Page 87 of Hottie on Her Shelf
What was really going on here?
A sharp flick of her hand turned on the overhead lights. “I’m calling anyone who isn’t open-minded enough to share their largesse with their less fortunate neighbors a snob.”
Fitz stood up, too, and tried to figure out how to defuse the suddenly volatile situation. And figure out what he’d done to send Hallie into such a snit.
“You’re painting with broad brush strokes. Swan Cove’s tax dollars paid for the community center. If we open to Crow Harbor, other towns may demand equal access.”
She threw out her arms again, signaling utter frustration at his comment. “What would be wrong with that?”
Hell. So many things. She sounded like a heckler in a campaign audience. She didn’t sound like a woman who’d spent the last few weeks poring over budget reports from the last eight years.
She didn’t sound like Hallie.
“You’re thinking as a regular person instead of a fiscally responsible leader. Where does it stop?” Fitz pointed to a row of show posters tacked to the wall. “How do you tell a card-carrying Swan Cove resident their kid can’t audition for the spring play because Crow Harbor kids filled up the audition slots? I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m not saying it isn’t a worthy goal.”
“I should hope not.” A sharp tug pulled the hem of her sweater back into place. “Equity across class lines is more important than following borders on a map.”
In theory. Something to shoot for as a society, for sure. In actual practice, though, Fitz had to account for every dollar spent by Swan Cove—dollars collected from the people that, yes, lived inside its borders.
“Equity is the people who paid for a service getting to use it. You want to raise taxes in Swan Cove when we have to pay for all new gym equipment in a year because the usage increased by three hundred percent?”
That rocked her back. Literally. Hallie shifted her weight onto her heels, then stared down at the floor as if waiting for an answer to appear on the cement floor. Fitz waited her out silently. Since he didn’t know what button he’d pushed to kick off this fight, he didn’t want to say anything more than the bare minimum.
Finally, Hallie muttered, “Non-residents would have to pay membership fees.”
Keeping his voice calm and nonconfrontational—although he was sure getting worked up by her attack at this point—Fitz said, “Membership fees keep the lights on and staff at the desks. They don’t cover big things, which you’d know if you dug into the numbers instead of going off on an emotional tear about snobs and ordering me to use my practically nonexistent power.”
Hallie held herself stiff as a board. Arms crossed, back straight. “I might not know as much as you, but I’ve only been at this for a month. You have years of experience to rebut my suggestions. Or better yet, come up with fresh ideas of your own. Like how to expand Swan Cove without hurting Crow Harbor.”
Indeed, but it wasn’t anywhere close to that simple. “Look, I’m just saying it isn’t something that can happen without a lot of strategy and time and careful presentation. Not something that can be rushed through to win votes.”
“You don’t have to worry about winning votes, about changing things to benefit anyone besides your father’s cronies. You just make sure your last name is on the ballot.”
Holy shit. Fitz couldn’t believe she’d thrown that in his face. He crossed the room in three swift, long strides to stand right in front of her. “Hallie, that’s not fair. And it’s not true, either.”
With all the lights on now, it was easy to see the dull flush of red that crept up her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t just mad that she’d said it. Her cutting words hurt. “You’ve sat on every stage with me. Heard me discuss issues, take stances that aren’t necessarily popular with the movers and shakers in the room. You’ve watched me work, side by side with you, for over a month. And you’re going to accuse me of not trying to win votes?”
“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have made that accusation. Not to you, anyway.”
Aha, now they were getting down to it. Fitz realized her unexpected rant wasn’t about him at all. So, he tried to shove past his own hurt to whatever had wounded her. “Is this about my parents? About dinner the other night?”
Hallie huddled even more tightly into herself. “Frankly, yes. They were civil. They paid for the dinner that they didn’t allow me to choose for myself, didn’t make a scene in a crowded restaurant when I disagreed with them, but they weren’t always polite to me. Or even nice.”
“I agree. I told them as much the next day.” Not even over the phone. Fitz had shown up at the house with no notice—which was enough to freak out his mom on principle alone—and read them the riot act. Said he’d been ashamed of them as parents and as people. “I told them that how they’d acted toward you was inexcusable and they owed you an apology.”
“It hasn’t come.”
It was the smallest, quietest voice he’d ever heard from her. Fitz hated that his parents had made her feel so small. Hated more that he couldn’t fix it. “I can’t force them, Hallie. I wish I could. I sure as hell tried to shame them into it, but they’re adults who make their own choices.”
“I know. That’s, um, sort of my point.”
Oh. She was worried about them skewing the election results.
Fitz wouldn’t allow it. He’d lead off all of the remaining campaign events by reminding people that ballots were confidential and that they should vote their own mind—not be influenced by anyone.
With gentle tugs, Fitz got her arms uncrossed so he could grip her hands. “My parents can’t force people to vote for me. You’re winning voters over. I see it happen at every event. What you say is resonating with people. Maybe they’re sick of only Montgomerys on the ballot. Maybe they’re tired of me. Maybe you’ve got a stronger message, or all of the above. You can’t let one bad dinner get you this worked up. It doesn’t mean the election’s lost.”
