On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  Cooper’s once dry and perfectly pressed oxford shirt was now sticking to his every muscle as he jogged to his Range Rover to pull the door open for me. His tan dress pants were stuck to his thighs. I focused on sloshing as fast as I could through the lot versus looking at the muscles through his pants because the last thing I wanted was for Cooper to think that I was checking him out.

  He might have been the single most irritating person in the world to me, but still, I could appreciate his appearance.

  EMMA THOUGHT: Remember not to drink wine when Cooper is around, and make appointment with eye doctor.

  In the car, as if it were no big deal, Cooper pulled off his dress shirt, balled it up, and tossed it into the backseat with a wet thwap against the leather. Thankfully, he wasn’t shirtless, instead wearing a thin white T-shirt that looked a few sizes too small.

  “Baby Gap have a sale?” I quipped, side-eyeing the way the sleeve gripped his biceps.

  Seeing what I was focused on, he flexed.

  I rolled my eyes. “If you kiss your biceps or invite me to the gun show, I’m going to push you out of the car.”

  Instead, he reached over into the passenger-side space, and my breath caught as his damp arm brushed mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips turn up into a smirk as he opened the glove box.

  “Sorry about getting you wet,” he purred, his deep voice even more gravelly than usual.

  “Oh, please. Does that ridiculous innuendo really work on women?” I asked, but I knew the answer. Yes, yes, it does. Often and repeatedly. Even, sometimes, on me.

  I didn’t like where this was going. I wanted my irritation back. So I forced myself to remember him screwing up the theater proposal.

  “Here, in case you want to dry off a little.” He offered me a small golf towel.

  With that I felt stupid. I was being ridiculous and mean. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You said that already,” he said, pushing the ignition button.

  There was an odd crop of feelings that always danced along the surface of my interactions with Cooper. I couldn’t quite explain them away, but I certainly wasn’t about to examine them, either. Whatever they were, I had to remind myself that this was Cooper, someone I’d been annoyed by for years. And I was irked by his lack of work ethic. Again.

  “Nancy texted about the mistakes in the theater proposal,” I explained coolly, fueling the latent irritation I felt toward him. At the mention of our assistant’s name, he winced. Good.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean for you to get involved. I had it handled.”

  I swung my head around with what I hoped was a look of sheer disbelief on my face. “We both know you didn’t. Cooper, I know you’ve got a ton of shit going on with running for mayor, but you’ve still got a job and a team counting on you. I can’t keep fixing everything.”

  He was quiet as he pulled out of the lot. His jaw muscles were grinding. I wondered if it was because he was deep in thought or just trying not to snap at me for voicing my opinion. One of my biggest problems with Cooper was that no one ever criticized him, and when you did—whoa boy, he didn’t take it well. The golden boy could usually do no wrong, but since he’d started the campaign for mayor, he’d found out that not everyone thought the sun rose and set on his ass. Present company included.

  When he turned onto the main road back into the heart of town, he finally spoke. “Look, I am sorry. I should have told Nancy that I’d be back in the morning. The time just got away from me.”

  His nonchalant tone frustrated me. I wanted him to take something seriously for once. No more excuses.

  “You could have canceled your date,” I blurted out, immediately wishing that I could pull the words back into my mouth. “Or just not rushed out of the office. There is plenty of time to get everything done if you’d just budget your time better. You’re all over the place. If you weren’t distracted by these campaign meetings, speeches, and going door to door to plead for votes, you’d—”

  “You’re right. I get it. Emma, you’re the responsible one. Always have been and I’m . . .” He trailed off, not finishing the thought.

  He gripped the steering wheel tightly. “You’ve got an idea for everything, and you love nothing more than lording that over me. I’m sorry—I figured I’d get to work on it early tomorrow and handle it with enough time to get it to your dad, and then I’d make whatever necessary changes on Sunday. I don’t know why Nancy bothered you tonight. I would have made sure we were ready for the council meeting on Monday.”

  “I don’t have all the answers, Cooper, and she bothered me because she knew the paperwork was wrong and needed to be fixed before the mayor went into the town council meeting and used something strewn with errors. You haven’t exactly been Mr. Available lately.”

  “You know I wouldn’t let him look like a fool, Emmanuelle. Your father—your parents, for that matter—mean the world to me.”

  I knew that he respected my father. After all, he was the man who’d pushed Cooper into running to succeed him in the first place, but it still chapped me to know that the date with gold-digging Bimbo Barbie had taken precedence over finishing a simple task.

  “You need to adjust your priorities. He thinks you can do this. If you respect him like you’re insisting you do, act like it. You can’t cavort around town if you want to win. And if you win, you certainly need to—”

  “Okay, okay, I know. All right? You’re not telling me anything that I don’t already know. Your father just had this conversation with me yesterday.”

  I slapped my leg out of frustration. “Then why aren’t you listening, Cooper? So much is riding on this. You have to take it se—”

  “For fuck’s sake, if you say seriously, I’m going to stop the car and make you walk home,” he said through clenched teeth. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his nose flaring as he huffed.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. The top button of my blouse had sprung open, and, like a homing beacon, Cooper’s eyes drew downward to check it out.

  “Stop the car, then,” I said to force his eyes to look into mine. “I’d rather walk than be stuck with you.”

  He made no movement to pull over. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can tolerate me for a few more minutes.”

  Squeezing my arms tighter together, I fought back the chill that danced down my spine and started to shiver. Noticing it, Cooper adjusted the vents toward me and put the heater on low.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave me a single nod and trained his eyes back on the road, though his fingers didn’t ease up on the wheel.

  “I am sorry,” he murmured.

  “Noted. Everything is done now, and right. It’s at least one less thing you need to worry about before tomorrow. But, Cooper, I’m done cleaning up your messes.” I sneaked in the last dig and turned toward the window. At some point I would need to let him decide whether he would pass or fail.

  Leaning against the cool glass, I watched the rain sluice down the windshield. The steady back-and-forth of the wipers lulled me into contentment. Some of the edginess I had been feeling started to melt away.

  Clearing his throat, Cooper slowed the car. Perhaps it was because of the rain, but the air in the car shifted into a heavy silence.

  “I’m nervous,” he said, so softly that I barely heard him. I noticed that his hands had eased up on the wheel. His knuckles were no longer white and strained.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, taken aback because “Cooper” and “nervous” were rarely synonymous. “What could you be nervous about?”

  He shot me a rueful look. “Tomorrow.”

  “It’s like you told Nancy, it’s just a photo op with my dad, you, and Kirby. You’ve had your picture taken for years—this isn’t any different.”

  “It’s not just that. Finishing the theater proposal. That paperwork was my first time writing something that would potentially happen if I’m the next mayor. Tha
t added a lot of pressure.”

  My immediate reaction was to laugh, but seeing his face and the nervousness coloring his complexion, I was glad I resisted. He was being serious.

  “Add in how much I love and respect your father, and, well, I blanked. I panicked, and I did what I do best—”

  “I know.” I cut him off. I didn’t need to hear him say whatever came next. Avoid. Take someone out. Find someone to release some . . . frustrations with. “Pressure makes us realize how important everything is. But, Cooper, the CDO is still your job. You’ve got to balance everything better.”

  He was silent. I took a deep breath.

  Supportive, Emma. Be supportive.

  “Listen, it’s good to be nervous. I felt the same way sending my first email to your mother back when she was just a state representative. Now that she’s the governor? I triple-check the spelling and punctuation of everything, and then I still wonder if I missed something. As if Governor Clare Campbell cares if I missed a comma.”

  Cooper chuckled. “You could not punctuate the entire email and she would still think you’re the smartest person in the office.” For a moment I wasn’t annoyed at Cooper.

  “Had you asked, I would have helped you,” I offered. His eyes swung my way in disbelief. “Okay, I would have given you shit, but I still would have helped.” That was enough to coax a smile from him. It was brief, but it took some of the edge off.

  A little nudge of guilt settled in my stomach. After squeaking by in the primary race in May, I hadn’t thought about the stress Cooper was under. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but it put some of his absentmindedness into perspective.

  “Don’t worry about tomorrow,” I continued. “You’ll be side by side with Enrico Peroni, your biggest supporter in Hope Lake.”

  He turned, grinning. “Besides your mother.”

  I bit back a smile. “Yes, besides my mother. Both of them will be there cheering you on.”

  He curled his lips together, biting nervously on the lower one. “I just don’t want to disappoint them,” he said honestly, and I knew immediately how that felt. As the daughter of the mayor and under the constant scrutiny of the town, I was always afraid of making mistakes.

  “You know my father loves you, Cooper.” His face lit up. “One mistake won’t ruin that.”

  “Are you coming tomorrow?” he asked as he turned toward the town square.

  Of course I’ll be there, I wanted to say. Why wouldn’t I be there?

  Cooper knew all too well that I would have rearranged my schedule to attend.

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I admitted finally, ending the awkward silence that had filled the car. “You know, I prepared a statement for my father. A bit of a preamble, then you both have your moment and then Dad will wrap it up.”

  That was all it was supposed to be, anyway. Kirby Rogers had become notorious for using any platform to spout his crazy rhetoric and harebrained ideas.

  “That’s good,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I’m being honest, I’m glad he’ll be there.”

  “I can appreciate that. He wants to show support for you. Plus he’s discussing the achievements of his many terms as mayor and the growing vision for Hope Lake’s tourism, as well as the financial goals associated with both. There may or may not be a plug in there about how the CDO is behind so much of Hope Lake’s growth,” I added with a smile. Even though my father had someone in his office to look over his speeches, I always tinkered with them, too. “He’s basically implying why you’re a better choice to follow his term by laying out the reasons why we need to continue forward with progress that mirrors his work. Everyone—well, almost everyone—is happy with how things have been going. Why not keep the momentum up, you know? Having the sentiment delivered by someone people love is just a bonus.”

  He let out a long exhale, clearly relieved. “That’s good. Thank you. I’m sure it’s perfect.” I knew he meant it. Regardless of how much we argued and disagreed, one thing Cooper always did was give credit where it was due.

  “And most important, I threw in why my father thought that you were the best person to be his successor.”

  “Emmanuelle, you didn’t,” he groaned, but I was sure I spied a small grin.

  “I did,” I said seriously. “But don’t read too much into it. I did it just as much for me as I did for him. We need you to win. Kirby would strip everything we’ve accomplished for years and have Hope Lake go backward.” I paused, shuddering at the thought: out-of-work residents, no new businesses, no events to bring the town together. Basically, no hope in Hope Lake. “You know what I mean.”

  He nodded and said no more.

  After five more grueling minutes of stone-cold silence, we arrived at my building. At that point, the storm had turned into a downright deluge.

  We sat awkwardly for a few more seconds while I debated how exactly I was going to get inside without being knee-deep in water.

  “They really need to clean out the sewer grates,” I blurted out, and mentally smacked my palm to my forehead.

  Sewer grates? This is what you talk about sitting with a guy in a foggy-windowed car during a blustery rainstorm?

  EMMA THOUGHT: For a hopeless romantic, you’re awfully hopeless.

  Cooper’s mouth quirked up. The antique-style streetlamps that had just been installed along Main Street shone through the windshield, highlighting his sandy-colored five o’clock shadow and the dimple that threatened to make an appearance.

  “I’ll text the public works crew to let them know.” Cooper turned slightly to me, studying my face and staring at the dark hair that I could feel was plastered to my forehead before his gaze dipped to my lips for the briefest of seconds.

  He cleared his throat, reaching into the backseat for my takeout bag. “This smells so good.”

  “It’s spicy enough that it gives you a lasting kick but you’re not screaming for a gallon of milk. It’s the best,” I admitted, taking the bag from him. I needed distance, and I needed it fast. Friendly Cooper always brought back memories that I wasn’t willing to remember.

  “I won’t tell your mother you said that.”

  “She’d never let me live it down.”

  “It’ll be like the Chef Boyardee incident all over again.”

  I watched, rapt, as he bit his bottom lip. His teeth sunk into the plump lip. I swallowed. “The what?”

  He shifted in the plush leather seat. “Wait, you remember that, right?”

  It wasn’t often that Cooper looked unsure of himself, and this was one of those times. It was as if he wished he hadn’t said it.

  “I remember. I didn’t think you did.”

  When we were younger, my parents would always throw parties and invite friends and family over. Once in junior high, we’d had a pretty crowded cookout. Most of the kids were playing whiffle ball in the yard, swimming or playing volleyball while waiting for the food, but Cooper had disappeared. It wasn’t uncommon for me to watch him from afar like a lovesick puppy. After all, I was a lovesick puppy, an awkward teenage girl with feelings I couldn’t work out about someone who had been my best friend since, well, birth. I figured he was off flirting with someone.

  I walked into the house, searching for a drink, but stopped short when I saw Cooper sitting at the counter charming my mother. Even as a teenager, he’d had her wrapped around his little finger. In typical Cooper fashion, he asked my mother for pasta, knowing that she would make it for him. It was her thing. If you were hungry, she’d pull everything out of the cabinets to make you something homemade. She loathed anything processed. Even with a veritable buffet of BBQ food outside, he had somehow suckered her into cooking for him. He had a half-eaten plate of pasta and meatballs sitting on the marble countertop and a smudge of sauce across his tanned cheek. Mumbling around a mouthful, he nearly killed my mother with ten little words: “Emma, you were right—these are better than Chef Boyardee.”

  The wooden spoon had clattered to the floor, spray
ing the white tile with red droplets of sauce. My mother’s mouth had hung open as she processed his words. To be fair, it wasn’t what he said but instead what he implied that caused me to be grounded for a week. Because he’d revealed to her that at some point in my fourteen short years on Earth, I had eaten processed, full-of-preservatives “Italian” food.

  From a can.

  I wasn’t sure what infuriated her more: that I had tried it or that he felt the need to affirm that her cooking was better. For two weeks after that, while she and my father enjoyed her amazing cooking, I had to eat Chef Boyardee.

  I laughed, thinking of him bringing it up over his biweekly dinner with my parents. He was the son they had never had but always wanted. Plus there was the awkward notion they had where they both hoped we would throw away the years of aggressive competitiveness and profess our undying love for each other.

  Not going to happen.

  “Promise I’ll never mention Chef Boyardee around your parents again,” he said with a laugh.

  “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

  He smiled, glancing at my lips once more before clearing his throat.

  “I’ll add it to the long list of things you’re mad at me for,” he mumbled as the door shut behind me.

  Anytime I was alone with him, which was why I actively avoided it, I was transported back to that eleven-year-old girl who realized that the belly flutters she got when he walked in weren’t a lactose allergy but her first full-blown crush. At twenty-eight, those feelings didn’t remain, but the reminder of what they felt like did. There was no time for that, though, and besides, I’d hated Cooper for years. That wasn’t an easily disguisable feeling. It was very black and white.

  Either you like someone or you don’t, and I certainly didn’t.

  5

  * * *

  Spending the weekend holed up in my apartment working wasn’t a new habit. It was how I’d gotten through high school, college, and now adult life. It didn’t help that Nancy lived in the same building as I did and was also a workaholic. She usually didn’t mind the late nights or early mornings.