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Nessa

Present | Labor Day Weekend

“People, people,”Jim Kelly, mayor of Peacock Springs and town veterinarian, calls from the makeshift dais in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the dance studio. He runs his hands through his wiry hair and adjusts his tortoise-shell glasses. He’s wearing charcoal-gray scrubs covered in tufts of pet hair, clearly having come straight from work. Unceremoniously flipping a binder open, he tries again to quiet the room.

This school year, meetings moved from the local bar and restaurant, The Featherweight, to Lily Long’s dance studio. Like most changes in a tiny town, it has taken some getting used to.

Now that Lily is seated in her new place up front, I can’t join her, so I crane my neck, searching for another friend to sit with. My roommate, Delia, is in the back of the room, looking two seconds away from falling asleep after a long weekend tending bar. She gives a quick wave, but I know she’s not moving.

Where is everyone? I check again, finding my dad and brother Shua, but neither of my other two siblings are anywhere in sight.

“We’ll start with last week’s business,” Jim says. “Then we’ll move into establishing committee leads for the upcoming Sunflower Festival. From there, we’ll discuss the upcoming sale of the Morgans’ full real estate portfolio, including the undeveloped lands on the north side of town.” Clearing his throat, he peers at someone at the back of the room, though I can’t tell who it is from this angle. “Once we’re finished, we’ll open the floor to new business.”

Beside me, a warm, solid body slides into the open seat, and a knee knocks mine. Without turning my head, I can make out a pair of cognac loafers and a large, well-manicured hand splayed over a thigh clad in black jeans.

It must be my lucky night. I groan internally and shift away from the man I haven’t been able to avoid in the months since his sister’s wedding.

Though I attempt to put space between us, the irritatingly attractive man I do not want to want leans closer.

“Quit it,” I hiss when Mateo spreads his legs a bit wider, causing his thigh to graze mine.

With a fake yawn, he stretches his left arm out and drapes it over my chair. Now that he’s exposed his ribs, I jab an elbow into his side, eliciting a yelp.

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, I repeat to myself while trying to muffle the sound with my palm.

“Excuse me, Miss Rabin. Would you like to share what you find so funny?” Jim chides from the dais.

“It’s Doctor Rabin,” Mateo says before I can respond.

Well, damn.

“Sorry.” I half-heartedly apologize.

“Don’t be like that, Ivy,” Mateo whispers. “I hoped I’d see you tonight. Can we talk after the meeting?”

While Jim moves on to the plans for this fall’s Sunflower Fest, I try to tune out the electricity that prickles my skin because of the man at my side.

Clearly ignoring the vibes I’m giving off, Mateo rests his arm across my chair again, distracting me enough to cause me to miss which committee Jim is filling. I put my hand up, intending to ask him to repeat himself.

Rather than call on me, he grins and jots a note in his notebook. “Wonderful. Nessa Rabin will lead the volunteer teams this year. Who is willing to co-chair with her?”

I stare hard at Lily, begging her with my eyes to say yes. Come on, come on, don’t let me get stuck with someone who has gross breath or is going to try to set me up with their grandson.

“Perfect. She’ll be paired with Mateo Santos-Manolo,” Jim announces, banging the gavel on the podium.

Oh no.

“Looks like I’ve got time to grow on you, Ivy,” Mateo teases, giving me the boyish grin that did me in the one and only time we slept together. The grin that’s a little lopsided and makes his deep dimples pop.

“Quit calling me that,” I snap.

“You called yourself that.” Chin lifted, he faces the front of the room again.

“Last order of business is the Morgan property divestment,” Jim says from the podium.

“Good riddance,” I grumble under my breath.

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