âYes?â
âIs it time to start the meeting, Mayor?â Mrs. Whipler asked, her voice querulous. âI need to get home before eight. Tonightâs episode of The Bachelor isnât going to watch itself, you know.â
A glance at his watch confirmed it. Seven on the dot. Which meant he needed to get the meeting started and tackle Helen later. Not that seeing her body in that thin knit dress made him think of tackling her. More like stroking the soft skin beneath the fabric. And God, he knew just how that skin would feel under his fingers. The memory had haunted his dreams for months, along with the shuttered look on her face when sheâd swung her legs out of his car and walked away without looking back.
Shrugging away that image, he made his way back to the podium and started the meeting.
âWelcome, everyone. Iâm Wes Ramirez, Nicevilleâs mayor, and Iâm delighted to see such an enthusiastic community response to our upcoming May Day events.â
His eyes scanned the audience as he talked about the cityâs plans. More women than men, which wasnât surprising when it came to volunteer opportunities. A few people wearing expensive coats, and others in worn but clean clothing. A mix of different racial and ethnic groups. A representative cross section of the community, exactly as heâd wanted.
A familiar face caught his eye. He inclined his head, greeting a woman seated toward the back, her graying black braids caught in a low bun. Bea Carter, one of the nine members of the City Council in Clearport, Virginia.
She occasionally made the five-hour drive to visit her brother in Niceville, and sheâd been corresponding with Wes since heâd managed to wrest extra money from his own City Council. In Beaâs messages and periodic visits, she asked him about his experiences with the Niceville government, probably hoping to apply what heâd learned to her own struggling city. He hadnât realized she planned to attend any of the May Day meetings, but maybe she wanted to propose similar community events in Clearport.
Her head bowed in a subtle nod of acknowledgment, and he smiled at her.
Then he couldnât avoid it anymore. Inevitably, his gaze swung back to Helen. And thatâs when he realized. While the tall blonde next to her kept her narrowed, hostile gaze glued to him as he spoke, Helen didnât make eye contact. She looked at the podium. Maybe even his shirt. But she never met his gaze. Not once.
She hadnât simply failed to notice him when sheâd walked into the meeting room.
She was ignoring him. Completely.
Â
Nearly an hour later, she still hadnât made eye contact. Not when he spoke about the cityâs role in the celebration. Not when other speakers came to the podium, explaining subcommittees and divvying up responsibilities. Not ever. At least, not until he reached a vague line in the meeting agenda.
âI see that the library sent a representative to discuss the history and symbolism of May Day, but I never got a message confirming the name,â he said. âSo if anyoneâs here from the library, please feel free to come to the front and make your presentation.â
That Helen rose from her seat didnât come as a shock to him. Given her lack of willingness even to look his way, he didnât think anything other than professional necessity would have driven her within fifty feet of him. She made her way to the front, her eyes focused on the podium rather than him. Only when she arrived and he failed to move out of her way did she raise her gaze.
âExcuse me, Mayor Ramirez,â she said, her voice firm.
He couldnât locate a single iota of warmth in her tone. Certainly not the kind of heat he felt standing only inches away from her.
âWes,â he said.
âExcuse me,â she repeated. âI need to get to the podium.â
He didnât budge. âPlease call me Wes,