“Passionate. Like Isaid.”
She gave an awkward little half-laugh. “Like I said, I’m Veronica Cruz,Mr.…”
“Zach. Hubler.” Something rustled. “You holding your handout?”
“Um.Yeah.”
I reached out, brushed her hand, and grasped it. Soft, small, a little shaky. We shook a couple of times and I let go withregret.
“Hello, Mr.Hubler.”
“Ms.Cruz.”
“Well, then. Are you planning on voting in the upcoming elections,sir?”
I swallowed. Yeah. About that. Shit. “Call me Zach. And, yeah, I’m planning on it.” After meeting her, I was. Although I wasn’t quite sure how I’d manage it withoutleaving.
“Okay. Wow.Great.”
The doorknob gave its familiar rattle, which meant she’d grabbed hold of it. I shifted away to let her through. “Thankyou.”
“Whatfor?”
“For helping me with Rylie. With the sign. And for not suingme.”
I laughed outright at that. “It wasfun.”
She opened the door. “Fun?”
“Best visit I’ve had in a while.” Ever,possibly.
Her steps sounded on the porch, where she paused before continuing down thestairs.
I switched on the outside light, shut the door, and grabbed a beer before heading down to mylair.
Time to find out everything there was to know about VeronicaCruz.
Veronica
I was in a weird mood as I walked the four blocks to Main Street. It wasn’t until I made it to the bus stop that I realized what it was—excitement. And it had Zach Hubler written all over it. I had that giddy crush feeling. Over a man I’d justmet.
If there was one thing I knew about running for city council, it was that you weren’t supposed to hit on the voters. But I liked him. And I had questions. Like, why was the outside of his house such a mess, while what I’d seen of the inside was pristine? If a littleempty.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this feeling—interest in aman.
The 21 bus to downtown pulled up and I smiled at Milton as he slid the door open forme.
“How’s the canvassing,Cruz?”
I sighed. “Weird.”
“You racking in thevotes?”
I waved at Myra who sat in her wheelchair halfway down, the only other occupant heading into town at this hour, and settled into the first seat. “One.” I shoved back the fizz of excitement I felt at that pathetic proclamation and turned back to the issue at hand. “PeopletrustRylie, you know? He’s got money, he makes money, he helps other people make money. They don’t trust a 28-year-old, Guatemalan preschoolteacher.”
“You hit the Tremont neighborhoodtoday?”
“Yeah.”
