Ike turns his attention to me. “The party of the second part,” he says with a grin. Misusing legal jargon in Cape Georgeana town meetings is one of the joys of his life, and he doesn’t get called out for it enough. “Who would you like to nominate?”
I sigh, turning to scan the room. My allies are few and far between. But there’s a tired man sitting on the other side of Marlow whose black scrubs send the message that he might do no harm.
“August Wentworth,” I announce with solemnity, despite the absolute foolishness of this situation.
There’s a collective gasp. Whispering circulates through the room.
August leans over his girlfriend’s lap to give me knuckles. “I’m honored.”
I need someone else on my team. Lola might’ve bet on me finding evidence of Bigfoot, but I know her feet are in another camp. I’m not about to appoint my dad. He talks a big game, but my mom will sway his vote. Guaranteed. I scan the room. The only other person I’m certain has my best interest at heart is sitting in the back row with his big arms folded over his chest.
Adam.
We make eye contact, and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, lines between his dark eyebrows.
Is it a conflict of interest to appoint the man I’m secretly dating to the Ad Hoc Committee to Determine Whether Stevie Sullivan Finally Has a Boyfriend After Thirty-two Years?
We’ve established that no one in this room is bothered by conflicting interests.
Adam drags his hand through his hair, agitated and pleading with his eyes to leave him out of this.
I have to look away. He’s too handsome, and I need to be strong. I turn to Ike. “Adam Sandoval,” I mumble, so that maybe he won’t hear me, and his appointment to the committee will be a fun surprise for him later.
“Adam Sandoval?” Ike repeats, with a twinkle in his eye that makes me want to shave his beard in his sleep.
“Who?” an old man in the second row asks.
“Shirtless Adam,” Muffie Horowitz clarifies loudly.
“Oh.” The old man adjusts his hearing aid, and the squeal of feedback peals through the stuffy air.
Ike grins. “We have, for the approval of the select board, four appointments to the Ad Hoc Committee to Determine ...” He can’t remember the name.
“To Determine the Outcome ...” Martie prompts with a satisfied grin. She came up with the official name.
Ike’s eyes tighten. He’s working hard to remember. “The Outcome of ...”
“Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend!” some lady in the back of the room hollers. “Geez Louise.”
“That.” Ike doesn’t hold back an eye roll. “All in favor of appointing Muffie Horowitz, Inger Sullivan, August Wentworth”—a laugh almost escapes here—“and Adam Sandoval to the committee, say aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Finally,” Ike groans, smacking his gavel one last time. “Meeting adjourned. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
Chatter fills the room again, and the crowd starts to disperse.
I slouch lower in my wood chair. “Ugh.”
Marlow follows suit, sliding down, kicking her long legs in front of her, and resting her hands on her stomach. “Who knew it would take a whole committee to get Stevie Sullivan into a relationship?”
I snicker. “This is crazy, Marlow.” I run my hands down my face. I’m tired down to my bones after my shift at the diner today and this hours-long meeting.