She really does just want to make this town better. She wants people happy. Safe. Connected.
It messes with my head more than I want to admit.
She finishes her rundown. “Questions?”
Half the committee raises their hands at once.
She points to Mrs. Garland. The woman drones on about gingerbread house replicas for the kids’ table. Then Lucy says something I absolutely shouldn’t like:
“Oh! And we’re doing a candy workshop for Holly’s age group?—”
I stiffen at my niece’s name. “Holly shouldn’t have that much sugar.”
“It’s Christmas,” Lucy says. “She’ll be fine.”
“She’ll be bouncing off the walls.”
“Good for her,” Lucy says. “Kids should bounce.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’re not doing a sugar workshop.”
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re?—”
She sets her binder on the table and looks directly at me.
“Lieutenant Calder,” she says sweetly, “are you planning to fight me on every single idea I bring to this committee?”
Every pair of eyes turn to me. Her tone is pure sugar. Her expression pure challenge.
She’s daring me to say no. Daring me to push back. She has no idea how dangerous that is.
“Yes,” I say simply. “If they’re unsafe.”
Her lips part. “Joy is not unsafe.”
“With you?” The words slip out before I can stop them. Again.
The committee sucks in a collective gasp. Lucy’s cheeks go pink. She presses her hand against her binder like she needs something to hold on to.
Then she smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“Well then,” she says, “I suppose you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
My pulse spikes.
“I suppose I will,” I answer, my voice lower than it should be.
One woman whispers, “Dear Lord,” under her breath.
I don’t look at her. I don’t look at anyone.
I only look at Lucy.
And the way she’s looking at me.
Like she feels something too. Like she’s curious. Drawn. Maybe even a little shaken.
