Page 42 of Keller

For a few blocks we walk in comfortable silence. It's the kind that isn’t awkward, but isn’t settled yet either.

She exhales slowly. “I’m so happy Nate was able to secure the funds to buy this house for the offices, but I'm not going to lie. I hate these types of events.”

“Not a smile-for-the-camera-and-kiss-babies kind of girl?”

She gives me a side eye.

“Let's just say I'm not the politician in the family.”

“Well, you did great. You never would have known.”

She glances at me. “You saw me before the end?”

“As soon as I walked up.”

She studies me like she’s deciding whether to believe that. I let the corner of my mouth lift. “Speaking of the beginning, did you hear the hot mic moment before the speeches?”

She glances at me. “No. What happened?”

“Apparently the podium was live and one of the event coordinators didn’t realize.”

Her steps slow slightly. “Oh, my god. Please tell me he didn't say something embarrassing.”

“It wouldn't be a notable hot mic moment if he didn't. It was the guy with the red hair. He walked up to the stage, looked around and then said to whoever was standing there, very clearly, ‘If someone doesn’t move those goddamn flags in the next thirty seconds, I’m seriously going to lose my shit on every single one of you.’”

She stares at me for half a beat. “No.”

“Yep. Full volume. You know a yard full of veterans love to hear the flag and goddamned in the same sentence. There were a few audible gasps, but mostly giggles, so I think you're fine”

The laugh that comes out of her is immediate. She tips her head back before she can catch herself, the sound carrying into the warm air between us. She presses her lips together afterward, but the smile lingers, softening her whole face.

“Red hair? That's Mark,” she says. “He’s a bit dramatic.”

“He looked like he meant it.”

“He probably did. He treats those events like military operations.”

“I gathered that.”

She shakes her head, still smiling. “I cannot believe I missed that. I wonder if Nate heard it.”

“You were busy looking competent. And Nate wasn't out yet.”

She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. “Looking competent and being competent are very different.’”

“You were busybeingcompetent,” I correct.

The smile she gives me lingers longer this time, and there is nothing guarded about it.

“How long have you been involved with the charity? I know your grandfather started it before you were born, but when did you take it on?” I ask.

She considers that. “Since I was old enough to understand what it was. My grandfather started it when I was a kid. We used to help stuff envelopes for mailers.”

“Mailers,” I repeat, smiling. “That feels almost historical.”

She exhales a quiet laugh. “Fundraising letters. Before email campaigns.”

“I know. I was teasing you. I respect the long game. I write a check. You do the work.”