On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  “Oh, I think we both have an idea of how long I can last, Emma.”

  “Jesus, Cooper, can’t you curb the innuendo for a minute!”

  Cooper sucked in a breath at the same time I did. In our precarious position, I noticed something. A very hard something pressed firmly against my backside. Upon realizing that I had felt it, too, he let me go, backing away quickly as if I’d burned him.

  When I turned to face him, he wouldn’t look at me. His chest was heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. He finally looked up, and I gasped. His eyes were intense. He licked his lips, and his gaze fell toward mine.

  Just then there was a pounding at my front door. “Excuse me, Miss Peroni!”

  “It’s my neighbor,” I whispered, nervously glancing toward the door. “I think she saw you come in earlier.”

  I opened the door. “I’m sorry about that, Mrs. MacGuire,” I said, brushing my hair back from my face. “Did you need something?”

  She harrumphed. “Yes, I need you two to stop arguing. I could hear you in the stairwell. You sound like an old married couple!”

  She turned on her heel and marched away, leaving me stunned in the doorway and Cooper chuckling behind my door.

  “That’s accurate,” he said, putting his hand over mine on the door.

  I slid my hand out from beneath his, hating the way my skin felt electrified. “I beg to differ.”

  He leaned over, close enough that I could count the freckles on his nose. “You’ve got my balls in a vise. Feel better, Captain.”

  I watched him retreat, bouncing down the stairs without a care in the world. When the door closed behind him, I tugged at my hair, wondering when exactly I had lost control of my feelings for Cooper Endicott.

  Silly Emma. You never had it.

  • • •

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I was brought face-to-face with another scandalous headline. No surprise, this one was outrageously more misleading than the ones that had come before.

  ROGERS PROMISES MORE NEW JOBS WITH CHAIN BUSINESSES

  That beauty joined the likes of MAYOR PERONI’S UNPAID TAXES, ENDICOTT ANCESTOR’S STOLEN LAND, and my personal unfavorite from the day before, GOVERNOR BRIBING LOCALS FOR VOTES FOR SON.

  In the article, Rogers explained why throwing in some competition for local businesses would improve the town’s economy and satisfy what the people of Hope Lake had been asking for; but why do that if they didn’t have to? We had pretty active town hall meetings where people came out and aired their grievances about things that needed improvement, so to speak. Hardly anyone mentioned that Hope Lake desperately needed a Chick-fil-A or a Best Buy. If you really wanted something from a big-box store, you just went to Barreton.

  The article quoted Rogers as saying that he had secured a few chains to build on the town-owned land that was part of an area that for decades people had agreed not to touch. Why the hell was he willing to destroy beautiful forestry by plopping a Home Depot or a Walmart in the center of it? Besides, how was that even legal? Even if he became mayor, he couldn’t unilaterally mandate such an action. It was as though the person writing the article had no idea how town government actually operated.

  I texted Mrs. Mancini to see if she’d seen it, and she responded with a FaceTime call from her and her merry band of gossipmongers during their daily walk.

  “Mrs. Mancini, you could have waited to call me until after your exercise,” I said, holding the phone high enough so she could see my face and not just my chin.

  She was huffing and puffing. I didn’t know if it was from exertion or annoyance. “My dear, I’m assuming that you’re calling because of that salacious piece in the paper this morning. It’ll be over my dead body that we get a Mama Francine’s or whatever the hell it’s called in Hope Lake. No way, no how. Right, girls?” she shouted to the group behind her, who cheered in agreement.

  “Good, make sure you tell everyone you know that you’re fully against it. Big businesses are the last thing we need in Hope Lake. Not to mention destroying open land.”

  “You tell that honey of mine, Cooper, that he needs to get in front of a camera to address this. Especially with that beautiful girl he was showing around town this morning. I’ll call the station in Barreton to come tomorrow afternoon.”

  I nodded and said good-bye.

  Whitney was here?

  “Good,” I said to myself aloud. The louder I said it, the more convinced I’d be.

  “Great, awesome. Super!” Apparently I really liked adjectives.

  Whitney’s being here must have meant that she was on board—the last piece of the campaign puzzle we needed had fallen into place. That was good news. So why did my stomach feel like it was being stabbed by tiny pirates?

  I called Cooper next. Straight to voice mail. According to my pocket calendar, he was at a budgetary meeting with his campaign finance guy—aka Nick—meaning that they were at the diner having pie and coffee and pretending to talk about numbers. “Screw it,” I said to the empty room. I needed to talk to him about Whitney face-to-face. Why I thought that was a good idea, I’ll never know.

  • • •

  IT WAS THE LUNCHTIME RUSH at the 81 Café, so I was lucky to find a spot in the parking lot. Well, it wasn’t really a spot. I squeezed directly behind both Nick’s and Cooper’s vehicles, knowing that they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  I could see the two of them chatting in a booth near the window, their menus still open on the table. Thank God. My stomach growled loudly. I hadn’t had time to eat before heading over.

  When Lila, the longtime waitress, saw me walk in, she waved me over to where Cooper and Nick were sitting.

  “Want your usual?” she called out between snapping her gum.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll be eating with them. Put my salad on Nick’s bill,” I joked, sliding into the booth across from the stunned-looking Cooper.

  “Why are you here? Did I miss a meeting?” he asked nervously, pulling out his phone to check the calendar.

  “Nice to see you, too, Cooper,” I quipped, pulling the Cooper calendar from my purse. “I just thought I’d join you guys before you headed to the food pantry for your volunteering duties. P.S., Nick, I need your muscles to get some bags out of my car.” My trunk was stuffed full of donations that the office had gathered and Cooper would be delivering that afternoon.

  Cooper pouted. “What about my muscles?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Cooper. Can your muscles help little ole me get the big heavy bags out of my car?”

  “Okay, you two. Let’s simmer down,” Nick interjected before Cooper could respond.

  “So how are the finances?” I asked, laughing to myself because there wasn’t a stitch of paperwork on the table. Or a laptop, file folder, or really anything else that would have shown that they were discussing campaign donations.

  Nick shifted uncomfortably. “We were uh, just, erm . . . talking about numbers.”

  “Oh, numbers. I like numbers,” I teased, taking a sip of Nick’s water.

  “Aw, come on, now your lip gloss is on the straw,” he groaned, pushing the glass back to me.

  I took the napkin and wiped it off. “You’re such a baby. Where’s Henry?”

  Cooper sat up straighter and took a pack of crackers from the basket on the table. “Audiologist.”

  As a kid, Henry had suffered some hearing loss in both ears that had caused him to need cochlear implants. Twice a year or so, he had to visit the closest specialist, who was in Barreton. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure Henry would ever have left Hope Lake.

  “After that,” Nick continued, “he was going to shore up a few more details for the election day party at the house.”

  At the house. That meant Campbell Manor.

  “I can’t believe the election is already next month. Is everything set?” I asked.

  Cooper shrugged as Lila brought our lunches over. Club sandwiches for both Nick and Cooper and a Cobb salad for me.

  Nick bi
t into his sandwich with gusto while Cooper poked at his on his plate.

  “Can I help with anything?” I asked. “I know the governor has people on it, but let me know in case there’s something I can do.”

  “I guess we’re good,” Cooper said, looking to Nick, who took a massive bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. There’s about a dozen people handling it. I’d say you’re better off asking my mother. She’s organizing the caterer and the photographer and things like that.” The vein in his forehead started throbbing. Angry Cooper wasn’t anyone I felt like dealing with, but my curiosity got the better of me.

  I lowered my voice. “Is something going on? I get the impression that you’re unhappy to see me. Was I interrupting something?” I hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud, but since it was out there—I ran with it. “I can sit elsewhere if so.”

  Neither answered. They gave each other a look instead.

  Grabbing my plate and glass, I began to slide out of the booth when Nick stopped me. “Don’t be silly,” he said quickly. “We were just man-chatting.”

  “And what exactly is that? Am I allowed to know, or are you breaking the ancient order of the man code by telling me?” I set the plate down and settled back against the vinyl seat. Tenting my fingers under my chin, I pretended to be riveted. “Is this where you discuss workout routines and sex positions? Because if that’s the case, I’m definitely moving. Some things should remain sacred. I’ll never be able to look at you again knowing what your kinks are.”

  Nick chuckled, hooking his arm around mine to keep me in the booth. Cooper wasn’t making eye contact, instead staring down at his plate as if his turkey club were a beautiful piece of artwork that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’m an open book,” Nick joked, starting a rudimentary drawing on his napkin.

  “Oh, my God. I can’t unsee that! You ass.” I laughed, grabbing the napkin from him and balling it up.

  I tossed it next to Cooper. That’s when I noticed that today’s newspaper was folded up on top of his jacket.

  Nick followed my line of sight. “Yeah, it’s not great.”

  That explained Cooper’s unusually foul mood. He seemed extra salty today.

  Before I could tell him not to worry about it, we’d figure something out, his phone started ringing. “Excuse me,” he said, sliding out of the booth with the phone up to his ear. “Hey, thanks for calling me back.”

  He disappeared outside, and I could see him pacing in the parking lot. He didn’t look stressed now, though. Quite the opposite. Whoever he was talking to seemed to be defrosting his mood.

  “What’s up with him?” I asked, biting into a juicy piece of chicken. “It seems like more’s bothering him than just the article.”

  “It’s sort of a combo of all of it, I think. He hasn’t really said much about the campaign other than quoting you about needing to change the narration.”

  “Narrative,” I corrected, laughing when Nick flipped me off. “Hey, it’s not my fault you only half-listen.”

  “This is exhausting. I don’t know how any of you are doing it. I’m only in charge of the finances, and I’m ready to set it all on fire from the stress. I keep asking myself ‘Am I keeping track of everything? Have I missed anything? Did I calculate something wrong?’ I double- and triple-check my records so that everything is on the up-and-up. Meanwhile, he’s running around trying to be a stand-up guy and getting shat on every time he turns around. And you’re busting your ass to keep him in line. I mean, I know you expect this kind of shit with politics, but it’s brutal. Why anyone wants to put themselves through this is beyond me.”

  Glancing around the restaurant, I wondered how many of the fifty or so people inside believed what yesterday’s headline had claimed—that Cooper’s mother was trying to bribe votes for her son. I hoped not many people believed something so obviously false, but the odds were that some of them would. Up to now, the paper had always been trustworthy. In and of itself, that was infuriating.

  “We have to find out who’s running wild at the paper. Get them to ease up on the slander. We’re chasing our tails here trying to stay ahead of it all.”

  “Whitney thinks she knows who it is. Or at least who it likely is,” Nick said around a bite of his sandwich.

  My fork hovered in front of my mouth. “You’ve talked to Whitney? About this?”

  He nodded, continuing to chew like it wasn’t a big deal. I guess theoretically it wasn’t. Nick and Henry had known her for as long as Cooper and I had. “She was just here. You missed her by two minutes. A real peach, that one,” he said with an eye roll. “I swear, as often as she’s been here, you’ve done a masterful job of avoiding her. I wish I could learn that trick.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Which part do I need to repeat? Whitney being here? I thought you knew that. She’s been staying at Cooper’s and working from there until she has to head back to Philly. Apparently her firm might relocate her to Barreton. She’d be so much closer,” he said, a shudder rolling through him. “Anyway, she thinks the person trying to defame Cooper at the paper is an ex-girlfriend. Someone who knows what would hurt him the most. Anyone who knows him knows how much he loves it here and how badly he wants this.”

  “Turn the town against him using a resource they trust and hurt him that way,” I added, seeing a clear picture. “It’s brilliant.” I hated that I hadn’t thought of that.

  You hate that she thought of it before you.

  “Whit thinks so, too,” he said, the nickname sticking in my craw. “He’s been running all of this by her. Like a second opinion, I guess?” He hooked a finger outside to where Cooper was pacing the sidewalk with the phone pressed to his ear.

  “That’s probably her again. The calls are nonstop,” Nick added, squeezing an obscene amount of ketchup onto his plate.

  He looked irritated, which made me irrationally happy since I knew it was because of Whitney.

  “That’s a good theory,” I admitted, but the more I thought about the paper, the more it didn’t make sense. “But it can’t be a girlfriend. Peter’s got final approval over everything that gets printed. It has to go deeper.”

  “Good point. I wonder what it could be?”

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  He waved a french fry toward me to continue.

  “Does Cooper not trust me? Is that why he’s asking Whitney’s opinion about all of this and not mine?” My voice sounded weak, and I hated myself a little bit for it.

  “Nah, I don’t think it’s that. They were talking about other shit, and she asked about the paper. It happened one night after he first talked to her about this whole thing. Bee tee dubs, I still can’t believe she’s who he’s brought out of the dugout for this.”

  “I don’t understand your sportsball lingo. Explain.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s a baseball term. I would have said stable or harem, but I figured that would have gotten me a fork to the hand or something.”

  I nodded. “You’re right, it would have.” It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d slapped him with silverware for an assy remark. “So what does ‘the dugout’ have to do with Whitney?”

  He sighed. Drama wasn’t something Nick subscribed to. He was more of an “air out your business like a grown-up” type of guy than a gossiper. “It’s just that Whitney caused so many damn problems in the past that I’m surprised he’d choose her for this. Well, lemme rewind. First off, I was shocked when your pops told him to get a lady friend. I figured if Enrico and the governor wanted Cooper to look respectable, they’d have him date someone like you.”

  I choked on my lemonade. “Excuse me? Are you high?”

  “No, thank you very much. I’m serious. Henry agrees with me, too. If you’re looking for the perfect pair to take on the world, it would have been you two.”

  Slack-jawed, I stared at him, trying to see his side of things. “We n
eeded someone who had a well-known romantic history with him.”

  “I’m just saying, you two would have been an easy sell. As Henry said, ‘It’s been practically written on the stars.’ ”

  “It’s written in—you know what, never mind.”

  I would be speaking to Henry later.

  “Listen, Fakespeare. I think you’re both hanging around with my mother too much.” This was starting to sound like her bizarre hope of me and Cooper ending up together.

  “You know I love Sophia. Tell her that I’m here whenever she wants to leave your father for me.”

  I mock gagged. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You love me.”

  “Like an STD,” I whispered to Nick just as Cooper was coming back inside.

  “Was that about today’s article?” I asked Cooper as he slid back into the booth. He nodded. I sighed in exasperation. “My father is calling Peter again to try to sort out the articles. He’s been avoiding him, which isn’t a great sign. Mayor Dad says he hasn’t seen him in months.”

  “Hey, is everything okay?” Nick asked, stealing one of Cooper’s potato chips from his plate.

  Cooper didn’t touch his sandwich, instead poking at it with a pickle spear.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he finally said, turning back to us and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do I have time to run home?”

  “Are you asking me for permission? Or talking to yourself?” I teased, but he wasn’t laughing along with me.

  “You are the captain,” he bit out between his teeth, waving to someone who had just walked in.

  “I suppose, but I’m not your keeper, Cooper,” I snapped, uninterested in being his punching bag because of his bad mood.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Stressed. Aggravated. On an edge so thin, I feel like one misstep and I’m over a cliff,” he said quietly.

  “Care to tell me what’s up?” I asked abruptly, causing both Cooper and Nick to jump a little. “Are you annoyed because I included the trip to the food pantry today? I don’t want to wear you down, but it’s a great opportunity to show you being philanthropic. A way for people to see that you care about needy families even if they’re not necessarily from Hope Lake.”