“I’m sorry, Frankie.”
Frankie’s heart went all gooey at the sympathy she saw on her brother’s face. A face that was more prone to smiling than hers. She might be three minutes older, but there were times he excelled at the big-brother role. This was one of those times. Francesca Roxanne Bettencourt didn’t take sympathy or pity from anyone, except her exceptional twin. “It is what it is.” But not what it had to be. She had options. She must. She just needed to explore them.
“Word is Gil’s responsible.”
“Uh-huh. It’s not the first time he’s messed things up for me.” She pinched her lips together so hard they went numb. Then, throwing caution and calories to the wind, she reached for a second doughnut, this one a plain cake with just a modicum of vanilla frosting and fall-colored sprinkles. “Could be the last time, though.”
Monty set his own doughnut down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know.” Seemed like an appropriate moment to test the waters concerning a new job somewhere else. “I’m just feeling—restless, you know? Hearing they’d hired this Salazar guy out of the blue just took everything out of me. Like when we were kids and I used to go around popping all the party balloons? One minute everything is perfectly fine, and the next bang!”
“You made your little brother hide under the bed,” Monty grumbled. “Fun times.”
Frankie chuckled. “I’d forgotten about that.” The laugh bubbled up from where the pain of failure and disappointment had settled yesterday. “How long did it take you to regain the courage to crawl out?”
“I’m still working on it. It’s normal, Frankie. To feel restless. Not to hide under the bed.”
She couldn’t help it. She kept laughing. Mainly because she was afraid that if she didn’t, she might start crying. This place, this job—it was her life. It had been for as long as she could remember. It had never, not once, crossed her mind that she wouldn’t be named chief. And it hurt. Far more than she could bring herself to admit. And, as things stood, she had two people to blame for that: Gil Hamilton and Roman Salazar. “Maybe I need to take this as a sign.”
“Not getting the job?” Monty shook his head, his sun-kissed brown hair falling over one eye. “Or needing to rid the town of Gil Hamilton?”
Frankie narrowed her eyes. “That’s an odd thing to say.” Her brother seemed suddenly interested in everything in the room other than Frankie’s assessing gaze. “And it’s not the first time I’ve heard it. What do you know?”
“Not a lot. People have been ticked off with him for a while. That’s no secret.”
“Not ticked enough that anyone ran against him in the election. Guy just skated to a second four-year term.” There had been talk of a challenger, of course, but given the power Gil Hamilton wielded in this town, and how any business owner or resident with plans to make significant changes to their homes needed the council’s approval...yeah. No one had stepped up.
“I feel confident when I say that should the need for another election arise, I think there’s someone willing to run against him.”
“Who?” Suddenly her lack of professional advancement didn’t seem so important.
“That I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?” And hadn’t she and Holly had this same discussion with Ursula yesterday at the diner?
“Just let it unfold, Frankie, and stay out of it. Don’t go pushing any buttons yourself. You not getting the chief’s position is already a recognized strike against him.”
As much as the idea of Gil Hamilton being brought to his political knees appealed, once again she found herself reluctant to be the named cause. “I’m sure he had his reasons for not picking me.”
“I’d be interested to hear what they are. Everyone knows you’ve been in line for the job ever since Bud announced his plans to retire last year. Bud recommended you. Most of the council approved you. The two who didn’t had to abstain because they consider you family. The town loves you.”
And she loved the town, but apparently that hadn’t been enough. “Maybe everyone just needs to let this go.” Everyone including herself. Maybe she should be thinking about moving on. She chewed on her lower lip. Maybe.
“Is that what you’re going to do? Or will you let this goad you into a decision you wouldn’t normally be making?”
The doughnut turned to glue in her mouth. “What makes you think—?”