Page 50 of Campaign Season
“Candace.”
“Time will tell, Jameson. That’s not why I told you to start the project.”
“No?”
“No. There’s always been something new on the horizon—something to keep me from drowning in sadness or doubt. First, it was the kids; now it’s the grandkids and Cooper. There’s always a milestone ahead, something to look forward to. Renovating the barn is a reminder that even as we let go of what we’ve always known, there’s purpose in change. In loss, too. It’s not a replacement—it’s a promise that there’s more life ahead.”
“I’m sorry about Jonathan,” Jameson said softly.
“Me too.”
“Get some sleep.”
“Thank you for loving me. I know this life we lead isn’t an easy road.”
“Maybe not. But I wouldn’t change it. Easy is overrated. Besides, I think it’s relative.”
“Oh?” Candace asked.
“I do. No one thinks their life is easy. We all fixate on the obstacles. And sure, some people face unfair odds—unthinkable ones. But plenty of people with little live happier lives than some of the wealthiest. Look at Lawson. He has money, family, and he’s miserable. So miserable he makes life hard for everyone around him, even for himself. I didn’t marry you expecting easy. I married you knowing it would be full. And fulfilling isn’t the same as easy.”
Candace exhaled and stretched to kiss his cheek. “No, it’s not.”
Jameson threaded his fingers through Candace’s, their hands resting together in the quiet between them. The hum of the house felt far away now, softened by the late hour and the simple comfort of being side by side.
Candace’s breathing grew slower, her head nestling more firmly against Jameson’s shoulder. The weight of her finally at ease was its own kind of gift.
Jameson kissed the crown of her hair and whispered, “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
Candace sighed, the sound full of trust, and drifted toward sleep. Jameson held her close, content to let the world wait until morning.
“I love you, Candace.”
“I love you too, even if you are a lunatic.”
Chapter
Six
Tuesday Morning, November 3rd
Muskegon, Michigan
One last early-morning stop before Candace could head home to New York. The air outside the little coffee shop carried that Election Day tension—a hum of nerves, hope, and caffeine.
Aubrey Peters looked younger than her thirty-four years in the pale morning light, her campaign button pinned crookedly to her blazer. Once considered a long shot, she’d started this race trailing Congressman Rod Nelson by nearly thirty points. But she hadn’t folded. She had chipped away day by day, debate by debate, handshake by handshake. And after Jameson’s infamous fishing adventure that had ended with both women covered in mud—and Aubrey with an unexpected Tonight Show shoutout—the gap had narrowed to less than two points.
Candace wasn’t sure if her presence here would tip the scales. But she was curious about the young woman who had earned Jameson’s praise.
“Thanks for coming here,” Aubrey said, cradling a paper cup between her palms. "I know there are loads of places you could be."
“I had to meet the legendary fisherman,” Candace said.
Aubrey laughed. “Leave it to me to land the First Lady in the mud."
Candace laughed. "Trust me, Aubrey, Jameson doesn't need any help landing in mud, leaves, grass, water, or paint, for that matter."
Aubrey smiled. "She's great."
