Page 165 of Love Arranged

Willow steps into my direct line of sight and tugs on her ear, giving me the signal to look more approachable.

I suppose staring at the Ludlow family with bloodlust doesn’t give people the warm fuzzies, so I school my features and focus on the other bleachers full of townspeople. After a quick pass over the crowd, I turn my gaze to the woman who steals my attention every time we’re in the same room.

Lily, who is sitting with her sister and mom, smiles and throws me two thumbs-up. The way she and the Lopez family are here to supportmecurbs any remaining negative feelings I have about sharing the same air as the man who killed my parents.

Tonight’s moderator is a woman I recognize as the principal of the elementary school, Mrs. Singer. She steps up to the microphone that the townspeople will use to ask questions and addresses everyone. “Welcome to our first ever mayoral debate!”

That statement alone is questionable because how has this town been around for over a hundred years yet never had a competitive mayoral race?

“Since this is all very new, please be patient with us while we go over the rules.” Mrs. Singer reviews the expectations, including silence from everyone unless they’re chosen to ask a question at the microphone, before turning to face Trevor and me.

“Each candidate will have two minutes to answer a question and one minute for a follow-up rebuttal. A coin toss will determine who goes first, and we will switch off from there.”

Without further ado, Mrs. Singer calls on the first person to come up to the microphone.

“In recent years, Lake Wisteria has drastically grown in population size, but some citizens, including myself, are concerned about the town losing its charm. So, what are some ideas you have to balance growth and opportunities with keeping true to our values as a town?”

A coin toss determines that Trevor will go first. He smiles warmly at the crowd, looking every bit like his father as he pulls the mic to his mouth.

It’s the way his smile reaches his eyes that makes my stomach churn. Because how can someone appear so unbothered—so utterlyuntouchedby the pain they caused—while I can’t escape the haunted look in mine?

“Well, we’ve been fortunate to have so many people interested in moving to our town. It’s been difficult to keep up with the boom in population, so we’ve experienced some growing pains while we adjust to the change, but what makes our town special isn’t the size but rather the people who live in it.”

He recites his response like he practiced it a hundred times, and after a second glance at the person who asked the question, I understand why. Of course Trevor and his father would infiltrate the crowd and plant a few of their most loyal citizens to ask questions.

He carries on talking about preserving the town square and Main Street, which are both ideas I agree with. I’m not surprised that he steers clear of talking about the Historic District, given his family bribing everyone on Lavender Lane into signing their NDA.

Trevor is finally cut off by the moderator. Everyone in the bleachers seems to like his answer based on their enthusiastic head nods, motivating me to do better.

Instead of remaining seated like Trevor, I stand up and face the crowd.

“Growth is a good thing. A great thing, honestly, but only in moderation.” I pause and watch as some nod along to what I’m saying. “In fact, I’m going to play devil’s advocate here and say what some of you will probably hate to hear.”

People who were on their phones or whispering among each other during Ludlow’s time look up or quiet down.

“We’re becoming the Hamptons of the Midwest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

A woman lets out a startled gasp near the top of the bleachers.

If there is one thing I’ve learned during my canvassing, it’s that born-and-raised locals love the money the new residents pump into the town but they hate the idea of selling out.

Which is very much a possibility if Trevor is put in charge.

“Who here has visited Lake Aurora?” I ask.

Almost every arm in the crowd shoots up, including Jane’s, who told me what it was like to witness how much Lake Aurora has changed.

“Keep your hands up and look around.”

Bleachers squeak from all the movement.

“Now, who here knows someone who has lived in Lake Aurora?”

All the hands remain raised up high.

“And to those of you with your hands still raised, put them down if the person you know has moved away within the last five years due to circumstances related to the town, such as the cost of living becoming too expensive or the unstable job market.”

Slowly, hands everywhere drop until there is only a small fraction left. Even