She grinned, one side of her mouth higher than the other, giving her an impish look. “What, Linc?”
“I like you.” I bent low and brushed my mouth across hers. Then I went back for more, taking her top lip between mine and kissing it, then doing the same to her bottom lip before covering her mouth and kissing her harder. Our tongues stroked together, long, lazy swirls, curling, tasting, and discovering. When I eased back, Sunny’s cheeks were pink, her lips swollen from mine, and her eyes wide.
“I have been wanting to kiss you since I walked into the bakery,” I murmured and bent again for one last kiss.
“Hope it was worth the wait.”
I dropped a kiss to the end of her nose. “It was.” I enfolded her in my arms. “It always will be.”
The empty corridors of the small town hall echoed with my footsteps. I frowned as I glanced around. The place was almost deserted. I had encountered one person on the way to the mayor’s office. Chuckling, I reminded myself this was Mission Cove, not Toronto. They didn’t even open the building until ten, and it was only a few moments past. Nothing big was happening in the town, and it would seem most employees were not yet at their desks. I hadn’t been in the building for a long time, and it hadn’t changed much, the layout the same as I recalled from past visits.
Not long after my mother died, my father would send me on errands, delivering thick manila envelopes to people. Often it was to the mayor. I would ride my bike down the hill, careful to deliver the package to the right person. I was so desperate for my father’s love and approval that I never made a mistake. I was fast and never gave the envelope to anyone but the person who was supposed to get it. I would rush back to the house to tell my father I had completed my task, always hoping for a glimmer of approval. It never came. He remained impassive and uncaring. Still, I tried.
Until the day after a rainstorm, when he gave me an envelope and I sped down the hill too fast. I lost control of my bike, and my backpack and I flew off, landing in a huge puddle. The papers were ruined, my knees and pants torn, and the front tire of my bike damaged. But that was nothing compared to the pain of the punishment my father inflicted on me. He was furious, screaming at me about my carelessness, wasting his time, and being irresponsible. It was the first time he had used his fists as well as his words, but certainly not the last. It was the day I realized he would never love me, no matter how hard I tried. The day I learned to fear his office as well as the man.
I gave my head a shake, pushing aside the memories. He was dead and could no longer hurt me. I located the mayor’s office and pushed open the door. It looked much the same as I remembered. Neutral colors, uncomfortable-looking chairs, the walls covered in pictures of the town during festivals and tourist season. There was a desk beside a closed door, the last stronghold, as it were, that prevented you from getting to the mayor. I remembered his assistant—the mayor’s wife. Mrs. Tremont was well-groomed, rigid—and to a young boy, scary as hell. She always glared at me, her dark eyes filled with disapproval over my insistence at handing the envelope directly to the mayor. She would make me wait, sitting in the corner on one of those uncomfortable chairs, sometimes for over an hour. But I waited, not wanting to risk my father’s wrath.
I glanced around, not surprised to see how little had changed. The town outside these walls was prospering, but inside, it looked as if time stood still.
The door by the desk opened, and a woman strode out. She stopped short, seeing me, our gazes locking, and for the second time that morning, I was a kid again. Cold, dark eyes met mine, a frown appearing on a face that was older but still familiar. Mrs. Tremont crossed her arms, a frosty glare etched on her expression. She recognized me, and it was plain she wasn’t happy to see me. When she spoke, her voice was cold and formal.
“May I help you?”
I straightened my shoulders. “I’m here to see the mayor.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
She knew damn well I didn’t.
“No.”
“Then, young man, might I suggest you make one?”
I refused to let her intimidate me. “I don’t have time. Tell the mayor Lincoln Webber is here to see him.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Webber?”
I smirked. “Yes. Lincoln Webber.” I crossed my arms, mimicking her stance. “He will see me.”
She sniffed. “Too good to keep your father’s name?”
My indignation rose. “That, Mrs. Tremont, is none of your business. Tell your husband I’m here to see him about an urgent matter.”
She didn’t back down. “He is not here. As deputy mayor, you can discuss your matter with me.”
Deputy mayor? Her?
Good god, the people here needed help more than I realized.
“Fine. A permit I require was refused. I assume it was done in error, and I need that rectified. Immediately.”
She didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about. “The one to level your father’s house.”
“It’s my house now. I’m having it demolished.”
She didn’t meet my eyes as she deposited some files onto the top of her desk. Her tone became almost gleeful as she responded, “No, I don’t believe you are. The permit was denied.”
“On what grounds?”
She lifted her gaze, pure hatred blazing from them. I stepped back at the blatant hostility. “On the grounds that your father did a lot for this town and his house was a symbol of his commitment to Mission Cove. It and his memory deserve to be respected.”
I wanted to laugh. Commitment? His memory?
Was she insane?
“We decided, in the best interest of all parties, not to allow the demolition.”
“I disagree. It’s my property and your decision is certainly not in my best interest. I want an audience with the council. As soon as possible.”
She clucked her tongue. “That won’t be possible for a while. We don’t meet for another month.”
Anger, red and hot, filled my chest. I stepped nearer to her desk, my tight fist resting on the wood as I leaned close. “Then I insist you call an emergency council meeting.”
Our eyes locked, furious blue meeting cold brown. “Step away from my desk, or I’ll call security. I don’t appreciate your intimidation tactics.”
Seething, I stepped back. “Call for an emergency council meeting,” I repeated, my voice cold, but calm.
“I’ll take that up with the mayor and get back to you.” She glanced around her desk. “I’m sure your number is here somewhere. A staff member will be in touch.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m doing what is in the best interest of the town, Mr. Webber.”
“And an empty, ramshackle building on top of the hill is in the best interest of the town? I’m not maintaining it.”
“Then it will be maintained and the bills sent to you.”
We were locked in a war of wills. One of the things I had learned was when to stay and fight and when to walk away. I had no idea what her motivation was behind this, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
I turned and headed to the door. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
Her triumphant cackle followed me down the hall.