Figures.” He exhales hard, then shakes his head. “Forget that for now. We’re celebrating.”
Grace pulls back just enough to look at me, searching my face. “Now that we won… do you still want me at your place?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain. “You could have your house back, Jake. I could talk to Harold and move back to my place by the end of this week.”
I frown. “ Have my house back?” I absolutely love living with her, although my whole place is littered with her things, which are still in boxes.
She nibbles her lip, clearly not sure where she stands now that the election is over and Westbrook is likely defeated.
I take her face in my hands. “Home isn’t some building, Grace. You are my home.”
Her breath catches.
Ash, still staring at the text on his phone, mutters, “Maybe we should start looking for a house for all of us.”
Rowan crosses his arms. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Grace’s eyes widen. “You’d all want that?”
Ash shrugs, but his voice is warm. “Yeah. We’re not letting you go.”
Rowan smirks. “Damn right.”
I toss a glance at Ash. “Lock the shop. We’ve got a victory to celebrate. Properly.”
Grace squeaks as Rowan and I lift her between us, her laughter echoing through the shop.
“Jake gets first dibs,” Rowan announces. “Mayor’s privilege.”
Her cheeks flush, her breath stuttering. “You guys are ridiculous. ”
“And you love it,” Ash teases, locking the shop door.
Grace only laughs harder as we carry her toward the back.
And damn, I’ve never felt more like I’m exactly where I belong.