“I like him. And he likes you. You should be nicer.”
“I am nice,” Moira protested. “If you must know, we actually had a little truce the other night.”
“Yeah?” Darla turned and prepared Moira’s coffee.
Moira leaned against the counter and sighed. “That was when I thought he was going to help us though.”
“Gil is just doing his job, Moira.” Darla turned back to her and slid a coffee in her direction. “Tess isn’t joining you today?”
“No, she got some new inventory in. She’s unboxing and shelving this morning,” Moira said, reaching for her drink. “I’ll see her at book club tonight. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too. Be nice to the mayor,” she said again. “I told you how I feel about things.”
“You did, and I don’t understand it.” She felt someone step up behind her in line. “But you have customers, and I have a dispatch shift. Talk to you later, Mom.”
Moira turned and walked out of the store. Or tried to.
“Moira Green?” Vi called from her table. She was seated across from Reva Dawson this morning.
Moira turned toward the women. “Good morning.” She looked between them. “Do you need something?”
“We just wanted to tell you how proud we are of you, standing up for the small businesses here. I’m a small business owner myself,” Vi said.
“And I am, too, in a way,” Reva added.
“It was inspiring watching you go up against the council last night,” Vi told her.
“You were fearless,” Reva said. “I should have written that on my blog. I might have to edit it.”
“No, that’s okay.” Moira wished Reva would just leave her out of the blog from now on.
“Have you ever thought of running for office?” Vi asked. “You would be great at it. You were so passionate up there.”
“Well, I am passionate. Sweetie’s is my mom’s business.”
“Even so, you were take-charge.”
Moira looked between the women. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”
“And we support you one hundred percent,” Vi said.
“In keeping the bakery open?” Moira asked. She really needed to get that petition going. The more signatures, the better her chances.
“No. In running for office,” Vi said matter-of-factly.
“A woman mayor. Imagine that,” Reva said, as if it were a novel idea.
Moira hated to break it to Reva that women were occupying all kinds of offices these days. But she wasn’t one of them. “Oh, no I’m not…” She trailed off. She’d never even considered running for a public office before. “I have a job. I work dispatch.” And she was good at it.
“Well, being mayor in Somerset Lake doesn’t have to be a full-time job, you know? You can still work at the dispatch. Change keeps us young,” Vi told her.
“Well, she is young,” Reva pointed out. “But change keeps things interesting for sure. You should consider it.”
“It” meaning a run for office. No, Moira was all for keeping things fresh, but she was a dispatcher. She had no experience in politics. She couldn’t just up and decide to run for mayor—against Gil.
* * *
After excusing herself and wishing the ladies a good day, Moira headed out of the bakery and toward her car. It was a long way to walk if there were no spots at the curb, like today. And when folks parked along the curb, it made driving down Hannigan Street a tight squeeze. Moira looked around for alternative locations for a parking lot—there was nothing—and thought about what the women had said, as she made the hike to her Hyundai.
Moira for Mayor? Vi and Reva had to be joking. Only, they’d seemed serious. She couldn’t run against Gil though. Could she?
The idea continued to percolate as she sat through her shift. There were five calls to the dispatch, which made it a busy day. Only two were actual emergencies, however. The first emergency involved a minor fender bender. The other one was a caller reporting that Mr. S was sunbathing in the nude down on the lakeshore outside the Somerset Rental Cottages again. Instead of calling the sheriff’s department, Moira dialed Trisha.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Trisha. It’s Moira calling from the dispatch.”
Trisha groaned. “Not again.”
“Afraid so,” Moira confirmed.
Trisha audibly sighed. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks. See you at book club tonight?” Moira asked.
“Looking forward to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tenant to throw a towel over and send home.”
Moira laughed. “I choose my job over yours.”
Trisha laughed as well. “Right about now, I’d choose your job too. I have an entire cottage to clean up today. Louise Herman lived there for twenty-plus years, and I don’t think spring cleaning was ever on her to-do list.”
“That sounds like a lot of work for you while you’re pregnant. Do you need help?” Moira asked. “I could come by after my shift one day.”
“No, but thanks. Della has already offered. I have the best friends ever.”
“Same here,” Moira said. “Good luck.”
“With the cleaning or Mr. S?” Trisha asked.
“Both.”
They said goodbye, and then Moira stood from her desk and stretched her arms up in the air. She hadn’t yet read Reva’s blog, so she hesitantly decided to take a peek. Moira tapped a finger over her screen and pulled it up, glancing at the first bullet point. Jana was having a fudge sale. Moira would have to stop in this week and get some. She kept reading.
Have you heard? Denise Berger is running against our very own Mayor Gil this year. Hearsay is an announcement is coming soon!
The news left Moira feeling a little disappointed. She could do better than Denise. Maybe Moira didn’t have any political experience, but she had years of experience in public service. She knew the sheriff’s and fire departments and the medical services, and she had connections with all the small businesses in Somerset Lake because of her mom’s bakery. Denise Berger was a local accountant. She probably had connections, but Moira doubted she had a servant’s heart, which was what a mayor needed. Gil had that. He wasn’t looking out for Sweetie’s though.
Moira refocused on the blog and read the last bullet point of the day.
This weekend is the Spring into Somerset Festival. Hearsay is Mayor Gil is presenting an award to one of our own. You know I can’t keep a secret. If I knew who it was, I’d tell you all. I sure hope it’s not someone from the Green family though—they might just toss that award right back at him.
Moira cringed. She didn’t plan to chuck the award at Gil. She was better than that. Even if he deserved it.
Chapter Twelve
Gil was wearing his smile like the worn jeans and loose T-shirt he had on tonight. The smile covered the fact that he wasn’t listening to a word the guys at the table were saying right now. When they laughed, he laughed. When they groaned, he groaned. Otherwise, his thoughts were on the crummy day he’d just had.