CHAPTER TWO
Blue
I’ve barely had my first sip of coffee before Sheriff Napier knocks on my office door. The guy is a few years older than me and I get the feeling he’s as underestimated by this town in his position as I am in mine. He grew up here, too many people babysat him or remember him skipping school.
Today, he’s got bags under his eyes, but his hair is neat and his uniform is crisp. He’s not a bad-looking guy, with a sharp jaw and clear blue eyes. I’m very glad I feel zero physical attraction to him, since it could make my job beyond awkward.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” I say.
He slumps into the chair in front of my desk. It’s a common pose for him to take. When he’s in here, it’s usually because he’s frustrated about something. “Shandy Leviston ripped up two more speeding tickets today. She’s telling tourists they don’t mean anything.”
I take another fortifying sip of coffee. “She was at the business association meeting, Ned. She agreed that ticketing the tourists is a good way to bring in revenue. She even complained about them speeding past her shop.”
He winces. “Sorry, Mayor, but that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. People who’ve been in this town for generations have seen businesses fail or thrive based on the goodwill of the tourists. That’s why we had the stupid rule in the first place about not ticketing tourists. No one wants to piss them off.”
“The tourists are the ones breaking the law. They have no reason to be pissed off.”
He chews on his lip for a moment, thinking. Sheriff Ned Napier always considers his words like he’s had decades of learning to be careful with them. “No matter how many urban tourists we get here, Yuletide will always be a small town at heart. Change doesn’t come easy.”
I wish I had a fridge to jump on so I could hiss at everyone. I was welcomed into the role as mayor, but as soon as I started suggesting new ways to do things, everyone turned on me. Very few people have done it to my face, but I’ve heard the rumors. And, if I haven’t heard them, my staff or my friends have told me about them. The town council doesn’t say anything to me, they just block everything I try to implement or approve. “Let me guess. Shandy blamed the total fiasco on me.”
He makes his hand into the shape of a gun and points it at me. “Bingo.”
This is taking me back to my boarding school days when I was the outsider, bullied by the wealthy elitist kids. It’s a horrible feeling to know people hate me, but I’m not about to curl up in the fetal position and continue to be pelted with rocks.
No one will see how much better things can be around here if my plans aren’t actually implemented. “I want you to fine Shandy.”
Ned Napier sits up straight in his seat, eyes going wide. “She’s seventy years old. And beloved in this town.”
I shrug, pretending a nonchalance I don’t really feel. “And she’s broken the law.” Shit, has she? “It is a law, right? You can’t go around telling people they don’t need to worry about a speeding ticket and ripping it up, can you?”
He rubs his clean-shaved jaw. “Technically, it’s not against the law, but it’s definitely not on the side of the law. You should pass a new ordinance that anyone ripping up speeding tickets and telling tourists they don’t have to pay them will be fined.”
I swallow my groan. He’s right. Unfortunately, I can’t unilaterally pass a new ordinance. “I’ll take it to the council.” Not that any of them will listen to me. I lean forward, elbows on the desk. “Can you arrest council members for not taking my calls and refusing to meet?”
He stands and heads for the door. “Sorry, Mayor. Can’t help you there. But I will keep giving out tickets to tourists. I think you’ve got a great plan here.”
“Good to know I’ll have one vote in the next election.” Which is coming up in another eleven months. Since I was elected in an emergency referendum after the last mayor left, we’ve got to have another official election in November.
He gives me a sympathetic look and leaves me alone with a phone blinking with messages and the certainty that no one in this town is actually going to let me improve things around here.
I mean, Yuletide is adorable, but its revenue balances on a very thin line between just making it and bankruptcy. The town needs to bring in more money and doing things the way they’ve always been done isn’t the answer.
“Mayor Porter,” my assistant Roni says as she steps into my office. “Charles Rutherford is here to see you.”
I bite back a sigh and glance ruefully at my laptop, full of a long list of things I’d hoped to get done today. “Send him in.”
Charles saunters into my office with a cheery smile. His brown skin is wrinkled, but his dark eyes still sparkle with energy. His white hair is cropped close to his head, and he’s dressed in a suit like he has been every time I’ve seen him. A suit that appears to have been tailored to his long, lean form.
He’s old enough to be my grandfather, but I suspect he was a fox back in his day.
I stand. “Good morning, Mr. Rutherford.”
As he always does, he shakes my hand over my desk and doesn’t sit until I’ve taken my seat.
“I assume you have a message from the council,” I say. Charles is the oldest member of the council and the one they always send to talk to me because they think I’ll go easy on the older, affable man.
“Maybe I just want to visit with my favorite mayor.” He folds his hands on his lap and leans forward. “It’s too early in the morning for you to look so stressed.”
He’s definitely here to butter me up for something, but he’s also one of the best listeners I’ve ever met. “I might be less stressed if shop owners weren’t ripping up speeding and parking tickets and telling tourists not to worry about them.”
His brows rise to his hairline. “I thought the business association agreed to the new plan?”
The business association stands to benefit directly from the money the tickets would bring in, money we can use for improvements to infrastructure, like finally fixing the potholed sidewalk outside Shandy’s shop. At the meeting, they’d been unanimously in favor of the plan. Or so I’d thought. “No one likes to see unhappy tourists, apparently.”
Charles nods. “They lack your vision.”
That surprises me. I wouldn’t say Charles has been one of my biggest detractors, but he’s been openly skeptical. “My vision? That’s not what you called it last week. I believe you said I’m trying to citify one of the best small towns in the world.”
His lips twitch and his eyes twinkle. “I wasn’t wrong. But I don’t think you’re wrong either. I asked a former associate at my old law firm to run some numbers. You’re right. Towns that encourage tourists to stay multiple days, rather than visit for a single day trip, do see improved revenue for the town and the residents.”
Excitement wipes away my exhaustion and defeat. He gets it. Finally, someone gets it. “If we play our cards right, we can bring tourists here from all over the country to spend a long weekend or a week in the jolliest town in the world. I promise you there are people who’ve never even tried on skis who’d love to come here. We just need to market the town right and build a hotel or six, so visitors have somewhere to stay.” The vast majority of our visitors are people staying in Sugar Valley, the ski town twenty minutes away. They’re people looking for a day off from the slopes or family members who hate to ski.
He raises a hand. “I said I’ve joined the choir, Mayor. You don’t have to keep preaching to me.”
I laugh, happier than I thought I’d be when I imagined someone in this town signing onto my vision. “You don’t think I’m the know-it-all outsider anymore?”
He slaps his knee gently and laughs. “It won’t be the last time I’m wrong. I’ve been watching you, Mayor Porter. I’ve seen you taking the time to get to know the people and how this town operates. If you can bring me around, you can bring the others around.”
“The question is, can I do it before the election?”
He steeples his fingers over his chest and hums in agreement. “The most important question.”
“But talking about my campaign isn’t why you’re here, is it? What does the council want today?”
He taps his fingers on his knees. “It’s the busiest time of the year. A few council members have plans to go out of town to visit family in the next few weeks. They want to put council business and decisions on hold until after the holiday.”
In Yuletide, the holiday always means Christmas. Hannukah and Kwanzaa are acknowledged, but Christmas is at the center of everything. “There are like thirty items on the agenda.”
He nods. “And if you want the council to vote your way, you can win a little goodwill with them by giving them time off.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Or they’re trying to stonewall me and keep me from getting anything done before the election.”
He doesn’t rear back or gasp. Charles Rutherford is as unflappable as they come. “Some of them, absolutely, but you’ll never change their minds. The rest… Give them this time off and they’ll be very appreciative.”
I don’t like this, but I don’t have any choice. I’m fully aware of who on the council supports me, who’s on the fence, and who wants me gone. Charles’s not wrong that I need to do everything I can to get those fence sitters on my side. “If I agree to this, any chance they’ll vote to pass an ordinance so we can fine locals who tear up police tickets?”
He gets to his feet, his knees creaking as he straightens. “I’ll ask for one more brief meeting before we go on hiatus. Can you have the ordinance to me by the end of the day?”
Writing an ordinance involves a lot of legal jargon, which means I’ll have to involve several people to help me get it done. Which will probably mean more favors owed. “I’ll do my best.”
He nods. “So will I.”
As he’s turning to go, I remember something else I need to ask him about. Something I’d like to forget but can’t. “Any chance they’d be open to discussing Garrick Evergreen’s request?”
I’ve been in favor of Garrick getting his permits since day one, but I’ve had no luck getting the council to agree. If I’ve allowed Garrick to believe I’m against the permits, that’s only because he made up his mind about me as soon as he met me. Nothing I say will change his mind, and I don’t care if he hates me.
Charles turns, expression thoughtful. “Which one?”
“The one about opening up the Hightower Ridge land for his clients. I’d like to get an answer to him as soon as possible. His other requests can wait.” Only because I know the council will unilaterally say no if I push them to agree to all the permits at once. In my opinion, nothing Garrick is asking for is unreasonable, but as much as they love Garrick, they hate change more.
Charles winces. “They’re gonna say what they said last time. Outdoorsy tourists don’t spend money in the shops and restaurants. There’s extra liability letting strangers recreate around here, and they’re worried about people hooting and hollering too close to town.”
“That land’s over ten miles from downtown.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking nearly as frustrated as I feel. “I know, but only four miles from Josephine’s place.” He holds up a hand. “Still far enough no one should hear Garrick or his clients, but you know…”
“Yeah, I know.” The council members can be as unreasonable as toddlers when the mood strikes. “He’s losing business to a new guiding outfit in Sugar Valley. I know the council can’t see it now, but if Garrick grows his business, and we put in hotels, there will be spouses and kids coming in with his clients. People who don’t want to snowshoe or snowmobile all day. And Garrick’s clients do shop in town, but no one notices because there aren’t enough of them, because you all won’t give Garrick the land access he needs to expand.” And I truly believe a thriving outdoor guiding business is a big part of what can draw in more tourists, the kind of tourists who want to stay awhile and spend money.
“That’s a lot of ifs and maybes,” Charles says. “The council likes cold hard facts.”
“I’ve been working on getting that for them, too.” A friend of Cherry’s, Keating Sullivan, owned an adventure course business and has contacts all over the world. He put me in touch with people who’ve given me exactly the kind of data I need to show the council what I’m talking about. I just need to arrange it into a format they’ll understand. “I’ll send you what I have by the end of the day. Can I be at the meeting?”
Charles tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling. “I think it’s best if you sit this one out, Mayor. Send me what you got and I’ll speak to them in a way they’ll understand.”
I don’t like being shut out of the council meetings, but whenever I go, nothing gets decided. I’ve had to rely on Charles and, as nice as he is, I’m not at all sure I trust him. If life has taught me anything, it’s to trust no one. “I’m going to be at the meeting after the holiday.”
He nods, gives me one last sad smile, and leaves.
I get to work, feeling a bit like I’m digging a hole in the surf. No matter how fast I dig, the next wave is going to fill it all in like I was never here.
***
“Come on, Lilith.” I stare up at the cat, who is still on the top of my fridge. She needed a name and one that belonged to a mythological being seems to fit her, but I hope I’m not cursing us both. She came down long enough while I was gone today to pee and poo on my floor, but she hasn’t eaten anything. “You have to be hungry.”
Lilith glares down at me and hisses.
“I get it. I’ve had a shit day too. Most of the humans seem to feel the same way about me as you do. I’ve had to deal with complaints all day and I barely got done half of what I needed to get done.” At least I got Charles Rutherford the information he needed to get the council moving on that ordinance and Garrick’s permit requests.
I pick up the bowl of dry cat food and reach up to put it on top of the refrigerator with Lilith. She lashes out with her sharp claws.
I pull my hand back, just managing not to drop the bowl of food. “Ouch. That was rude.”
Setting the bowl on the counter, I cradle my hand. A bead of blood wells up, but the scratch is small and shallow. There’s no good reason for tears to burn my eyes and my throat to get tight.
I don’t need anyone to like me. I’m just fine on my own. And if I sit here blubbering like a baby, I truly am beyond pathetic.
“According to my Internet research, you need some time to get used to this place without me messing with you.” I set the food back on the mat and look up at Cat, who’s still glaring at me. “So, I’m going out for the night. You have the full run of the place. You’re free to destroy it for all I care.” I look around at my apartment, the one I’ve never even decorated. Deep down, I think I always knew I wouldn’t find my place here.
Not that I’m giving up. I just need to have some fun tonight so I can keep fighting tomorrow.
I don’t waste time looking for the perfect outfit. Grabbing the first form-fitting top I find, I pair it with my favorite leather pants and sky-high heels. I spend a few minutes touching up my make-up and putting my hair up, then I’m out the door, a warm coat over my thin top.
“Don’t wait up,” I call to Lilith as I head out the door.
I don’t plan to be sober enough to drive home, so I walk the three blocks downtown to Jack Frost Brewery, a bar that’s popular with the tourists and the maker of Yuletide’s signature spiced ale.
Most locals avoid Jack Frost, because they don’t want to deal with tourists on their time off. Since I want to avoid locals, it’s the perfect place for me. All I need to put the final nail in my coffin around here is to sleep with a local.
I can hear the gossip now about how I’m trying to steal one of the only good men in town or how I broke the heart of a good guy. Please.
Like I’m the big, bad wolf and not someone who’s actually trying to improve Yuletide.
I hear the music, the thumping bass of some pop song, before I step out of the cold and inside.
The club is packed. People are grinding on the dance floor, stacked up to the bar four deep, and making out in dark corners. Laughter and lust fill the place like a concoction headier than the beer on tap.
I close my eyes and just breathe it in. I let it all wash over me until my skin feels like it’s pulsing along to the music.
This is what I need. Just to be anonymous for a little while. To lose myself in a club and chase my own hedonistic desires until I can find a man to lose myself in.
I’m not picky. I’m not looking for the smartest or the hottest guy. I want the guy who’s looking to get lost the same way I am. I’m looking for the guy who can fuck me so good I forget my own name.
And let me tell you, that guy is never the most obvious one. I’ve learned what I like and what to look for. It’s not a perfect science. I might have to kiss a few frogs to find the right guy, but I’ll find him.
The only damper on the experience is safety. So boring. But necessary.
I shoot Cherry a quick text to let her know where I am and that I’m on the prowl. She sends me back a thumbs up emoji in moments. She’ll expect me to check in with her every thirty minutes or she’ll send the Hounds of Hell after me.
Not the literal hounds of hell, the local motorcycle gang of town elders called the Hounds of Hell. Cherry has friends everywhere.
I weave through the crowd right up to the bar as the song changes from a pop tune to a remixed Christmas carol. The crowd cheers as the Christmas lights strung over every inch of the place flash on and off in an eerie holiday dance. The bartender is dressed as a sexy Mrs. Claus. Her skin is as pale as the snow outside, her hair is red, and her eyes light when she sees me.
“Howdy, Mayor,” she says. And there goes my anonymity. Not that I have the energy to care. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey,” I say. “Three fingers. Neat.”
Her smile widens. “Rough day?”
I take the glass and hand over my card. “Looking to make it better. There’s a good tip in it for you if you point out any interesting guys you’ve seen tonight.”
Risky? Sure. But keeping my extracurricular activities a secret isn’t possible around here. And judging by the way I’m buzzing and ready to climb the next man who smiles in my direction, a year of celibacy isn’t the answer either.
All I can hope is that an amazing tip inclines Mrs. Claus to keep her mouth shut. If she doesn’t, it’s not like the people of Yuletide (Yuletiders?) could possibly like me any less.
She presses her lips tight, and I brace for judgment. She rings me up and hands over a credit card slip. Guess she’s not opening a tab for me. My heart sinks. Shit.
I sign and add a generous hundred and fifty percent tip.
Mrs. Claus scans the slip of paper and grins. “For future reference.” She leans across the bar. “I prefer cash.”
“Good to know.”
She nods and ignores the people shouting for her attention as she scans the crowd. “Guy in the ball cap by the Christmas tree. He’s a good dancer, and he’s got those bedroom eyes.” She licks her lips and turns to me. “Know what I mean?”
My body heats in anticipation. “Yep.”
She nods and goes back to the crowd. “Guy in the Santa hat, near the bathrooms. He’s here alone, but he’s looking. He closes his eyes when he drinks. Savors it, you know?”
“Oh, honey, I do.”
She grins. “That’s all I’ve seen so far. Rest of them are sloppy drunk or handsy assholes.”
She moves to attend to the patrons waiting for her, but I have one more question. “What are the chances this won’t be the latest gossip around town by tomorrow morning?”
She leans back in. “Sweetheart, from one black-hearted outcast to another, I don’t share shit with anyone around here.”
“Good policy.” I offer my hand. “Blue Porter.”
She shakes it. “Tilly Jenkins.”
I’m feeling better already. I haven’t gotten laid yet, but I think I just made my first real friend in this town.