He’s just a guy. No one important. Act natural.

“Annabel,” he acknowledges, his voice low.

“Good, thanks.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to snatch them back and swallow them down.

Jude is grinning and clearly enjoying every tortuous second.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying for a brisk professional tone that sounds more jittery than I would like.

I catch a whiff of his cologne—something manly and hot and a contrast to the cafeteria stench of old pizza and teenage angst. The citrusy smell ignites a flicker of a memory. Of being in his bed, curled up against him . . . but I ruthlessly quell the image.

His bright blue eyes burn into mine like he can read every lascivious daydream I’ve ever had about him along with ones I haven’t thought of yet.

“I’m surprised you have to ask,” he says.

Crap. What did I ask?

“As you know,” he continues, “I take my civic responsibilities very seriously.”

Oh, right. His moustache twitches and I know he’s smiling underneath it even as he talks about being serious. As ever, he’s taking amusement from everyone and everything.

It doesn’t escape my attention he didn’t actually answer my question.

“Right. Whatever.” I shrug my bag up higher on my shoulder and consider my options. I can’t stand right here next to him.

Space. I need space.

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur and walk on, continuing my path along the back wall a good fifteen feet away from where he’s standing. His eyes burn into my back and I’m glad I wore the dark blue skinny jeans that make my butt look awesome.

Not that I care what he thinks about my butt. Not. At. All.

I pull out my phone and small notepad and set my purse on the floor and pretend to not watch Jude out of the corner of my eye when he moves to a table right in my eyeline.

He doesn’t do something as simple as sit, either. He lounges, arranging his body like he’s relaxing on a chaise longue instead of the hard plastic bench attached to the scratched and battered orange table that’s been in this room since at least 1947. I’m pretty sure there’s a carving of my name on the underside of that very table, next to where I drew a little heart with Chad’s initials.

The town council members trickle in from a side door. The mayor, the city manager, and the secretary with her small typewriter all take their places at the table up at the front of the room.

The mayor calls the room to order, and it begins as it always does with a prayer to bless the meeting, followed by the pledge of allegiance.

Shifting from one foot to the other, I try my best to focus on Mayor Adams.

“As the Texas Open Meetings Act does not allow the council to respond to items not listed on the agenda, your comments will be duly noted by the council and forwarded to the appropriate department for prompt consideration.”