her life, and not waited until it had become this cataclysmic. They’d just needed to see each other in order to regain perspective and get their priorities back in place. Their bond had always been so strong, it could weather anything. She should have never let it get this bad.
Then Arlen stepped into view behind her mother, and Lauren’s stomach squeezed right back into a tight ball. She’d been so overwhelmed and happy to be reunited with her mother, she’d neglected to remember that the actual reason behind their estrangement had yet to be dealt with.
His face was a bit paunchier than the photos she’d found during her investigative forays, and his hair a bit thinner, but otherwise there was no mistaking that this was the mayor of Cedar Springs. There was also no mistaking that this was a man who oozed a particular brand of God-given charisma and natural charm. The kind that allowed him to work a room, shake hands, kiss babies, and shoot the bull with just about anyone, all without actually uttering a truly sincere word. Sort of like a really sharp used-car salesman. Or a snake-oil salesman.
And, for the life of her, she hadn’t a clue what her mother saw in him.
The woman who’d raised her would never have fallen for that kind of skin-deep magnetism. She could spot a phony a mile away. Ten miles. In fact, it was partly her ability to read a person within five seconds of meeting them that had made her such a successful and popular hostess. No one could seat a room as well as Charlene Matthews. It was a special skill but was largely responsible for the success of whatever event she was helping to sponsor. And you couldn’t do that if you didn’t have a knack for instantly knowing who and what you were dealing with.
But, Lauren thought, struggling mightily—oh so mightily—to scrape together at least a modicum of objectivity, perhaps there were hidden charms to be found that his more obvious character flaws hid from plain sight. She’d do best to sit back and watch her mother interact with him and see if perhaps it all explained itself.
But to do that, she had to get the party started. To that end, she mustered up the fake sincere smile that her years on the political party circuit had honed to perfection and turned to face him. “Hello,” she said, deciding to take the upper hand. It remained to be seen how long she held it. “I’m Lauren.” She put her hand out to avoid any potential awkward attempt at hugging, as well as to establish that while she was going to be polite, she wasn’t going to be insincere and say she was happy to meet him. Best to be as up front as possible with the man, no matter what her mother might be hoping for.
“Arlen,” he said, thankfully dispensing with any formal or titular introductions.
Neither of which would have surprised her after reading a few of his speeches. In fact, when he stepped closer to take her offered hand, she duly noted the automatic “kissing babies stump speeching” smile she was certain came as easily to him as breathing, but was surprised to also notice that he appeared almost a little nervous. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead even though the temperature in the room was quite moderate. Could he really be so worried about whether or not his wife’s new daughter gave them her blessing? From what she’d gleaned about the man, that wouldn’t likely be the case. So…why the telltale flopsweat?
“It’s a true pleasure to finally be making your acquaintance,” he said, still sounding like he was stumping for votes. Some politicians were like that, she’d learned, adopting a fixed-smile social persona that they became so entrenched in, they found themselves unable to flip the switch to truly sincere when the moment—and the company—dictated it. Like, you know…with family.
Others, like Senator Fordham, were comfortable and easily and sincerely themselves in any circumstance, private and social. A shame Arlen didn’t fall into her former boss’s category. But then, if he had, she’d have understood more why her mother had fallen for the man and they wouldn’t be having this awkward dinner meeting in the first place.
“Please, have a seat,” he added, all fixed smile and perfect, dentist-enhanced teeth. And…nervous. Up close it was even more obvious. “I hope you don’t mind the private room; I thought you and your mother would appreciate the privacy. I—”
“We do,” she said, feeling oddly compelled to put him at ease. It threw her off a little, his slight lack of composure. She’d been certain he would ooze the same rather smarmy charm she’d noted in the few taped speeches she’d been able to scrounge up during her search. And the smarmy charm was definitely there on the surface; his plastered-on enthusiasm hadn’t changed a flicker since she’d entered the room, but the underlying nerves didn’t seem to match up right.
She wanted to believe it was just about a man wanting to please his new wife. But he hadn’t so much as glanced at her since Lauren had entered the room, much less shown any kind of united front by standing next to her. Which left the other, less flattering, but far more plausible option, given what she knew. That his nerves stemmed from him wanting to make a good impression on her for personal reasons. In her case, she could only surmise that would be because of her connections to the power players in Washington. Though what good he thought that would do him as mayor of a small Colorado mountain town, she had no idea.
“Why don’t we all have a seat.” Her mother, ever the hostess, directed them to the table with a smile. “The wine steward should be here with our request momentarily. I hope you don’t mind, Lauren, dear, but we ordered a lovely bottle of pinot noir, grown locally, in fact. We’ll be more than happy to get something else—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lauren said, allowing the mayor to pull her seat back for her before he rounded the table and did the same for his wife. She sat catty-corner to her mother and directly across from the mayor. She watched them, curious to see any byplay between them, anything to help her understand the magnetism that supposedly existed. But there were no little touches, no private glances, no silent communication. In fact, they seemed to just be going through the motions, not exactly strained, but each of them definitely seemed lost in their own thoughts. “I, uh, didn’t know they grew grapes at this altitude.”
“Well, it’s not Napa Valley,” Arlen responded jovially, “but we’re pretty proud of what our great state produces.”
“You’re originally from California, right?”
“Yes,” Arlen said, and seemed quite enthusiastic about being given the chance to endorse that little tidbit about himself. “San Francisco.”
Lauren kept her own “circuit smile” on steady display. “Then I suppose you’d probably know a little something about those Napa wines, so I’m impressed you think so highly of the local wines here. I’m looking forward to trying it.”
“I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”
Small talk momentarily exhausted, when the silence went on for a beat too long, Lauren’s mother reached for her menu, prompting them to do the same.
It was cowardly, she knew, to hide behind the oversized, faux-leather folder, but it gave her a much-needed moment to regroup and reorganize her thoughts without Arlen staring her down. Well, maybe stare was too excessive a description, but he’d kept his focus fairly intently on her since she’d entered the room. Even when he’d seated her mother, his attention had been on Lauren. It wasn’t exactly creepy or anything, but it wasn’t comfortable, either.
Lauren surreptitiously took peeks at both her mother and Arlen as they perused their menus. For all she knew, they ate here all the time and knew the course offerings by heart. But they both seemed pretty intent on examining every entrée. And not once, that she had noticed anyway, had they so much as glanced at one another.
Could
