“My God, Willow. This is just as good as I remember.”

“I can’t believe you still like it,” I tell him, sliding a glance his way. I take a bite of my own sandwich, relishing in the childhood memories it brings back. This used to be my father’s favorite Saturday afternoon lunch.

“Fat and grease. Best combo ever,” he’d tell me every time.

Reid is holding two slices of bread that house bologna, potato chips, and a generous helping of mayo between both hands. He leans forward, allowing the crumbs to fall onto the deck instead of his lap. His eyes close in bliss with every bite. It makes me a little wistful, remembering better times.

“I haven’t had one of these in years,” he announces after shoving the last of it in his mouth.

“Really? Why?” I set my three-fourths-eaten sandwich down on the table beside me and wipe my hands on my napkin, my appetite suddenly missing.

I recall the first time I ate this concoction in front of him. We were on a quick lunch break during play practice. He gave me endless shit, telling me how disgusting it looked. Only when I made him try it, he promptly changed his mind and asked that I make him one for the next day. Whenever we’d picnic on the grassy banks of Lake Union, I would bring two BC&M’s, as Reid nicknamed them, four pickle spears, and a box of the cheapest wine I could find.

Reid laces his fingers together and sets them on his stomach before fastening his gaze to mine. It’s both plaintive and hopeful, making me wonder why the hell I agreed to let him come over for a late lunch when I should have said no instead.

But for some reason, I don’t feel like I can—or want—to say no to him. While he still makes my heart beat fast and stirs those familiar flutters low in my belly, I don’t want a romantic relationship with Reid. That spot is taken by a commanding, powerful, beautifully bullish man who stirs the other half of my soul whether I want him to or not.

“What was the question again?” he asks with a quirky smirk. It always made my heart stutter when he did that. Still does.

“Did you really forget or are you deflecting?”

His mouth curls, making those liquid green eyes of his pop and sparkle. “No one ever got me like you, Willow. No one before you. No one after.”

I look away and breathe heavy, not knowing how to respond.

“Why are you here?” I ask the empty air in front me, suddenly feeling awkward.

“I’m here because I’m working on Preston Mercer’s reelection campaign.”

“No,” I reply, now swiveling my head his way. “Not in Seattle. Why are you here here? On my porch? Eating bologna and potato chip sandwiches and making conversation like I didn’t crush your heart and ruin your life?”

He unwinds his fingers and leans forward, his hands hanging loosely between the open space of his legs. His muscular thighs flex underneath his well-worn denims, but I focus my attention on his face. His gaze stays attached to mine when he says, “You crushed my heart. I’ll give you that. But you didn’t ruin my life, Willow. You…” His pause is long, his stare so searing I start to heat up. “…gave me perspective.”

My huff comes out as a snort instead. “Perspective? How?”

He turns his attention to the backyard and I feel like I can breathe again. I don’t understand where he’s going with this. I don’t understand why I care about the answer so much either.

Because I hurt him terribly and I don’t want him to hurt again.

“When I walked into the theater for that audition and caught sight of that messy blond hair piled on top of your head and your trim waist and that perfectly heart-shaped ass, it was immediate lust.”

I watch him talk, a faraway look on his face. He’s never told me this story.

“But when you spun around and caught my eye and smiled that fucking mind-altering smile of yours, Willow…” Rotating his head slowly to me, I’m frozen. My lungs scream for air. “You knocked the very breath from my lungs. I knew you were The One.”

My head starts shaking. The ache in my chest intensifies. “I’m not, though,” I tell him softly.

A reticent smile passes his lips. “But you are. And I fucked it up.”

I can’t look at him anymore. I zero in on two squirrels chasing each other around the yard before shooting up a tree and disappearing out of sight. Confused under his intense gaze, I pop up and go to the railing, leaning over it as I think about how to respond without hurting him.

The creak of the chair reaches my ears a second before I feel the warmth of Reid’s body heat. He turns me toward him and cups my face in his hands. Breathing quietly, he searches inside me. Whether I want it to or not, the past sticks between us, still tying us together.

“You needed more from me.” His voice is low, raw…vulnerable. “I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now.”

“What do you think I needed?” I ask foolishly, berating myself for letting the question slip. This line of discussion will only wound him more because whatever he’s asking for now, I can’t give. It belongs to someone else. I realize it probably always has.

His thumb starts a slow circle over my cheek. He watches it go around and around before his eyes track back up to mine. “You tell me, Summer. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. Tell me what to be and I’ll change. Tell me what to do to win you back, because so help me God…I may have hated you for a while, but I have never stopped dreaming of a life with you.”

My breaths are choppy. He’s asking me to choose him. I stare into the pleading eyes of a man who will forgive the unforgivable. Who is ready and sure and absolute in his feelings, and I wonder why I can’t take what he’s offering.

I mentally tick off all the reasons I should.

He’s offering me a future, while Shaw is noncommittal.

He’s not afraid to tell me he loves me or readily show me his emotions, while Shaw is cautious and holds back.

With Reid, I know I’ll have security and certainty.

Or I could put everything on the line, taking a gamble with a man who has a big fat zero in the commitment column.

One road is paved, the other untraveled.

There is no choice, though, regardless of the outcome.

I need someone who already holds the key to those hidden parts of me, not someone who is asking where to find it.

My hands come up to curl around wrists. “I don’t want you to change, Reid. I like you just the way you are.”

His handsome face falls. The sides of his mouth tip down as he studies me, listening to the unspoken. When his hands float away from me, I’m momentarily sad, but I know I’m doing the right thing. Leading him on in any way would be far worse than what I’ve already done.

As he sits back down, his soulful eyes snag mine once again. I grab on to the wooden rail behind me for support. Or maybe it’s so I don’t drop to his feet and beg for forgiveness for not being the person he wants me to be.

Running his hands along the smooth arms of the chair, he proceeds to ask, “This is about him, isn’t it?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. Because it’s not just about Shaw. It’s about me. It’s about who I am with Shaw versus who I am with Reid.

“I call bullshit.”

I shrug and lick my lips before sighing. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Reid.” Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Don’t make me say things that will only hurt us both.

He takes in a deep lungful of air and blows it out quickly. “Well, what I want you to say and what you’re saying aren’t exactly lining up.”

I smile then. It’s slow and deliberate and draws one from him, too. But then I flatten my lips back out, the heaviness on my heart weighing them down. “I’m sorry.”

He waves his hand as if it’s no big deal, though I know it is. “Don’t be. But I want you to know I’m not going anywhere either.”

He’s earnest and sincere. I want to ease the ache I hear in his voice, but I don’t know how. Instead I ask, “Does that mean you’re sticking around after the election?”

And do I want him to or will things just be awkward? Is it truly possible to be friends with someone who wants more? I don’t think so.

“I haven’t decided yet. Possibly. There may be something here that holds my interest.”

His underlying meaning is crystal clear. He’s biding his time. He’s done his homework on Shaw and he thinks the same thoughts that have plagued me: that he’ll leave me behind the second his father is reelected.

And that was always the plan, wasn’t it? It’s what I willingly signed up for. It’s why I already have $150,000 sitting in my fund with Randi. From the beginning, I was a pawn. A diversion. A strategically planned campaign move.

All the balmy sunshine dancing on my skin earlier turns icy and slick. A horrible feeling settles in the pit of my stomach that I want to ignore. It’s the same one I’ve been pushing away this entire time.

Shaw is going to break my heart the same way I broke Reid’s. It’s inevitable. I know this yet I can no more stop the feelings I have for him than I can stop blinking. I’m in far too deep to turn back now, the shore merely a speck on the horizon. I’ll never reach it in time.

Deciding it’s best to change subjects, I ask, “What have you been doing all this time?”

The way he eyes me means my not-so-subtle diversion is transparent, but I don’t care. I can’t talk to him about the man who kinks my insides but feeds my soul. Reid pushes himself up and walks my way. Stopping beside me this time, he leans his forearms on the banister and stares ahead. I spin to my side, setting my hip against the wood and watch him.

“I moved in with a buddy in Minneapolis for a while. He was in the same Poly Sci program with me and was working on the gubernatorial campaign that year.”

Reid has been involved in politics since he was in high school. By the time things ended between us, he’d already worked his way up to managing several fairly big campaigns in a three-state area. He loved the frantic energy, the ball busting, the games. And he was good at it, too. It’s no wonder he was recruited to work on Preston’s campaign.

“They were already in the thick of things but with my experience, I slotted nicely into a junior position, though everyone quickly found out I could be far more useful than someone who knocks on doors or organizes speeches. Turns out the acting governor, whose campaign I was on, had a little piece on the side who threatened to out his perfect façade of a marriage when he tried to cut it off with her. It didn’t take me long to uncover her three previous abortions by three different men, including the governor’s, which he didn’t know about by the way. So I buried her. I got so much fucking dirt on her she would never see the light of day. If she as much as breathed a vowel of their affair, she’d be blackballed. No one would believe a word out of her mouth even if it was mostly true.”

“You sound proud,” I reply, finding the story oddly disturbing. I don’t like to think of the man I used to love sinking down into the gutter with slimy politicians. I like to think that he’s helping put the good ones in office instead.

He straightens and turns toward me. “I am proud. Governor Browning is a good man, Willow. He made a mistake, yes, but he is one of the smartest, savviest politicians I’ve known. He deserved that job, that title, that respect, and power. He shouldn’t have been ousted from office for good because he made a mistake.”

“And do you think that about Preston Mercer? That he deserves his job?” How did my former fiancé really end up on Preston Mercer’s campaign?

He’s thoughtful before replying, “I’m at the point in my career I can be somewhat selective. I don’t take on campaigns where I don’t believe in the candidate.”

“But?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You think there’s a but?”

“Yes. I heard it.”

Bringing a hand up, he runs a finger from my forehead down the side of my cheek, tucking some hair behind my ear. It’s gentle and soft. And longing. It leaves behind the smallest of fires, which quickly burns out. “Well, for a number of reasons it will be a challenge getting him reelected, but I’m up for a good challenge right about now.”

There’s so much innuendo buried in that single statement I don’t even know where to begin. “What challenges?” I ask, trying to take the safest route.

Instead of answering, he squints, asking a question of his own. “How much do you really know about the Mercer family, Willow?”

My spine straightens, locking my defenses squarely in place. The Mercers are not my family. Hell, they may never be my family, but I will defend them as if they are. The way a real “girlfriend” would. Maybe I’m not a real one, maybe I never will be, but after this weekend it sure feels like I could be. Once again, I choose to ignore the incessant whispers of doubt about Shaw Mercer that echo between my ears.

“I think you should stop right there, Reid.”

He crosses his arms and mirrors the way I’m standing. “You’re dating a Mercer. It’s a fair question.” Yeah, I heard the way dating was layered with disgust and jealousy.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Everything about the Mercers is my business, Willow. Everything, including you. I make it my business because that’s how I win.”

The hairs on my arms stand up. “This is not about you. Or me. Or us, or whatever it is you’re trying to make it out to be. It’s about Preston Mercer and doing your job.”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No, babe. This is politics. And like a court of law, in the court of public opinion, anything and everything can and will be used against the candidate. It’s my job to bury that shit before it happens. That’s why I was hired. Everyone has skeletons they want ten feet under. Everyone.”

His statement knocks me straight in the gut. What dirt does Reid have and on who? What if he digs into what I’ve been doing the past couple of years? Is there anything that links me to La Dolce Vita and to Randi? Have there been any photos posted in the paper or on social media sites that he could rummage through and start connecting the dots? As careful as I’ve always tried to be, the answer has to be yes. Nothing is foolproof. Every interaction, every transaction leaves a trail; you just have to be savvy enough to follow the crumbs.

And, oh my God, what about the money Shaw has already paid me? It’s not in a traditional bank account, but is it at all possible it could it be traced back to him? There has to be an electronic footprint somewhere.

Oh fuck.

This could ruin everything. Shaw hiring me to help reelect his father could ultimately bring this entire family down if what I do and how we hooked up is exposed. But would Reid do that when he is supposed to do anything to help the mayor win? Would he hide this to save the mayor or exploit it to try to drive a wedge between Shaw and me instead? At this point, I’m not sure.

And if Reid could find it, the man vying for Preston’s seat could too.

Double fuck. I’m kicking myself for not asking Shaw more questions before I signed on the dotted line. I have literally run into a pack of wolves blind and weaponless.

“It’s your job to bury the competition, not the other way around,” I remind him, hoping my voice sounds as steady to him as I thought it did in my mind.

His eyes narrow a bit.

Damn.

“It’s my job to protect my candidate by any means necessary. Even from those who think they mean well.” The way his mossy-green eyes flare with passion and conviction would be enthralling under any other circumstances. Now, though, all it makes me feel is a horrible sense of foreboding.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I press. Jesus, my stomach is churning.

Reid steps into me, running his palms down my arms. Both his voice and eyes soften considerably. “It means nothing, Willow. It means that I’m worried about you, is all.”

“Now I call bullshit.” Oh, how I want to throw in his face that Shaw taking a girlfriend was his idea. How we’re only talking about Shaw in circles now because of him. How Reid and I only reconnected because of the train he started down this windy, treacherous track that could possibly derail us all. But I can’t. Because I’m not supposed to know. “What do you have against Shaw?”

His jaw clicks shut and that fire banked in him flares hot. “This isn’t about Shaw.” He spits Shaw’s name with contempt.

“Isn’t it? Because I think it is. I think you’re trying to warn me away from him for some reason. But you’re beating around the bush, hoping I’ll just ask so you can have a clean conscience when you tell him you told me.”

I’m right. By the minuscule widening of his eyes, I am right. He parts his lips. Something sits on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say it, he’s dying to tell me, but he won’t until I push him.

I won’t do it. Whatever Reid is doing is for selfish purposes only. He’s jealous, he wants me back, and he’ll do anything to win. He said so himself.

I take a step back. “It’s time for you to go.”

“Willow—”

“No, Reid. I’m with Shaw now. Regardless of what you’re trying to make me think, he’s a good man. I trust him and I don’t need you trying to sabotage what we have. It’s good. It’s more than good, and you just need to stop right now.”

He stands there, stony, obviously angry. Maybe deciding how to proceed now that I’ve left the taunt he threw hanging idly between us. I cross my arms and give it right back.

“Okay,” he says somewhat regretfully. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he repeats okay again, only this time, the tone resembles resignation. He starts toward the stairs of the porch, intent on going out the back gate when he stops three steps down and looks over his shoulder. “If I promise politics and your boyfriend are off the table can I see you again?”

I swallow hard, conflicted. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

It’s the same line I used last week, only now it’s a far stronger feeling than it was then. He’s trying to undermine my relationship with Shaw and I don’t think Shaw and I need any help in that department. We both brought our own issues into an arrangement that has turned out to be far more than either of us thought.

Reid’s grin is sheepish, bordering on boyish. It’s the laid-back, easygoing Reid I remember and it tugs hard on those good memories we shared. “Not even for a Milky Way latte?”

He knows how much I love Milky Way lattes from Frankie’s, an old staple three blocks from the theater. He brought me one every day. I don’t flat-out tell him no but I don’t quite shut the door all the way either. I can’t make myself do that yet.

“I gave up chocolate.”

His smile morphs into a smirk. “I’ll talk to you soon, Sum—Willow.”

He rounds the corner out of sight. I hear the gate click behind him, signaling he’s gone, and I’m left to wonder what in the hell just happened and why that niggle of doubt he successfully embedded about Shaw stayed right here with me instead of following him as it should have.