A potential candidate

I step out onto the balcony and close the door softly behind me. From here I can see horses on one side of the property and cattle on the other, all of it washed in late‑day light. The cicadas hum just loud enough to cover the quiet click as I dial a number I know by heart.

The phone rings once, an older female voice answers she is calm, controlled, expectant.

I exhale, steadying myself, “The republican, you wanted me reevaluate, I have proof that he passes the selfless act,” I say quietly. “He actually saved my friend. We need arrange the stamina evaluation. We will need to arrange the testers.”

There’s a pause on the other end not surprise, but recalculation, "I will arrange the test, he will have to pass two test, spring break, you don't mind holding a concert."

I glance back toward the house, toward the suitcases, toward the shifting future none of us are ready for. I reply, "I will get him to the island, and he will give him the knockout gas and leave him on the beach naked."

The voice says something I don’t dare repeat, but it makes me wonder about him, why did he keep his generosity a secret. “You did say you wanted to guide politicians from both sides,” I remind them softly. “And you know the DA will have to leave in a month… in disgrace.”

But when my eyes drift back toward the front of the ranch, I see the ranch name and I cannot think about him. I know I’m not as detached as I want to be. Not anymore, my friend is involved and after week next time they will meet he will be very different. I know that she would want this for him, from the pictures he has chance pass the test.

The voice finally speaks again, low and measured, already rearranging the chessboard.

“Good. Then move to the next phase. We’ll need a photo of him — and you know what kind.”

I straighten instinctively.

“He’ll need guidance,” the voice continues. “Real guidance. If he’s going to survive what’s coming.”

“He will,” I say quietly. “I’ll make sure he has an easier time than last cycle.”

Another pause.

“You did say you wanted to guide politicians from both sides,” I repeat. “And with the DA leaving in disgrace, there’ll be a special election.”

Silence again and then “I’m sure there’s a list of girls in the society you can have him meet.”, final beat, “Good. Prepare him for the island. That’s where we’ll prove his assets.”

A soft exhale crackles through the line approval, I end the call. For a moment I just stand there, letting the quiet settle around me. I know Leilani and I are definitely going to prepare him for the final test. And the naughty photos flicker through my mind, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips as I pocket my phone.

I reenter the bedroom. Leilani is studying my face like she’s trying to read the truth behind it. Then, quietly, “I always wished he had approval from his party.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice. No anger. Just the ache of someone who believed in him long before anyone else did. She brushes her fingers over one of the suitcases. “Maybe if they’d backed him… maybe he would’ve won the last election.”

The weight of my secret call presses against my ribs. “He’ll have an easier time now,” I say softly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She looks up, hope flickering through her expression. I know have to bend the truth, when I look at her and quietly give response, “I know people,” I continue. “He’ll have to prove himself to pass an interview with multiple evaluators. He’ll get a fair shot this time.”

For the first time all day, she exhales a long, relieved breath that softens her whole posture, “Good.”

She touches the handle of her suitcase again, this time with a small, trembling smile. “I’m excited for him, and relieved, even though I may not see him for years.”

She grabs a new outfit, something she’d never have worn before all this, and I’m still surprised how easily she’s embraced ranch living. Without looking up, she says, “He’ll be here in a bit, We have to prepare.”

She doesn’t explain what that preparation involves.

She doesn’t need to. I steady myself as I say preparation, Leilani’s words are still hanging in the air when she turns back to her suitcase and pulls out something folded, delicate fabric paired with brand‑new boots. She hands the outfit to me like it’s already decided.

I stare at it, then at her. “Leilani… these are not my type of clothes.”

She gives me that look, the one that says she already knows how this ends. “Trust me,” she says. “It’ll make everything easier.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she lifts a hand, already moving toward the door. “I’m going to make dinner. You clean yourself up, and work on those clothes.”

I look down at the outfit again, still not believing she expects me to wear it. But she’s halfway down the hall, humming like she’s already won. And somehow… she has. The shirt and pants are couple sizes small meant accentuate my curves, by the time I put the boots on, I have hard time walking, I finally make it downstairs, the smell hits me first — smoky, warm, unmistakable.

Steak, she’s plated everything beautifully, like she’s been doing this her whole life instead of just pretending to be a ranch girl for a week. I take a step toward the counter, and the new boots betray me. They’re slick on the wooden floors, stiff around my ankles, and absolutely not broken in.

My foot slides, the world tilts, the front door swings open at the exact same moment. And he’s there.

He catches me before I hit the floor, fast, steady, instinctive. His hands land where they need to… and a little more than that. I can feel his strong hands along my breast. He grabs me when they’re trying to stop a fall and doesn’t have time to aim.

Still, the contact jolts through me. My breath stutters. Heat rushes to my face before I can stop it. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then I straighten, boots wobbling beneath me, trying to pretend I’m not completely thrown off balance, in more ways than one.

He’s here.