“I’ve noticed.”
“I’d rather be oversaturated with information than feel as though I’m cramming for an exam.”
“An exam is a good analogy to voting. What did you think of the test?”
“It was a little strange having only one candidate for mayor.” Her eyes dropped to Darius’s notebook, then returned to his face. “But even if there’d been ten or even twenty candidates on the ballot, I still would’ve voted for Doreen. She’s the right person for the job.”
Her answer impressed him. It was a reporter’s wet dream. He should return to his office and file his story. Now. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He wanted more time with Peyton, more time to look at her, breathe her fragrance, remember their kiss.
Darius cleared his voice. “Why do you think she’s the right person?”
“I’ve benefited from Doreen’s warmth and generosity. She’s made me feel like a part of the community since I moved here. And I’ve seen how much she cares for the town and its people. I can tell how much she cares about you.”
Darius paused with his pen over the paper. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen the way she treats you, Quincy, and Ean. It’s as though she has three sons, not just one.”
“Quincy and I spent a lot of time at Ean’s house.” Darius smiled as those childhood images sped across his mind. “You’re right. Doreen’s a very generous person. Her house felt like my second home. It couldn’t have been easy for her or her late husband, Paul. The three of us were loud, messy, and always looking for food.” Ethel and Simon had never allowed that kind of unruly behavior in the Knight household.
“Those sound like great memories.” Peyton’s smile was wistful.
“They are.” Darius stepped forward, pulled toward Peyton by an invisible thread. “We’ve been friends since elementary school, almost thirty years.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Don’t you have friendships that long?” Darius breathed in Peyton’s soft scent.
“Over the years, my friends and I have drifted apart.”
What would have happened to him if he, Ean, Quincy, and Jackson had lost contact over the years? He would have lost his anchors.
Darius shook off the thought. “Hopefully you’ll make those kinds of friendships here.”
“I’d like that.” Her eyes were wistful. “I’d better get to work. Good luck with your article.”
Darius blew out a breath. His reaction to Peyton wasn’t going away. If anything, it was growing stronger. But could he risk acting on these feelings? He was his father’s son, and Simon had made a mess of every relationship he ever had. Could Darius avoid making those same mistakes?
“Darius!”
The sound of his name being gasped in horror startled him. Darius spun away from his computer and was surprised again to find his mother standing in the entrance of his cubicle. Ethel looked as though he’d mortally wounded her.
“Mom? What are you doing here?” Darius’s eyes dropped to the picnic basket in her fist. His confusion grew.
“I brought you lunch.” Ethel hoisted the carrier. “Although that seems to have been a wasted effort.”
Darius glanced at the paper bowl of chicken stew in his hands, and the still-wrapped turkey, bacon, and pepper jack cheese sandwich on his desk. “Why?”
“I thought you’d be hungry.” Her eyes snapped with impatience. She lowered her arm. “Today’s the election. I know how busy you are, covering it for the newspaper. I wanted to make sure you had something for lunch.”
“I didn’t know you were going to do that.” How could he have known? In the seven years he’d worked for the Monitor, Ethel had never acknowledged his work nor had she ever visited his office. And she hadn’t said anything to indicate her interest had changed.
“I wanted to surprise you. I guess the surprise is on me.” Ethel took the few steps into his cubicle, setting the carrier on his desk with a thud. Her movements were a study in displeasure. “I didn’t expect you to eat so early.”
Darius checked his watch. “It’s almost one o’clock.”
Ethel’s jaw clenched. “It takes time to put together a decent meal. I can’t cook all of this at the drop of a hat.”
“You didn’t need to go to the trouble. I bought my lunch.” Darius watched her pinched features warily.