Page 20 of The Art of Scandal

“I don’t eat ketchup.”

“Not even with fries?”

“Nope.” He picked up his burger, took a bite, and grunted his appreciation.

She looked down at her burger. “I should cut this in half.”

“Just bite it.”

“It’s messy.”

“Messy’s good. Get a little grease on your chin. It’s sexy.”

She groaned. “You’re making it weird.”

“Why is that weird?” He laughed. “I’m just messing with you. I can go get a knife.”

“No, no.” She picked up the burger and took a big bite. Tomato slid out of the bottom and hot grease coated her fingers, but it was delicious—salty and spiced with cumin and chili—probably one of the best burgers she’d ever had. A contented sigh burst from her throat. “Oh god. It’s been so long.”

Nathan cocked an eyebrow and grinned. She quickly changed the subject. “So, how long have you owned the laundromat?”

Something slid over his expression too fast for her to identify. He ducked his head and took another bite of his burger before answering. “Eight years.”

“Eight?” She lifted her brow. “How old were you?”

“Eighteen,” he said. “I live in the apartment upstairs.”

So he was twenty-six. Who buys their first business at eighteen years old? And why would he choose Oasis Springs? “Before I moved here, I didn’t know what these people were like.”

“These people?”

“Wealthy people. Like the Abbott and Vasquez families, with their piles of money earning interest in a vault on some island.”

He took another bite and swallowed before responding. “I don’t really think about it.”

That was hard to believe. Living in Oasis Springs meant that your kids ran around playgrounds named after Tomás Vasquez. He was the founder of the original Vasquez Coffee plant that was built when the town was still a small immigrant community in the 1950s. Today, that small plant was a billion-dollar conglomerate run by his son, Beto. And the community Tomás nurtured through real estate investment and philanthropy had become one of the most affluent suburbs in Fairfax County.

While the Vasquez family had been the economic lifeblood of the town for decades, compared to the Abbotts, they were still new money. The presence of Matt’s family in this historically Black and brown town was like a beacon for a richer and whiter group of business owners looking for commercial property at bargain prices. Eventually, small generational businesses were pushed to the fringes of the city that had once been a haven. Miguel was a prime example of the type of business owner forced to settle for what was leftover once people with more money and influence took more than their share. Rachel had researched all of this when Matt told her he was running for mayor.

“No one has ever been rude to you?” Rachel asked. “Handed you their dirty laundry and asked for a ticket like they were at a dry cleaner?”

Nathan smiled. “Of course. But I grew up here, so I kind of expect it. Most people are harmless. If they realized how they came off, they’d probably be embarrassed.”

Rachel shook her head. “Tell me again how you’re not a nice guy?”

He shrugged. “You never know what someone’s going through.”

“Especially if they never talk about themselves. I’m a good listener too.” Their conversation kept pivoting back to her, but she didn’t want to keep taking the bait.

They faced off for a moment, and it slowly tipped into something dangerous. Like she was a sharp curve, and he was debating whether to accelerate or pump the brakes. Eventually he shook his head, pushed his chair back, and said, “We should probably get going. Make sure no one stole your clothes while we were gone.”

“You’re right,” she said, trying to ignore the sudden dip in her mood. She had no right to be disappointed. “It’s getting late. Someone will be looking for me.”

The feeling eased when Nathan asked for her phone number and then sent her a text so she’d have his. She started to save it and hesitated. “I don’t know your last name.”

He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “It’s Vasquez.”

Her hand froze. “Wait. Are you—” She stopped midsentence, embarrassed by the assumption. It was a common name in the area. She’d run into two distant Vasquez cousins last week.

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