Page 7 of Campaign Season (By Design #18)

“That's true. Cassidy is the one with the tackle box at our house. I don’t really like fishing, either,” Alex offered.

“Really?” Candace asked.

“No. Alex doesn’t like anything ‘slimy or slippery,’” Cassidy said with a chuckle. “She can’t even watch when Claire and I eat oysters.”

“Raw, Cass. They’re raw.”

“Delicious,” Cassidy corrected.

“And I don’t mind slippery,” Alex said. “It’s the slimy I like to avoid.”

Michelle bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“On that note,” Dana said, “I’m going to head home.” She offered Jameson a smile. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

“You’ll get the bill.”

“That’ll be nifty since you owe me a paycheck,” Dana deadpanned.

Candace laughed. “You are all nuts.”

“It’s your asylum,” Jameson said.

“That’s the truth,” Pearl agreed.

“We should head home, too,” Cassidy said. “It’s past Alex’s bedtime.”

Cooper yawned. He leaned in and kissed Candace’s cheek. “Thanks for letting me stay up.”

Candace smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cooper turned to Jameson. “Night, Mom. You were really funny.”

Jameson laughed. “Glad I could provide some amusement.”

“Come on, Coop,” Michelle said. “I’m crashing here tonight.”

“Cool. We can have breakfast.”

“Sure,” Michelle said. “Did Mom buy any Fruit Loops?”

“Grandma told her there are already enough Fruit Loops in this place,” Cooper said.

“There are,” Pearl called out, picking up the bowl of popcorn.

“Night, Mom,” Candace said.

“Glad you’re home in one clean piece,” Pearl told Jameson.

“You don’t do the laundry,” Jameson said.

“Nope. But I like the staff. They don’t need your muddy footprints all over the White House.”

Jameson rolled her eyes as Pearl left the room.

“Thank you,” Candace whispered.

“Are you thanking me for my fishing fiasco, my late-night debacle, or for not bringing any fish home?”

Candace smiled. “For being the best thing in my life.”

“Candace.”

Candace leaned in and kissed Jameson tenderly. “You keep me steady, Jameson.”

“Tell you the truth?”

Candace nodded.

“I had a good day.”

Candace smiled.

“I could have done without the television appearance,” Jameson admitted.

“Was it that bad?”

“No.” It wasn’t.

“You like Aubrey Peters,” Candace observed.

“Yeah. I do. You will, too.”

“You may have just helped her win that seat.”

“Nah. I just added some comic relief.”

Candace sobered. “No, Jameson.” She took a deep breath. “I made a call this afternoon.”

Jameson tilted her head.

“To Aubrey Peters,” Candace said.

“To apologize?” Jameson asked lightly.

“To thank her. I haven’t heard you laugh that much in a long time. And the truth is, I haven’t either.”

“Candace, I?—”

“It’s okay. I understand. It’s a privilege living here. That doesn’t mean it isn’t also problematic. We keep saying we’ll find our new normal. We can’t find it, Jameson. We have to create it.”

“I know. What did Aubrey say?” Jameson wondered.

“After she thanked me about a hundred times, she told me that you made her think differently about this race—why it matters.”

“I don’t know how I did that.”

“I do. You were yourself. You always are, Jameson. There’s no pretense with you—it’s not in your nature. You put people at ease. You also make them feel seen. You might hate politics, but you’d make a damn good candidate—an even better leader.”

Jameson smiled. “I think you give me a little more credit than I deserve.”

“No. I don’t.” Candace took a deep breath. “I need to go home for a few days.”

“I know. I talked to Marianne on my way to Michigan. She’s going to talk to Jonah and Laura tomorrow. Then she’ll call you.”

Candace sighed. “I wish I could bottle tonight.”

Jameson nodded. “Well, maybe you can’t bottle it. You can watch it on repeat.”

Candace chuckled. “I meant?—”

“I know. It felt a lot like being back in Schoharie. I felt it, too. Maybe that should tell us something.”

“I should make sure you get sent on more outdoor expeditions?” Candace teased.

“We should stop telling everyone to go home,” Jameson replied. “Like this space is work for them.”

“Because it is.”

“It’s a lot more than that to them—to Alex and Cassidy—to Dana and Shell. I know they all work for you in some way. But they’re family. Don’t keep pushing them out when they want to stay,” Jameson said, pulling Candace into her arms.

“I’m afraid to see him… Jonathan,” Candace confessed.

“I know. I am, too—a little.”

“He's always been this force in my life. Always so much bigger than me. Strong.”

“Funny, he sees you that way,” Jameson said.

“Mm. Different kinds of strength.”

“I understand. He’s the football hero. Watching him…”

"Wither?"

“Decline,” Jameson said softly. “It’s hard. I know it is.”

“I need to be prepared, to?—”

“You need to be Candy,” Jameson said. “When you’re with Jonathan, you need to be Candy. Not the president. Not Candace—just be the person you are to him.”

“How do I say goodbye?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

Candace sighed.

“Maybe you just let go.”

Candace closed her eyes, pressing back tears.

“I thought about him today,” Jameson said. “When I was trying to get that fish in the water.”

Candace listened, tracing patterns over Jameson’s arm.

“Maybe he’s a little like that trout. Caught in between worlds. You know? The fish needed a nudge to realize he’d be okay. What Jonathan needs is a nudge to see that you will be.”

“He’s not holding on for me.”

“Oh, I think he is. He’s known you for your entire life, Candace.

He was your husband for over twenty years.

He knows you. Letting him go is no easy feat for you.

And it shouldn’t be. He understands what you deal with daily, and he knows how much you beat yourself up for not being able to stop the world when one of the kids needs you—when I do, or he does. ”

Candace leaned into Jameson’s touch, her breath shaky against her shoulder. “Sometimes it feels like everything is moving so fast. Campaigns, crises, the press cycle—like I’m standing on shifting ground all the time. I just want one thing to stay still.”

Jameson tightened her hold. “Then let’s stay still. Right here. For as long as you need.”

Candace turned her head, brushing her lips against Jameson’s temple. “Can we? Just… stay here a while?”

Jameson smiled, her eyes damp. “We can. The world can wait until tomorrow.”

Candace closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the steady rhythm of Jameson’s breathing, the hum of voices still lingering faintly down the hall, the house finally settling into quiet—the tick of a clock somewhere marking time she didn’t have to chase.

For tonight, at least, she could stop running.

And in Jameson’s arms, she felt—just for a moment—still. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Candace. More than you'll ever understand."