Sabrina
The snow this morning was light and fluffy, with thick, beautiful flakes swirling through the air.
As I trudged down the sidewalk in my mom’s snow boots, I felt like I’d gotten trapped inside a charming snow globe.
The storefronts and laughing children against the backdrop of the beautiful mountains made for a dreamy scene.
Though it was quickly ruined by the presence of recall signs in every snow-covered yard and plastered in every shop window. They ranged from the simple Recall Harding to the defensive Save Mayor Gabe to the bizarre Recall Harding! Our pancakes are sad.
Hand lettered and printed, half buried in icy precipitation, but all signaling a growing divide between citizens.
I stopped, admiring the We Support Mayor Gabe sign inside Bean There, Done That—my new favorite coffee shop—though when a frigid breeze ruffled my jacket, I quickly continued to the library.
People were angry and frustrated. They were searching for answers and in need of leadership.
Their fears were valid. But while the recall supporters were dead set on taking Gabe down, not one had come up with a solution or a viable replacement, and if he were removed from office without a secure plan, that would cause more delay, loss, and confusion.
Not that I planned to die on that particular hill today.
With my coat pulled tightly around me, I hitched my bag on my shoulder and pushed the heavy oak door open. There was too much work to do.
As I stepped into the familiar building, my blood pressure immediately lowered.
The library was warm and inviting and surprisingly busy for nine on a Saturday morning.
This had been my haven growing up. A quiet place to study, to get away when life was overwhelming.
And it had been filled with all the escapism a kid could ever need.
Since then it had gone through updates and improvements, but the feeling remained.
As well as the smell. Books and leather and a hint of sweetness.
My mom, who stood behind the main desk, rocking a mint green cardigan and her jeweled glasses, leaned across it to kiss my cheek. “I just started a fresh pot of coffee.”
I gave her a smile. “Thanks.”
“Meg sent me a bunch of email attachments to print for you. Are they safe to open?” She winked.
With Meg, one never knew, but I suspected they were the state finance audits I’d requested.
After I’d confirmed that she could, I went left. I had just approached the back hall where the meeting rooms were tucked away when a familiar voice called out.
It was deep and masculine. But also animated and silly.
And it was followed by raucous higher-pitched giggles. A lot of them.
My feet stuttered to a stop, my body knowing before my brain had caught up.
Holding my breath, I slunk toward the children’s room.
“And then the brave little sloth said I don’t think so!”
The group of kids erupted into giggles again.
In the reading corner, sitting on a tiny red stool, was Gabriel Harding himself, holding up a picture book up so the assembled crowd of children hanging on his every word could see pictures as he read.
He was committed. With silly faces and character-specific voices.
Not polite or performative, but fully in the moment. He went on, something about a snake, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Guys, do you think Sammy the Sloth should open the door?”
“Nooo,” screamed the chorus of voices.
Gabe widened his eyes and reeled back, feigning surprise. “I don’t know. Seems trustworthy.”
“Never trust a snake,” one kid yelled.
With a gasp, Gabe pointed at him. “You think he’s lying?”
The kids lost it. One fell over, giggling, as others shouted theories.
“Snakes are slimy and will make a mess in the house.”
The charming scene made my heart flutter strangely.
“What about the baboon?” one kid shouted, pounding his little fist on the floor. “He’s up to no good.”
Gabe turned the page with flair, affecting a new high-pitched voice. “I knew I’d regret this,” he squeaked.
I leaned against a shelf, unable to walk away, despite how annoyed I was by how good he was at this.
His deep voice was smooth and even. Slowing down and speeding up at precisely the right times. His performance reminded me of how good he was at debate.
Bastard. It came easily.
And these children adored him.
And so did the adult audience, it seemed. More than one minivan mom was openly drooling over his arms, which were on display since he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.
He was fully immersed in the story, not bothering to confirm he was getting the reaction he wanted. There was no calculation. And he never broke character or gave any of his attention to the adults. It genuinely looked like he was having more fun than even the kids.
At one point, a chubby toddler in overalls wandered over and plopped into his lap. Gabe kept reading as the kid rested his head against his chest.
A woman in front of me sighed dramatically. As much as I wanted to roll my eyes in response, the warmth prickling behind them stopped me.
This was unfair. I’d been off all week. Hormonal. Maybe this was the month I’d actually get a period after years of wildly irregular cycles. Figures. I’d even cried last night while looking at old photos of me and Chewie, the cat Dad had given me for my ninth birthday.
My emotions were wonky. Maybe it was being back in this town. Maybe it was the loss of my career. Or maybe it was being thirty-five, and I was just losing my mind.
But Gabriel Harding only made managing them more difficult.
And his fan club was rapt. A woman in her early thirties, wearing yoga leggings, was hanging on his every word, while two others stared vacantly.
I couldn’t blame them. The stubble on his jaw was delicious. And then there was the passion he possessed as he read children’s literature. Not to mention what I now knew was hidden beneath the dress shirt.
I exhaled slowly as he wrapped up his story dramatically. This version of him didn’t fit with the narrative I’d built. The version of him I’d carried with me for so many years.
Parents stood and gathered coats as kids scattered, picking books to take home and zooming over to the wooden train set in the far corner of the children’s room.
Gabe stood slowly, smoothing his jeans. Jeans that hugged his thighs and made him look ridiculously tall. Or maybe the doll-sized furniture in this room was at fault for that.
My face flamed. I needed to get out of here and get to work.
But before I could get my feet working, he looked up and homed in on me, his jaw flexing. Not in surprise, but as if he’d been aware I was watching.
A little girl darted for him, holding a book and babbling, and Gabe broke eye contact, then kneeled to chat.
His eyes were bright and his smile was real. This was not the “mayor face” he wore when he was in town or meeting with officials. He chatted with kids and answered questions about books, seemingly delighted to be there.
It wasn’t an act. This was real. And honest.
And for some bizarre reason, my nervous system couldn’t handle it.
So I darted out of the room, sucking in a harsh breath.
My mom popped out of the break room with a coffee mug and held it out to me. “Black, as requested.”
The mug, one of many in her collection, read Books: Because there are too many people outside.
“Thanks,” I said, glancing at the door to my war room. I should be in there already. Working.
“Are you feeling okay?” She rested the back of her hand on my forehead like I was five instead of thirty-five.
I waved her off. I was just tired. And a bit achy.
And my stomach was off. But it had been years since I’d endured a Vermont winter.
Maybe this was a side effect of a vitamin D deficiency piled on top of the absurd emotions I faced every time a long-forgotten memory from my childhood hit me. Which had been often since I arrived.
“All good. Just gonna get to work.”
I turned toward the war room, but before I made it there, before I could flip the ineffective lock, Gabe appeared, blocking the narrow hallway with those damn shoulders.
“Working?” he asked.
I tilted my head and raised my mug. “Doing public relations, Mister Mayor?”
He looked back at the children’s room with a wistful smile. “Hardly. Favorite day of the week, though.”
I took a step closer, my traitorous feet propelling me toward him. Why did he smell so good? And when had I developed such a good sense of smell?
“You were very committed to the well-being of Sammy the Sloth.”
He grinned, and I swore his perfectly straight teeth sparkled.
“Strong storyline. Good versus evil, the weak rising up against the strong, and the power of friendship.” His expression faded.
He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair—one of his nervous tells—and looked down at me. “Were you rooting for the snake?”
I scoffed. “No.”
He shook his head, his lips quirking up. “You were probably rooting for a giant corporation to come and cut down the rainforest and build an AI data center.”
Annoyance and a little hurt ran through me. I glared.
“The snake is the villain,” he mused. “But you, Sabrina Monroe, you are a super villain.”
“Are you done?” I asked, tamping down on the sting of his words.
He was too busy laughing at his shitty joke to notice how unamused I was.
“I was going to say…” I sighed, then forced the words out of my mouth. “You’re good at that.”
He arched a brow. “Reading?”
“Connecting,” I corrected.
“Ah. Always strategic,” he said softly.
While it was likely intended as a brush-off, it sounded more like a compliment.
“One of us has to use our brain,” I replied, suddenly realizing just how close we were.
How had we gravitated toward one another like this?
“You use your brain, I’ll use my charm,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was out of breath.
My mind went blank. I could come up with no quip to get the upper hand. What was wrong with me?
“You okay, boss?”
I startled, bringing my hand to my chest.
Harper strode up behind Gabe, dressed in another all-black ensemble.
“Yes,” I said too loudly, taking a giant step back and splashing coffee onto my snow boots.
As she came closer, she stared at Gabe. The kid had a lot of potential, but her poker face needed work. Her distrust was practically oozing from her.
I gave her a small smile. “I thought you weren’t coming in until noon.”
She shrugged. “I’d rather be here working.
And I’ve got a few things to show you. One of our reels went semi-viral yesterday.
You’ve got to see these engagement numbers.
And the town website is getting seven times as much web traffic as normal.
I think we should add the live maple cam feed there too. ”
“Maple cam?” Gabe asked with a smirk.
She gave him a blank look. “You need something, Mayor?”
He slapped on his mayor face and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Just offering to help the committee with anything you might need.”
Eyes narrowed, she examined me, then him again. This kid was far too smart for her own good. “We need to build a sustainable media infrastructure,” she said casually.
When Gabe’s eyes widened, I took a step back, basking in the glory of my protege at work.
“Content capture, distribution, audience growth. And 4k outdoor cameras,” she rambled. “Time lapse, GoPros, and two drones. One for backup—”
“I’m confused,” he said
She looked over at me, as if she was talking to a toddler and needed help translating.
“Should we bring him into the war room?” she asked. “My PowerPoint is ready.”
“War room?”
“Where we plan and strategize, and where we will eventually save your ass.” She picked up her backpack and pushed the door open. “Come on. I’ll text the others.”
“I feel like I’m being led to some kind of enhanced interrogation,” he joked, holding the door open for me.
“This is a library. Not a black site,” I retorted. “And if I was going to torture you, you’d know it.”
He angled close as I walked past, his hot breath on my neck, and whispered, “Don’t undersell yourself, Sabrina. Just being in your presence is torture enough.”