Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
DK
Ididn’t just drop off last night. Even with the crushing weight of the D.C.
story finally off my chest and my body loose and satisfied from Luna, neither had magically driven the insomnia away.
It still lives and breathes in the darkness.
But I’m not struggling alone anymore. Once I got past the hang-up of letting her care for me, I realized how much it means—the face masks, the head massages, the way she tries to get me to relax.
She even did research to find a meditation process that suits my need for logic and structure.
We tried it together: lying on our backs in bed, tensing our muscles and slowly releasing each one.
Simple, rather than the abstract mental stillness, I can never get the hang of.
Luna’s a woman of many facets. I won’t ever forget her in pearls, lace, and leather, the metal clamps dangling from her nipples.
Fuck, what a sight. But she’s just as stunning now, standing at the window, wrapped in nothing but the quiet.
I take in her curls falling loose to her shoulders.
The pink and gold of sunrise plays over her—the soft rolls of her back, the flare of her hips—lit like a work of art I could spend a lifetime admiring.
She hears me stir and glances over her shoulder. Her warm eyes are a little drowsy, like she hasn’t been awake for long.
I wish I could capture this moment on my phone camera. But that’s a hard line for Luna. No intimate photos. Instead, my gaze holds her in frame—the curve of her shoulder, the glow of her skin.
Click. I lock it in my memory. Not just capturing her beauty… I’m capturing the truth.
That Luna owns every piece of me.
“Come here.”
She walks across the room, hips and breasts swaying. I open my arms, and she slides in like she belongs there.
She does.
“You’re up early,” I murmur against her hair.
“I’m all in my feels,” she says, her words muffled against my chest. “Missing you already, and you’re right here.”
I feel it too—that ice-cold twist in my gut. I lift her chin so I can see her eyes. “We’ll figure something out.”
“How?” Her tone is edgy. “Tomorrow, we go back to pretending we’re nothing more than political adversaries. We’ll be riding hard on the campaign trail. I’m at the Women Rising luncheon this coming weekend, and you’re with your family the next. It could be weeks before we get away again.”
That thought’s unbearable. I brush a curl from her forehead. “Finding solutions is my speciality, and I’m extremely motivated to find a way to see you.”
“It’s Bayside, DK. You can’t just show up at my back door in the middle of the night. Mrs. Guthrie gives ‘neighborhood watch’ a whole new meaning. And I can’t take the chance of sneaking into your place.”
“I’ve got this, Luna.” I kiss the end of her nose, my mind already mapping out the hidden spots that would give us cover. “It’ll be the most successful operation of my career.”
She smiles, the tension breaking. “Boy, you so crazy.”
“For you, I am.” I roll her beneath me, the sunrise flooding the room with gold. “Since we have a few more hours before the real world calls… let’s make them count.”
“Mmm,” she moans, her hands sliding into my hair as she wraps her legs around my back, our looming departure forgotten in the heat of right now.
Monday morning arrives in sharp contrast to the days I spent with Luna on our private strip of lake.
The fluorescent lights of the campaign office feel like a physical assault on my senses.
I sip my decaf and pull my mind away from the memory of Luna against the sunrise to concentrate on the meeting with Jacquie from communications and Lorenz from field operations.
“Ward 4 is staffed and ready for tomorrow,” Lorenz says, running us through his update. “Volunteers will be at the rec centre handing out brochures and T-shirts. Gabe will knock on a few doors.”
Luna will be out on those blocks, too. Ward 4 is fruitful canvassing territory.
A mixed bag of demographics, leaning high toward the fifty-plus crowd who are committed to Bayside’s history.
Thirty-five percent of the residents are firmly against expansion, forty percent are with Diablo, and twenty percent are undecided.
It’s that healthy number of up-for-grabs that makes Ward 4 a prime first stop.
“Rayne’s campaign tour is called: ‘Locals First’,” Jacquie says. “She’s continuing to position herself as the candidate who cares about people and preservation. It’s resonating.”
Personally, I get why nostalgia tugs at heartstrings.
Even though this isn’t my town, every time I walk that pier, I can feel the history holding the wood together.
I know Luna isn’t against change. She’s against destruction.
Her commitment to heritage is a love letter to the Bayside that raised her.
I believe there’s a middle ground. I’ve even managed to swing Diablo more toward the center—but that won’t satisfy everyone, including Luna.
“We keep showing voters why ‘preservation’ is a slow road to economic decline,” I say, my voice a professional mask. “Contrast that with Gabriel, who stands for responsible development that secures Bayside’s future.”
“‘Progress with purpose’,” Jacquie says, holding up one of the T-shirts. “It’s a great slogan.”
I nod. “It moves us away from the negativity around expansion and connects development to meaning and intention.”
“A winning narrative,” she adds, energized while I wrestle with my conscience.
The conflict feels heavier than it did before the weekend. We agreed not to hold back. I know I owe her a real fight because she’s a real contender. But for the first time in my career, something matters more than the win.
At noon, Ash and I grab tacos from a food truck and find a bench in the shade.
“How was Grove Cove?” he asks about the cover of me spending the weekend with friends.
“Great.” My gaze drifts down the boardwalk.
Ten doors.
That’s the distance between my world and hers.
Luna’s campaign office sits between a bookstore and a gift shop—a location that invites people in.
Accessible. While Diablo prefers to be at Town Hall.
He’s a big-picture, talk from the podium candidate.
That will give Luna the advantage. She’ll canvas hard.
I eat my tacos while Ash talks about his weekend. I’m half-listening as my eyes drift again.
“She moved in today.”
“Who?” I ask. Like I didn’t call her this morning. Like I didn’t hear the excitement in her voice through the speaker.
“Rayne.”
“Oh. Her location doesn’t matter much.”
That slanted look Ash gives me sniffs the bullshit.
I’m not proud of lying to him—he’s become a friend. But I won’t risk Luna. Not for anyone. I pivot, asking about the next poker game, but when a shop door opens, and a woman steps out, my heart stutters before I realize it’s not her.
To be this close—to know the scent of her skin, the sound of her laugh against my chest—and not be able to walk those ten doors and claim her... It’s a specific kind of hell.
After lunch, I spend the afternoon in my office, working the phones with the heavy hitters. By 5:30, my throat is raw, and my brain feels like a browser with too many open tabs. I need to sweat. I hit the gym, load the bar for squats, the weight heavy across my traps.
Luna and I had agreed not to text while at work. It’s risky for the campaign and distracting for the soul. But the silence between morning and night already feels like a vacuum.
I have to find a way to see her… and soon.