Page 20 of Campaign Season
Cooper bounded up from the couch. “Mom! You’re on TV tonight!”
"And you're up past your bedtime."
Candace’s smile warmed the room. “We thought you might want company for your big debut.”
Jameson groaned. “You’re all enjoying this way too much.”
“Are you kidding?” Cassidy said. “We even made popcorn.”
Pearl winked. “And Dana promised she’d provide commentary.”
“Color commentary,” Dana corrected with a grin.
Jameson dropped onto the couch, tugging Cooper close. “Fine. But if I have to relive that fish smacking me in the head, one of you is bringing me some of Candace’s good scotch.”
“You don’t need scotch,” Candace murmured, leaning in close so only Jameson could hear her. “I love you.”
Before Jameson could answer, a voice boomed from the television: “Ladies and gentlemen, America’s new favorite angler—First Lady Jameson Reid!”
The clip of the steelhead flopping into her forehead filled the screen. The room exploded with laughter—loudest of all from Cooper, who nearly toppled off the edge of the sofa.
Jameson groaned again, though she couldn’t keep from smiling. “God help me. I’ll never live this down.”
Candace’s soft laugh brushed her ear. “A little lunacy never hurt anyone,” she whispered.
“At least you didn’t catch yourself with a hook,” Pearl offered.
“Not this time,” Dana said.
“What do you mean, ‘not this time?’” Michelle asked.
“Well, in fairness, it was Steve who got JD’s hook in his eyebrow,” Dana explained.
“I told him to wear a hat,” Jameson said. “And I can’t help that he doesn’t pay attention.”
“Oh, what other secrets do you have about JD?” Michelle asked.
Jameson rolled her eyes and leaned back into the cushions, chuckling as Candace’s head rested on her shoulder. Despite her late-night appearance, the day had been surprisingly “normal.” She had slipped in both real and metaphorical mud more times than she could count over the years. The good-natured laughterthat followed her mishaps didn’t offend her. Sitting in the family room with people she loved, listening to their teasing, felt like home. Candace’s posture was more relaxed than Jameson had seen in weeks. If a muddy mishap was all it took to bring this comfort, she was more than happy to oblige.
The moment felt ordinary. She wanted to hold onto it.
Cooper looked at her curiously.
“What is it, Coop?” Jameson asked.
“Can we go fishing?”
“Sure. I didn’t think you liked seeing the fish get hooked.”
Cooper shrugged.
“We can always go by the water, Coop. We don’t have to fish.”
“That's true. Cassidy is the one with the tackle box at our house. I don’t really like fishing, either,” Alex offered.
“Really?” Candace asked.
“No. Alex doesn’t like anything ‘slimy or slippery,’” Cassidy said with a chuckle. “She can’t even watch when Claire and I eat oysters.”
