Page 47 of Kissing the Beach Town Fire Chief
“Thank you for your patience,” the mayor says. His tone is careful, neutral, warmed by something almost like pride. “First, I want to say again how grateful I am to everyone for the turnout, for the civility, for the care you’ve shown one another. Whatever happens next, Seabrook is stronger tonight than it was this morning.”
He slips a finger under the envelope flap. The paper sighs.
Someone inhales behind me and doesn’t let the breath go.
Ethan’s knuckles nudge mine and stay.
Aunt Maggie’s fingers flex, a tiny anchor.
The mayor looks down at the numbers and then up at the room that feels like it’s leaning in as one body.
“The votes are in,” he says.
The clock on the far wall clicks over to seven-thirty.
I grip both hands tighter and brace for the word that will change everything.
Chapter twenty-six
Ami
The tension in the room is so thick, you could carve it with a butter knife—or better yet, scoop it up with a spoon and serve it like pudding. Ethan and I are side by side, our fingers laced so tightly it’s like we’ve welded them together. My heart is pounding out a rhythm that’s somewhere between the Macarena and a full-on rock concert. And thanks to Aunt Maggie’s dramatic endorsement, this election finale feels bigger than the Fourth of July.
Every eye in the room is pinned to the podium like it’s about to reveal the meaning of life. The announcer, naturally, is dragging things out with the kind of flair usually reserved for reality TV shows.
The place looks like someone let a party store explode. Posters and banners plaster the walls with bold slogans, while bright streamers sway overhead, catching the breeze of a hundred restless bodies shifting from foot to foot. Patriotic bunting spillsover the stage, trying its hardest to make this town hall look presidential.
On one side, Maggie’s supporters chant and wave their handmade signs—“Go Maggie!” and “Seabrook for the Win!” scrawled in glittery letters that practically blind you. Across the room, the quieter crowd holds its collective breath, their expressions teetering between hope and dread.
And there we are, Ethan and I, standing shoulder to shoulder like we’re the last two players in a championship game. The room might be a storm of noise and nerves, but between us, there’s this solid calm. A wordless agreement: no matter what happens, we’re in it together.
The announcer finally steps up, clears their throat, and the chatter dies faster than a mic drop. “And now… drumroll, please…”
Oh, come on. We’re not in a rom-com, buddy. Just say it!
I hold my breath like I’m about to dive into uncharted waters. Ethan squeezes my hand, steady and sure, and I glance at him, silently asking,We’ve got this, right?
But then, the announcer pauses again—as if they’re auditioning for the world record in suspense. I’m this close to starting a petition for a “Fast-Forward Button for Life.”
“The winner is…”
Silence.
“The winner is…”
Another pause.
Seriously, at this point I could’ve run to the ice cream shop, ordered a double scoop, and made it back before they spit it out.
Finally—finally—they say it.
Aunt Maggie wins.
And while half of me wants to bust out a victory dance that would make TikTok jealous, the other half is clapping slowly, silently, for Ethan and me. Sure, we didn’t snag the mayor’s seat,but we shook the tree hard enough that the whole town noticed the fruit falling.
Amid the cheers and chaos, there’s this undercurrent of something bigger. Aunt Maggie’s win isn’t just hers—it’s a crack of sunlight for Seabrook, a symbol of possibility. And that’s worth celebrating.
“So, Aunt Maggie’s the new big cheese, huh?” I elbow Ethan as we watch the crowd dissolve into hugs and handshakes.
