Page 18 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

“You can’t stop every storm before it forms. You can steer us through it. That’s what you do. That’s why people trust you.”

Candace shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s enough.”

“It has to be. And you aren’t alone.” Jameson reached out, covering Candace’s hands with her own. “I told you then I’d keep the ship safe if you steered. You’re the navigator, Candace. But you’ve got a crew. Let us help. Let Alex, Cass, and Shell—let me. You don’t have to carry it all.”

Candace’s gaze softened. “I don’t want to fail you. Any of you.”

“You won’t,” Jameson said firmly. “Ambition isn’t a sin. You don’t lead from selfishness—you never have. The legacy you care about is helping people. You need a place where you can falter, where doubt is safe. That’s what I’m here for.”

Candace’s throat tightened, but she leaned fully into Jameson’s touch. The storm inside her didn’t pass, but it eased—held by the quiet conviction of the woman beside her.

“Everything feels?—”

“Loss clouds everything,” Jameson said softly, stroking her back.

“I wish I could fix this.”

“I know. I think you should spend some time with Jonathan tonight. I heard him ask Jonah if there’s still a bottle of good scotch in your grandfather’s desk.”

Candace laughed, watery but real.

“Bring him in here after the little kids go to bed. Share the bottle.”

“I don’t want to take time from the kids.”

“Candace,” Jameson warned gently. “Don’t lose this chance. There are things you need to say. Say them. Listen.”

Candace nodded, closing her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jameson said.

The kitchen hummed with low, familiar noises—the creak of old cupboards, the soft clink of dishes as Candace stacked them neatly into place.

She glanced at Jonathan, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hand, watching her with that half-smile that had been part of her life for so long.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he said.

Candace arched a brow. “What does?”

“You. Me. A quiet kitchen. You putting away dishes while I pretend to help.”

Candace chuckled softly. “You were never much help.”

“True.” His voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Candy. For the past—for the ways I let you down.”

She stilled, her hand resting on the rim of a bowl. “Jonathan…”

He shook his head, his eyes searching hers. “I know we weren’t meant to go the distance. But I should’ve been better when we were trying.”

Candace turned fully, studying him with a softness in her gaze. “Do you want to know what hurt the most?”

He nodded.

“Losing my friend.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied it. “I was angry, hurt. But I missed you more than I could admit. And I’m thankful… that I found my friend again.”

Jonathan’s smile was faint but genuine, touched with weariness. “Me too.”

Candace reached for his hand. “We weren’t forever, Jon. But we were meant to be long enough to raise three incredible kids. And now—look at them. Look at all these grandchildren running around. That’s proof enough that our marriage was worth it.”

His eyes glistened as he nodded. “Worth every minute.”

For a moment, silence wrapped around them—an old kitchen, two people bound by history, softened by love that had changed shape but never truly left.

From the family room, a burst of laughter pulled them back, tugging them toward the warmth of voices and the waiting glow of the television. Jonathan gave her hand one last squeeze.

“Come on,” he said, his grin tugging crooked. “Let’s go count donkeys and elephants, and see who eats crow.”

Candace laughed again, the sound lighter than it had been in days.

"Mom! Dad! Hurry up. The results are starting to come in."

Candace took his hand and led him into the living room. "Let's hope the donkeys are hungry."

“What’s the scorecard look like?” Jonah asked.

Laura looked down at her notes. “It’s going to be close,” she said. “Maybe we lose five or six.”

Jonathan took a ragged breath.

“Are you okay, Dad?” Michelle asked.

Jonathan coughed, clearing his throat with effort. “I’m fine, Shell.”

Marianne caught Candace’s gaze. They both knew he wasn’t fine—just determined. He’d insisted on staying up for the late results, as if sheer will could carry him through the night.

“Aubrey’s race is still close.”

“That’s not going to come in for hours,” Michelle said. “Maybe days.”

“Look,” Jonathan said, pointing toward the TV. “Looks like you might pull off an upset in that congressional seat in Arizona.”

“That would be a surprise,” Candace replied.

“What do you want to bet it flips to blue?” he challenged her.

“You want to place bets?”

“I’ll bet you pancakes that you flip that seat.”

Candace arched a brow. “You don’t make pancakes, Jon.”

“No,” he said with a grin. “I buy them.”

Candace rolled her eyes. “You bet on an election once.”

“Yes. And I won. Well, you won. And my brother had to buy me beer for a month.”

“That was a fun night.”

Jonathan’s gaze softened. “I’ll never forget hearing them say your name.”

“Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“Wait,” Michelle interrupted. “Uncle Gerald bet against Mom?”

“Sure did,” Candace said. “What did he say? ‘Stratton or not, no woman from Schoharie’s winning a place in Congress.’ That’s what he said.”

“What an asshole,” Michelle muttered.

Jonathan laughed so hard he triggered another cough.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be,” he wheezed, catching his breath. “Gerry was always pissed that I landed your mother while he got stuck with Barbara Bergin.”

Candace snorted.

“Who’s Barbara Bergin?” Jonah asked.

“Oh,” Candace said, her eyes bright with amusement, “she was your uncle’s fiancée for two years before she joined the convent.”

“You are making that up,” Michelle said. “Mom?”

“Nope. True story. I’ll never forget the night of our engagement party. Everyone was drinking and dancing, and there was Barbara, sitting in the corner with her Bible.”

Jonathan chuckled. “It was priceless.”

“Poor Gerry,” Candace said theatrically.

“Poor Gerry?” Jonathan shook his head. “I think he’s the reason she went into the convent. You know”—his lips curved mischievously—“Barbara would have been a good match for your mother.”

Candace stared at him, stunned, before bursting into laughter.

Marianne shook her head. “I don’t think Grandma was a lesbian.”

“No?” Jonathan asked. “You should’ve had a few beers with your grandfather.”

“Stop,” Candace said, still laughing so hard tears pricked her eyes.

Jameson appeared in the doorway, arching an eyebrow. “Did we just win the House, or are you all drunk?”

“Dad thinks Grandma Stratton was a lesbian,” Jonah explained.

Jonathan shrugged, perfectly unbothered.

“I don’t think so,” Jameson said evenly.

Candace tilted her head. “No? Why not?”

“No. The last time she was here, before she died, she told me I didn’t look good in my toolbelt.”

For one beat, the room went still—then erupted into laughter so loud that even Jonathan’s coughing couldn’t drown it out.

Candace put a hand on Jonathan’s back, rubbing lightly as his cough eased.

“I’m all right,” he wheezed, though his voice betrayed the effort.

Candace turned her attention back to the television.

“Mom, things look better than we expected,” Michelle said.

“Let’s hope they hold.”

“How many seats do you think you might lose?” Laura asked.

Candace sighed. “I can’t tell you the number of projections and scenarios people have given me.”

“What do you think?” Jonah pressed.

“I’ve learned elections are unpredictable,” Candace replied. “I hope for the best outcome, and I prepare for the worst. I expect to land somewhere between the two.”

“The polls?—”

“‘Poll’ is a four-letter word,” Candace said wryly. “Not one I care to repeat.”

Jonathan muffled a yawn, trying to hide it. Candace leaned closer. “Jon, you don’t need to stay up for this.”

“I want to see if you flip that seat,” he said. “Then I’ll turn in.”

“Fair enough.”

“You know what we need for luck?” Jonathan’s eyes twinkled.

Candace grinned. “I’ll get the bottle.”

“The bottle?” Michelle asked suspiciously.

“Jameson,” Candace said, ignoring her daughter. “Grab some glasses, would you?”

“What bottle?” Michelle pressed.

“You’ll see,” Jonathan said, lips twitching.

Candace returned with a heavy amber-filled bottle and set it reverently on the coffee table.

“Holy shit!” Jonah exclaimed. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jonathan tilted his head in confirmation.

“Would someone fill me in?” Michelle demanded.

“Me too,” Melanie added.

“That,” Jonah declared, “is a bottle of Hermitage Siècle d’Or.”

“And that means what to me?” Michelle asked.

“It means that’s a twenty-thousand-dollar bottle of cognac,” Scott said.

“What?” Michelle gawked. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Candace and Jonathan exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

“It was a gift when I got elected,” Candace said.

“From who?”

Candace poured a careful measure into each glass, then held hers up, eyes locking with Jonathan’s.

“To—?”

“To flipping Arizona,” Jonathan said, his grin wide. “May Candy keep kicking ass while Gerry cries in his beer!”

Glasses clinked.

Michelle took a cautious sip and grimaced. “God. It tastes… a hundred.”

Jameson snickered. “Sniff and sip, Shell. It’s not Bartles & Jaymes.”

“Who are Bartles and Jaymes?” Michelle asked. “And why would I drink them?”

“Think upgraded Boone’s Farm, downgraded Smirnoff Ice,” Jonah quipped.

Michelle wrinkled her nose. “Still doesn’t explain why this tastes musty.”

Marianne laughed. “What does ‘musty’ even taste like?”

“This,” Michelle said, holding up her glass.

Candace shook her head. “Some of us appreciate the way things age, Shell.” She took a sip, savoring the warmth, then settled back down beside Jonathan.

“Look,” Jonathan said, nodding at the television, his smile tired but bright. “I think they might call it.”

On screen, the scrolling banner froze for a moment, then flashed in bold letters:

ARIZONA’S 8TH DISTRICT: DEMOCRAT FLIPS SEAT

The room erupted. Michelle threw her hands up, Jonah slapped Scott on the back, and Melanie whooped loud enough to startle one of the kids upstairs.

“I told you!” Jonathan crowed, his voice rough but triumphant. He raised his glass with a shaky hand. “Pancakes, Candy. Don’t forget—you owe me pancakes.”

Candace laughed, clinking her glass against his. “Deal. I'll even throw in chocolate chips.”

Jonathan winked, then leaned back into the cushions, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding onto the moment. His laughter softened into a cough, and Candace’s hand was immediately on his back again.

“You okay, Dad?” Michelle asked, concern edging her smile.

“I’m fine,” Jonathan rasped, waving her off. “Don’t you dare let me ruin a victory.”

The chatter resumed—Michelle teasing Jonah about over-celebrating, Jameson making a quip about putting Shell on clean-up duty, laughter bubbling around them like champagne. Candace kept her eyes on Jonathan.

When his gaze met hers, it was steady, even tender. “Help me upstairs?” he asked quietly.

Candace set her glass down and nodded. “Let's go.”

He pushed himself to standing, leaning more on her arm than he meant to, and together they walked slowly toward the stairs. The hum of voices and television faded behind them, replaced by the creak of the old farmhouse floorboards and the hush of their steps.

Halfway up, Jonathan stopped, catching his breath. “Candy,” he said softly, “tonight was a good night.”

Candace swallowed against the ache in her chest and squeezed his hand. “Yes. It was.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “Don’t forget my pancakes.”

Candace chuckled, though her eyes stung. “I won’t.”

She guided him the rest of the way, both of them knowing—without needing to say it—that victories came in many forms.

"Do you remember that night?" he asked. "When you won your seat in Congress?"

Candace nodded.

"I didn't think I could be prouder of you."

"Jon."

"I was wrong. You're an amazing woman, Candy. A terrific mother. I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you that."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

He leaned close and kissed her cheek. "Thanks for the ride."

"It got a little wild, didn't it?"

"Those are the ones worth the price," he said. "Tell JD, I'm sorry I didn't get to take her up on the game of poker."

"There's always tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Candy."

"Goodnight, Jon."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"What is it?" Candace asked.

"I can't wait to see him," he said. "Lucas."

Candace's breath caught. "Jon."

He smiled, then winked. "Pancakes."

"I promise."

Candace watched him close the door and closed her eyes. "Pancakes," she whispered.