Man With A Mission

The community college’s band played a few rousing numbers, then Jackie cut the ribbon, her daughters on either side of her. There was loud applause and everyone streamed into Perk Avenue.

Bridget caught Jackie’s arm and led her to the dessert buffet set up at what would eventually be a long service counter. Jackie turned to make sure the girls were behind her, but saw that they were talking to Haley. Haley shooed Jackie on. “I’ve got them. Go.”

Bridget directed Jackie to the head of the line already reaching out the door.

“If you hadn’t fought for us,” Bridget said, giving Jackie’s shoulders a squeeze, “Brockton would have insisted on holding this spot for ‘something that would have put the location to optimum use.’” She was clearly quoting. “Like a chain store or a fast food franchise. So you get to eat first.”

John Brockton, one of the councilmen who fought Jackie’s every move, had stood at the head of the line until Bridget placed Jackie there. He was short and small and balding, with sharp dark eyes. He smiled continually, but that seemed to contribute to, rather than soften, his poisonous personality. Jackie happened to know that John’s brother’s Cha-Cha Chicken franchise deal fell through when he learned he’d have to locate it on the highway rather than on the Square, the lifeblood of Maple Hill business.

“You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Brockton?” Bridget asked with feigned innocence, aware of the animosity between them.

“Of course not,” he replied for all to hear, then added for Jackie’s ears alone when Bridget wandered off, “Ms. Mayor is a privileged person around here and gets whatever she wants.”

Jackie could have laughed aloud at that claim, but chose to ignore it instead.

“But we’re going to change that.” The threat was quietly spoken and chillingly sincere. “You wait and see.”

Then Cecilia, who was serving up sampler plates of gooey desserts, handed her one and engaged her in conversation. Jackie was forced to dismiss thoughts of John’s retribution and focus on her job as mayor and this event’s cheerleader.

Plate in hand, a glass mug of decaf mocha topped with whipped cream in the other, Jackie stepped away from the buffet and looked around for her girls in the small sea of well-wishers.

Then she spotted Rachel, head and shoulders above the crowd—literally. She knew a moment’s horror. It would be just like Rachel to stand on a table to find her. Then she realized the child stood too high to be on a table. Jackie headed straight for her.

As she drew closer, she saw that Rachel sat on Hank’s shoulders, looking very much as though she owned the world.

“Here, Mom!” she called, waving. “We’re here!”

Jackie kept moving toward them, trying to ignore the sexy appeal of the man who held her daughter. He’d changed from his work clothes into casual gray slacks and sweater. His dark hair had been shampooed and combed into order. He looked like the good-twin version of the dangerous-looking man she’d seen that morning.

As Jackie approached, he lifted Rachel off his shoulders and set her down on her feet in the U-shaped booth he’d reserved for them. Rachel nimbly scooted into the middle of the booth, patting the place beside her. “Come on, Mom.”

Hank held Jackie’s plate for her while she put her mocha down, then he stood aside to let her slide in. He sat at the end of the booth beside Jackie. “Erica’s with Haley,” he reported. “They told us to hold the booth, that they’ll get our plates. But Rachel and I are beginning to wonder if that was wise. Who can be trusted with all this delicious stuff?” He pointed to her plate.

“I can,” she said, pretending an ease she didn’t feel at all. She offered her plate to Rachel, who chose a little square of cake with lots of cream.

“Yum!” Rachel anticipated her first bite with a gleam in her eye.

“Hank?” Jackie offered him the plate.

After a moment of surprise, he selected a plain tube of a cookie with chocolate inside. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

They studied each other warily for an instant, then seemed to reach the mutual decision that this moment was meant for peaceful celebration.

He snapped the cookie in half with his teeth and made a sound of approval, then popped the other half into his mouth.

Jackie dipped a plastic fork into a brownie-like concoction covered with a white chocolate mousse and took a bite.

“This is to die for,” she said, putting the fork into it again and offering it to Rachel.

It earned another “Yum!”

She scooped up a bit of the mousse, determined to appear unaffected by his nearness. Intending to hand him the handle of the fork, she turned his way. “Bite?” she asked.

His closeness stole her breath. He simply sat beside her, but his large body seemed to block out everything behind him, his arm along the back of the booth hemming her in, tightening her space.

Curiously, it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

“Please,” he replied without making a move to take the fork. His eyes told her he didn’t believe she had the courage to feed him the bite.

Flustered and challenged, she did it before she could think twice.

His strong teeth closed around the little fork as he slipped the morsel off, watching her with mingled surprise and reevaluation.

“Here we are!” Haley appeared with Erica, then stopped in the act of placing their plates on the table, her attention snagged by Jackie, still holding the empty fork to the edge of Hank’s lips. She looked from one to the other, obviously confused.

Jackie lowered the fork and turned back to her plate. “All right, you two,” she said to Rachel and Hank as though they’d wrested samples from her. “The rest is mine.” She dropped the fork on her plate and lowered her hand to her knee, hoping to hide its trembling.

Haley finally distributed plates and slipped into the booth beside Rachel, Erica sitting on the end.

Bridget arrived with a tray bearing a large pot of tea and several cups. “Here we are,” she said, handing out cups and a big-handled mug for Hank. She hesitated over Hank’s mug as she poured. “Is this going to be all right for you, Hank, or would you prefer something else to drink?”

The aroma of orange and cloves wafted around them from the steaming tea.

“This is fine,” he said. “Thank you, Bridget.”

“Good. I’ll bring tiramisu as soon as it comes out of the kitchen.” She picked up her tray, returned a wave to Cecilia across the room and left.

“What is that?” Rachel asked.

Jackie was beginning to feel more like herself, in control again and steady. “It’s a cake soaked in Kah-lúa, I think, and topped with whipped cream.”

“What’s Clua?”

She should have guessed that was coming.

“It’s Kah-lú-a,” she enunciated. “That’s a coffee-flavored liqueur. It’s alcohol. Sometimes people put it in their coffee or make other drinks with it.”

Jackie was not surprised to learn she hadn’t answered all her questions.

“If it tastes like coffee,” Rachel asked, “why do they put it in coffee? Isn’t that a lot of coffee?”

“It doesn’t seem to be,” she replied. “It tastes wonderful.” Before Rachel could ask another question, Jackie forestalled her by pointing to a round cookie covered in powdered sugar. “Try that one next,” she encouraged. “You’ll love it.”

Distracted, Rachel was mercifully silent as she ate.

“I love it here, Mom!” Erica held up a macaroon drizzled with chocolate. “Is this one of those coconut cookies?”