Page 16 of Make Me Love You

“You can. You mean you won’t. There’s a difference.”

Emma growled in annoyance.

Her dad laughed. “Emma-bear, don’t you go holding grudges on my account. I can hold my own grudges just fine, thank you. In the case of Eli Carter, I choose not to hold a grudge. I have a lot of anger. I’m angry at cancer. I’m angry at a system that made it so easy for a middle-class, hard-working family to lose everything in the blink of an eye. But Eli was just doing his job, honey. I can’t be angry at that.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I can,” she huffed.

Because if she didn’t...well, if she couldn’t blame Eli then there was only one person left. Her. She had never told her dad the truth of that night, that she had been the one who had told Eli. What would he say if he knew? He might forgive Eli, but could he forgive his own daughter? That was a much deeper betrayal.

“So what are you going to do?” he asked. “Let the town fall down around our ears for the sake of pride and vengeance? This isn’t a Greek tragedy. Don’t make it end like one.”

“Fine. No launching a war to destroy my enemies.”

He laughed, and she knew she had pleased him with that reference. He would love nothing better than a daughter who could discuss the themes and subtexts of Greek literature. Unfortunately, that was not Emma. She had, however, seen Troy, on account of the hot, naked men.

“So what’s the plan, Emma?” he asked. “You always have a plan.”

“Not this time.” She hesitated. “Maybe if I do a bad enough job of it, someone else will realize they can do better. Someone who knows how to balance budgets and plan events and all that kind of stuff that mayors do. I can’t do any of that.” She looked at him helplessly. “What am I supposed to do, Dad? How am I supposed to help? I’m the least qualified mayor ever.”

“I don’t know anything more about being mayor than you do, honey. But I do know this. Whenever I’m lost, I think of that thing your mom used to say. Do you remember?”

She remembered.

“Leave it better than you found it,” she whispered.

He nodded. “That’s right. Leave it better than you found it. That advice has never steered me wrong. Maybe you won’t be mayor for more than sixty days. Maybe you don’t know how to do the job they’ve asked you to do. All right. You can still leave it better than you found it. Just one thing, Emma. One small, tiny thing.”

One small, tiny thing. Yes, even she could do that. She had never been able to fix big things, not for lack of trying. Her mom’s cancer. Her dad’s highly illegal side business. But a small thing, maybe she could fix that. She could leave Hart’s Ridge better than she found it, in that one small, tiny thing, at least.

But what?

***

Emma parked her truck outside Dreamer’s Cafe. She was ten minutes late to meet Eli. She was never late to anything, but she was late now, for the simple reason that this was the last place on Earth she wanted to be.

Usually she would be thrilled to have lunch at Dreamer’s. It was, hands down, the best food Hart’s Ridge had to offer, even over Cesar’s burritos. It was a brilliant fusion of standard American fare and El Salvador flavors—kind of like Hart’s Ridge itself.

Her mouth watered as she imagined biting into a lamb burger with a side of yuca fries. It could all be hers, but she had to suffer through an hour or two of Eli’s company to get it.

She stepped down from her truck—it was an easy step, given her height—but she didn’t go in. Not yet. She stood on the sidewalk, keys jingling in her hand, her brain pinging between the two alternatives. Yuca fries. Run away. Yuca fries. Run away.

Her stomach rumbled. Yuca fries won out.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved her keys in her bag and strode into the restaurant. Delmy Garcia, the owner, nodded at her. “He’s over there. The table by the window.”

“Thanks.”

She looked to where Delmy had indicated. Her throat tightened. He was there, all right, and this time in uniform. She knew he hadn’t done it purposefully to remind her of who he was—he was on duty, after all—but that uniform was all she could see. In that uniform, he wasn’t Eli, her onetime best friend. He was Eli, Arrester of Fathers.

Crossing the room was awkward with him watching every step she took, and somehow it made her forget what she was supposed to do with her arms. By the time she made it to the table, her body felt like it had too many elbows and knees.

“Hey,” she said.

He half stood from his chair, waiting for her to take her seat before he sat down again. “Hey. I wasn’t sure you would come.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” she said defensively, as if she hadn’t been on the verge of chickening out just a minute ago.

“Yeah, and then you stood there on the sidewalk for a good five minutes looking like you would rather have all your teeth pulled.”