Small-Town Reunion

Claire Atwood is about to make all her dreams come true. With her newly adopted son, Claire’s back in Goose Harbor, running for mayor and going toe-to-toe with Evan Daniels—the man who left her at the altar twelve years ago. But she refuses to let their history get in the way of her future. Evan’s come a long way from the poor teenager Claire’s powerful father intimidated. And he can’t help noticing Claire’s grown into a beautiful woman and caring mother. A month from now, when the ballots are counted, Evan could be Mr. Mayor, but what he really wants is another title: daddy and husband.

She could barely form the words.

“Just go away. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Claire-bear—”

“Don’t. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.” Claire grabbed her purse. “I’m done here. If this silly competition is what this town wants in a mayor, I’m obviously not their choice.”

Evan caught her arm as she turned to leave. “You’re not a coward. Stop choosing to quit.”

“I don’t choose it.”

“You’re choosing it now, and you did it every time when you wouldn’t let me explain about the past.”

She yanked her arm away. “How dare you.”

He blocked her retreat. “The Claire I knew and loved had the fire to match her hair. That Claire would never give up. I miss her.”

She wanted to toss back an angry barb. Fuel the fight so she didn’t have to admit the truth of his words.

“Do what makes you happy, Claire,” he prompted. “What do you love?”

You.

Her stomach tightened. That couldn’t be right. She didn’t love Evan Daniels.

She couldn’t…

Dear Reader,

Have you ever felt weighted down by expectations? Perhaps like Claire, you have family members who pressure you to reach a certain level of success. Or maybe like Evan, you set impossible expectations for yourself.

Expectations and goals aren’t bad, but when our lives become ruled by what we accomplish or strive for, when we tie our self-worth to whether or not we meet a certain goal, that’s a problem.

While Evan made a lot of life choices in order to please his brother, he was also striving to earn God’s approval. In the end, Evan was the one who told Alex, “Do you know that once you tell God that you’ve chosen to be on His team, God will never let you go?”

God will never let you go. No matter what. Hear that. Take it in. Believe it.

Thank you for spending time with Evan and Claire. I hope you enjoyed their story. I love interacting with readers, so make sure to look me up on social media or at www.jessicakellerbooks.com and say hi!

Dream big,

Jess

JESSICA KELLER is a Starbucks drinker, avid reader and chocolate aficionado. Jessica holds degrees in communications and biblical studies. She is multipublished in both romance and young adult fiction and loves to interact with readers through social media. Jessica lives in the Chicagoland suburbs with her amazing husband, beautiful daughter and two annoyingly outgoing cats who happen to be named after superheroes. Find all her contact information at jessicakellerbooks.com.

The Single Mom’s Second Chance

Jessica Keller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Wait for the Lord;

be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

—Psalms 27:14

For the boy I fell in love with at eighteen

who became the man still holding my heart

all these years later.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Claire Atwood brushed snowflakes from her shoulder as she waited for her son to shut the back door of her car.

“Hurry up, Alex. This has to be turned in by four.” Claire tucked the leather portfolio tighter under her arm. She didn’t want the paperwork that would guarantee she’d be added to the ballot for the open mayoral position to tumble out.

She motioned for Alex to speed up and join her down the walkway leading to the town hall. A shiver worked its way through her, making her wish she’d tugged on her down jacket instead of the thinner peacoat when they were still back at home. Ice crystals formed lace patterns on the front windows of the building. February frost. That’s what Mom called it back when Claire was still a child, too many years ago.

She puffed out a breath and watched it spiral in the crisp air before vanishing.

Overall, Goose Harbor had enjoyed a rather mild winter this season—more slush than snowfall, really—which was part of the problem. From spring through fall the lake and the beautiful dunes brought people from miles away to explore their quaint little town, and they depended on the charm of winter to continue drawing tourists December through March for revenue. Overall, tourism was the most profitable trade in Goose Harbor. Fresh snow brought couples to the area for romantic horse-drawn sleigh rides, holiday celebrations and ice-skating, and also pulled people to come enjoy the multiple Christmas and New Year’s events around town. One of the local bed-and-breakfasts held Charles Dickens’s Christmas weekend getaways and people dressed up like old-time carolers for the tree lighting festival. But the warmth this year had kept the number of visitors slim.

Dismal, really.

Claire tightened her hold on her portfolio and turned toward town hall. She could do this. Help her hometown. Do something with her life that mattered beyond credentials and degrees and being the daughter of tycoon Sesser Atwood.

The building sat across the street from Lake Michigan in the downtown section. Up the path and to the right of town hall stood the charming brick chamber of commerce building and the equally enchanting library. After those buildings there were storefronts and restaurants—everything Goose Harbor was known for. However, town hall was a long, white unassuming structure, as well as one of the oldest buildings in town. In spring, green flower boxes lined the many windows, but for now it was bare, besides the American flag flapping near the white double doors that led inside. Light flurries swirled around the dormer windows at the very top of the building.

Alex rammed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and trudged up the path. His thick, dark hair hung in front of his eyes. “Why did I have to come?”

Because you’re my son. I want you with me.

Five minutes to four wasn’t the time for a long emotional conversation. Especially not when the sky had finally decided to open up and dump some lake effect snow onto their corner of Michigan.

Claire sucked in a cold burst of air, sending a shock down into her lungs that rattled her. “Please, just behave. Okay?”

The seven-year-old stumbled beside her. “I don’t want to be here.”

Here as in in front of town hall? Or did he mean in America, with her, as her adopted son? No, she didn’t want to know the answer to that question. Sometimes the unknown was far kinder than discovering the truth.

Still, she should acknowledge what Alex said. The family therapist they’d been meeting with since she’d brought Alex home had explained to Claire how important it was for her son to feel heard.

She stopped walking. “Where else would you rather be?”

He dragged the toe of his shoe through the fresh powder on the ground. “You could have left me at home with your parents.”

Your parents.

When she’d flown to Russia eight months ago and adopted Alexei—who started going by Alex once he began school last fall—Claire had thought becoming a mother would solve all her problems. She’d have someone to love who would love her back. Someone who would want her. Need her.

As it turned out, Alex didn’t want her. She might as well get it stitched onto a pillow so she’d never forget: You Are Not Wanted or You Will Always Be Alone. Something snazzy like that to freshen up the artfully decorated apartment area of her parents’ home she called her own.

Claire didn’t know what to do with his attitude or how to help Alex anymore. She was failing. Like usual. Only now, her inability was affecting more than just her.

She squatted, trying to avoid getting her pants wet, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re your grandparents.”

He skewed his face. “Not really.”

“Yes, really.”

“If you say, then it is so.” The missionaries who worked alongside the orphanage Alex had been adopted from started teaching him English soon after his fifth birthday. So thankfully, when Claire met him in Russia last year, they’d been able to communicate. He still struggled with proper phrasing, but most of the time he did really well with his second language.

The double doors to town hall parted with a click and then a whoosh of air.

Alex jerked away from Claire and sidestepped her, bolting forward. “Evan!”

“Hey there, bud. Let me get the door for you guys.” The smooth, rich voice of Evan Daniels jolted through Claire. Causing her heart to hammer as if she’d downed a triple shot of espresso.

Then everything stalled. How did Evan know her son?

A chill traveled up Claire’s neck. She’d successfully been living back in Goose Harbor for more than a year without having to face Evan Daniels. She’d gone out of her way to avoid all contact with him. The man and the past they shared had been her one hesitation about returning home after she broke off her engagement to Auden Pierce back in New York.

Except now here he was in the flesh, only a few feet away, a tentative grin showing off the gorgeous smile he’d always possessed. Evan had definitely won the DNA jackpot—square jaw, a body shaped by long hours doing carpentry and dark hair that he still styled to look slightly mussed. And his eyes? Crisp, hard-to-look-away-from greens. It was the shade of green that infused life into the air, the type that poked through the last of the snow after a harsh winter and dotted the bare limbs of the trees, hinting at the hope of spring.

Hope.

A word that hardly fit the man.

He would have enjoyed a successful career modeling—probably still could if he wanted to. If Evan continued to possess half the charm he’d flashed her way in high school, the man could become the next reality show host wearing a three-piece suit as he interviewed and consoled the latest person kicked out of whatever competition. Or he could become some heartthrob on the fix-it channel—that would be right up his alley. If he’d pursued a career like that, he would no longer be living in Goose Harbor and that would have made Claire much happier. Instead of how he was right now, standing there in a peacoat, a blue-and-gray-plaid scarf around his neck, looking so appealing.

“Claire,” he whispered as he tipped his head.

Her name didn’t belong on his lips like that. Not said so sweetly, gently.

Head down, she brushed past him. “We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.” She barreled into the town hall’s lobby. The sweet, almost watermelon smell of his hair pomade followed her. He must still use the same brand he had in high school. So like Evan. Steady, constant, loyal to a brand.

Just not to Claire.

Emotion balled in her throat for a moment, but she shoved it away.

Don’t be ridiculous.

“Come on, Alex,” she called without looking back. An icy wind hit her, making long red strands of her hair dance in front of her face. Letting her know Evan still held the door.

Alex brought her up short with a hand on her arm. “Can’t I stay with Mr. Evan?”

She latched on to her son’s wrist and tugged him toward the wide front desk in the lobby, where Mrs. Clarkson, an eccentric old lady known around town for wearing clothes she’d knit out of socks or upholstery material, folded a pamphlet detailing frequently asked questions about utility bills.

Mrs. Clarkson rested her hands on top of the pamphlet and smiled over at them as if completing one piece out of the four-inch stack beside her was a huge accomplishment that they should acknowledge with a round of applause. Yellow edged her teeth from years of guzzling coffee.

Claire made a mental note to call her dentist and set up a whitening appointment. Maybe even halve her personal coffee consumption, as well. Ha. Not likely. The three or four cups she was currently downing were barely keeping her running as it was.

Claire craned her head toward Alex and spoke in a low voice. “How do you even know that man?”

“Mr. Evan?” He brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes. “He helps in Sunday school.”

“I’ve never seen him when I dropped you off. Don’t the Holcombs—Toby and Jenna, your friend Kasey’s parents—don’t they run your class?”

“Well, yeah. But Mr. Evan helps, too. He’s some kind of big deal in children’s ministry.” Alex angled his head. “He’s late to my class and has to go early because he directs traffic and greets.”

Of course. She knew about those things and should have guessed about his additional involvement. Since returning to Goose Harbor Claire had noticed that Evan had his hands in just about every part of town—helping on several committees, building the sets for the local play troupe and volunteering at most of the seasonal events.

Once Evan became a greeter at church Claire had opted for entering through the side door. Not that she thought she could avoid him forever. If she’d wanted to do, it would have been easy. She could have chosen to attend a church outside town, but she wouldn’t allow his presence to dictate where she went and didn’t go. At least not when it came to church and the only community and people she knew. Claire had resigned herself to the fact that at some point she and Evan would have to speak and function around each other. And why not? They were both adults now and could act as such. More than a decade had passed since they’d parted ways.

Since he’d decided he didn’t want her.

An overwhelming wave of sorrow slammed through Claire’s chest. Swells of doubt and fear carrying the reminders of all she’d missed out on in life—love, family, dreams. But she was making her own future now, one that didn’t depend upon a man. That’s how it always should have been.

She let go of Alex and dug her nails into the edge of the shiny counter.

Mrs. Clarkson leaned over the front desk and cleared her throat. “What can I do you for?” Despite living in Goose Harbor for more than forty years, the subtle country twang from her youth hummed through her words from time to time. Mrs. Clarkson was fond of speaking about her childhood in Alabama, although she had never returned after she married, that Claire was aware of.

Claire set her portfolio on the counter and pulled out the application, her letter for the town newsletter detailing her ideas and the petition with the needed signatures. “Just handing these in.”

Mrs. Clarkson adjusted her red-framed glasses. A fake diamond sparkled near each temple. “Running for mayor! Oh, how nice. Although—and I mean no offense, dear—but between you and me I sure wish we had an Ashby for our mayor. This town always ran best with someone from that family at the helm.” She licked her thumb and used it to flip to the next page. “But there I go. Talking on and on about the old days. Mr. and Mrs. Ashby were both fine mayors—the best—but they are long gone. God rest them both. Do you know that sweet Maggie West still leaves flowers on their graves? Well, but she’s Maggie Ashby now, isn’t she? She and Kellen do make a pretty pair. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Kellen was running for office? I find him to be such a kind man. Although, I’m sure you’d do just fine, too.”

For more than forty years Henry Ashby had been the mayor of Goose Harbor, and after he passed, his wife, Ida, took over. After her death, Doyle Ellis had been the only one to run for the position. But he’d announced his resignation at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony a few months ago and had sold his house and left town a month later, leaving the position vacant. For now, the head of the town board, Mr. Banks, kept everything running, but everyone knew he wanted out of that responsibility as soon as possible.

Hence the special and rushed election.

Mrs. Clarkson shuffled through the paperwork again, branding each sheet with a Received On stamp bearing the time and date. “Well, now.” Stamp. Stamp. “It seems we’ll have ourselves a real election then, this time around. Don’t know how long it’s been since we had ourselves one of those. Decades and then some, I think.”

“A real election?” Claire closed her portfolio and shoved it back under her arm. “Someone else is running?”

That complicated things some. She’d planned on being the only one on the ballot.

Mrs. Clarkson grinned and nodded. “Why, yes, someone else is running.” She held up an application with neat block lettering.

Evan’s handwriting.

Claire’s stomach performed an impressive somersault before she regrouped, fisting her hand. Hadn’t Evan already done enough damage in her life? Well, she wasn’t about to let that man steal another one of her dreams.

Claire jerked her head back. “We’ll see about that.” She grabbed Alex’s hand and spun toward the front door, the heels of her boots clicking across the floor.

So today was the day, after all.

It was time to finally have a conversation with the man who’d left her stranded on her wedding day.

* * *

Evan flipped up the collar on his coat and then dug around in his pockets for his gloves.

And fine, he was lingering, too.

Claire Atwood had finally spoken to him. Sure, it hadn’t been something kind, but that didn’t matter. He’d spent the last year wanting to say hi and ease the awkwardness that pulsed between them, but she’d evaded him every time he’d worked up the nerve to break the silence.

She’d been back in town for more than a year and had gone out of her way to dodge him, to the point of crossing to the other side of the street when she happened to spot him downtown. Not that he blamed her. He had left her crying on the steps of the county courthouse.

He didn’t deserve her attention, not then and not now.

However, the image was burned into his memory—her in a knee-skimming white dress and her red hair tumbling around her shoulders as she sobbed into her hands—forever there to lance pain and regret through him. It sprang to his mind at the worst moments. Like now. A pressure point causing him to wince, desperately making him want to burst through the double doors of town hall and apologize. Explain. Beg her to forgive him.

But to what aim? All those years ago, her father had been right. Evan had been a small-town boy with no ambitions outside of Goose Harbor. He was simple, whereas Claire had possessed big dreams, and she was smart. Brilliant. Evan had heard through the very active Goose Harbor grapevine that Claire had accomplished a lot since their failed wedding. Unless the gossip was mistaken, she’d earned her doctorate and had traveled abroad, studying art history. If they’d married, that never would have happened. Evan would have held her back. He wasn’t good enough for her, not then and not now. Even he knew that.

Still, it had hurt to walk away. He wished she at least knew that part.

Evan focused on putting his gloves on. Flexed his hands a few times but still couldn’t get his feet to go forward.

The ship that was his future with Claire had sailed many, many years ago. Sailed and sunk like one of the many abandoned boats that lined the bottom of Lake Michigan. If Claire had wanted to discuss their past she wouldn’t have disappeared for more than a decade. She wouldn’t have hopped on a plane the same day as their failed wedding ceremony. He’d sent notes to her by way of her mother and had never heard back. He hadn’t known any of her new information—address, phone number, email address—but most of his hadn’t changed. She could have called and demanded answers at any point.

But she hadn’t.

Truth was, Claire had narrowly missed destroying her life that day, and she probably knew it. The day Evan regretted most was no doubt the biggest relief of her life. No matter what she had thought she felt for him at eighteen years old, it was painfully obvious that she didn’t feel anything warm toward him now. So much the better.

She deserved more than being shackled to a Daniels.

Though he’d admit to anyone she looked pretty today. Since returning from New York she often strutted around town too polished, too fancy, wearing designer everything—using her exterior to keep people at a distance the same as she had in their old days together. Today, though, she’d been flustered because of Alex. The kelly green coat she wore had been buttoned lopsided, the delicate point of her nose was red and winter’s breeze had run telltale fingers through her hair, leaving the long auburn strands tangled and dusted with snowflakes.

He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her more beautiful.

We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.

Yup, eleven years of her in New York, and the past year she’d spent in Goose Harbor avoiding him. Her math was sound, and the implications drove nails through any last hopes he might have clung to of them ever getting along again.

The memory of her words pierced his thoughts, leaving his throat suddenly dry. Evan dug farther into his coat pocket for a cough drop. He popped it into his mouth and let the menthol pour through his sinuses. Took a deep breath. Started to leave.

“Wait!” Claire’s voice stopped him.

Evan swung around. Sure enough, Claire was stepping toward him at a fast clip, Alex jogging behind her. Her heels hit a slick spot on the narrow path to the town hall and she started to tip backward.

“Whoa.” Evan dived forward, quickly slipping his arms around her waist and preventing her from tumbling to the hard ground. His hands came flush against her back, cradling her toward him. Why had he put his gloves on? He would have enjoyed the feel of her hair draped over the back of his hands one more time...

Alex whooped. “Good catch!” Then he bent down, scrambling to collect all Claire’s scattered paperwork.

During the process of almost falling, she’d dropped the thick folder-type thing she’d been clutching, and had grabbed on to the lapels of his coat for dear life. Inches from him—close enough to count the freckles she tried to hide—Claire’s soft blue eyes frantically moved over his face until their gazes finally met. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t shove away. His heart pounded like a Sawzall, and just like that he was eighteen again with the woman he had loved in his arms. The woman he had wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with.

You’ll hold her back, son. You’ll be a weight around her neck. She’ll grow to hate you. Is that what you want? If you love her like you say you do, then let go. It was the first—and more than likely, the only—time he and Sesser Atwood would ever agree so wholeheartedly.

Evan shook that thought away and focused. “I got you.”

Smooth, Evan. State the obvious. Women adore that.

“I don’t want you to,” she whispered. Then her eyes snapped to life and she pushed against his chest.

Ah, right, there it was. The resentment he usually saw setting her features.

Evan let his arms fall away. He swallowed the last of his cough drop, savoring the burning feeling of it going down his throat, grounding him. With her standing nearby, having called to him, he finally summoned the courage to start the conversation he wished he’d had back before she ran to New York City. Might as well get the awkwardness over with. “Claire, this is long overdue, but I need to—”

“Why are you running for mayor?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped out a Morse code message detailing her annoyance with the toe of her pointed glossy boot.

Not what he’d expected. Then again, Mrs. Clarkson was known for spreading everyone’s business around, in a kindly, grandmotherly way, of course. Claire probably went in to hand over a payment for her family’s water or refuse bill, and Mrs. Clarkson couldn’t help but tell her all about Evan submitting his application to get on the ballot and run at the final hour.

He scratched the spot where his neck met his jaw. “Oh, that. I guess, why not? The position’s open.”

And because he and his brother Brice planned to use his clout as mayor to help get a new boatyard and dock built. One that would give Sesser Atwood a run for his money and loosen the chokehold monopoly he had on the shipping business in Goose Harbor. On all businesses in town.

A political tidbit Evan hardly needed to share with the tycoon’s daughter.

“That’s it?” More toe tapping. A nervous habit he recognized from the old days. Back when he’d known what every single movement she made meant. Known that if her shoulders slumped a certain way she’d had a bad weekend with her parents or an argument with her father. Before she gave a presentation or speech in class, she used to tap her foot faster than his 18-volt jigsaw running on the highest setting.

Evan pointed down and didn’t even fight the smirk he felt tugging at his lips. “You’re going to wear out your shoe doing that, you know. Not much is different, huh?”

She stopped and shifted her weight. Narrowed her eyes, and her stare went hard. “Everything is different. And don’t change the subject.”

If looks could kill... The set of her shoulders and jaw told him she was ready for battle. With her expression of fury and her red hair fanned over her shoulders while fat snowflakes fell between them, she looked like a snow queen ready to save her kingdom from an invading army. Sparks and quips made up her favorite line of defense, but he wasn’t intimidated. Claire survived by keeping people at a distance, by making them believe she was all burrs and thorns.

Too bad he knew better.

Break through her barriers and she became the sweetest, most sincere person he’d ever met. Her rigid exterior was nothing more than a wall for a terrified girl to hide her heart behind. She only needed someone to cheer her on and infuse some courage into her, something neither of her parents had ever done. At least...that’s how she’d been twelve years ago.

In the past, the best way to reach over her wall was to act like her glares had no effect on him.

“So what if I’m running?” Evan slipped his hands into his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Why do you care?”

Alex handed Claire the padded folder, which he’d jammed all her papers into, so they stuck out at odd angles. “She wants to know because she’s running, too.”

“You’re running?” Evan rocked forward. “But you don’t even like this place.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s so not true.” She jabbed her pointer finger in his direction. “And don’t you dare say that on the campaign trail. You have no proof to back up your claim.”

“Campaign trail? Tell me you’re not serious.” She was joking...wasn’t she? Evan hadn’t planned to do much besides getting on the ballot. Everyone in town already knew him.

Alex chuckled. “She is always serious. I know this is a fact.”

Evan winked at Alex. He enjoyed how the kid phrased things.

Claire pressed a hand to Alex’s chest, as if Evan’s very presence might tarnish the boy. She must not be aware that Evan hung out with her son every Sunday. Maybe he should tell her the reason he’d been asked to help out in the seven-and eight-year-old class was because Toby and Jenna Holcomb didn’t know how to reach her often angry son. So far, he and Alex had come to a tentative friendship, but her mama-arm protective grab on Alex didn’t bode well for Evan’s continued involvement.

“See? You have nothing to say,” Claire said. “No proof that I don’t like this place and no reason why you should continue your run for office.”

“No proof? Now let’s see... How about you left our humble harbor without so much as looking back, and were gone for more than eleven years? You can’t like Goose Harbor all that much—not enough to want to be the mayor—if you didn’t even want to be here.”

She leaned closer, her voice low, rumbling. “I like Goose Harbor fine.”

Evan leaned in, too. “Not as much as you seemed to like New York.”

Her eyes flashed. “The reason I left wasn’t because I didn’t like it here.”

“Yeah?” He cocked his head, challenging her. They’d always known how to press each other’s buttons. Evidently that much hadn’t changed, either. “Then why’d you leave?”

Claire’s lips pulled a little. “I left because I didn’t like you.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open. “My friend Kasey would call that a burn.”

And she’d be right.

Evan filled his chest with a lungful of air and then another. Growing up with an abusive father had taught him to rein in his anger and his reactions, not to speak when he felt wounded, because usually what he had to say only worsened the situation. And to process through the reasons someone would behave a certain way before letting words rule his emotions.

With Claire, it wasn’t as if it was a mystery. From her perspective he’d entirely misused her. For all intents and purposes, he’d abandoned her. And she was right, even if it stung. She’d left because of him.

I saved you from a life of regret. You wouldn’t have a relationship with your parents if we’d married. You’d probably hate me by now for getting in the way of your dreams.

Why couldn’t she understand?

He worked his jaw back and forth.

Someone flung the town hall’s doors open. Alex, Evan and Claire all pivoted.

Mr. Banks—also known as the local curmudgeon—bustled toward them. He wore his dress pants up past his belly button and had the bottom of his tie tucked in. No coat, so he must have been in a hurry. Wisps from his comb-over rose to stand on end in the winter wind. The man currently served—begrudgingly—as the stand-in mayor, and grumbled about it to anyone who would listen.

Mr. Banks puffed when he reached them. “You’re both still here. Good.”

Evan relaxed his shoulders and forced himself to put mental space between the conversation with Mr. Banks and the confrontation with Claire. “Is there a problem with our applications?”

“No. They’ll do. I’d like you both to attend the board meeting on Tuesday so I can introduce each of you to the public.”

Evan glanced at Claire and then back at Mr. Banks. “Is that necessary? I’m pretty sure everyone voting already knows us.”

“It’s a formality,” the stand-in mayor huffed.

Evan bit back a laugh. He coughed once and then cleared his throat. “And this is Goose Harbor—hardly the place for formalities.”

Mr. Banks scowled. “Are you certain you’re qualified for this office, Mr. Daniels?”

Claire stepped forward. “I was just trying to talk him out of it, too!”

Mr. Banks narrowed his eyes at them. “To rise to the needs of the position of mayor, I hope you’re both going to start caring about formalities and acting professionally.” He smoothed his hand down his bright orange tie. “Our town deserves that from their elected.”

“Of course.” Claire bristled. “I only meant—”

Mr. Banks cut her off with a deep frown. “We need to discuss when is best for both of you regarding the board of trustees planning the competitive events for this election.”

“Excuse me?” Claire wrapped her arms around Alex and pulled him to stand in front of her like a human shield.

“I’m with her.” Evan jutted his thumb. “What do you mean by competitive events?”

Mr. Banks groaned and shook his head. “Pie eating contests, fund-raising, talent shows. Some or other manner of horrible sorts of things like that. You know how this town is.”

“We’re running for mayor.” Chill painted red across Claire’s cheeks. “Not a pageant title.”

Evan chuckled, trying to lighten her mood. “And if we were, it’s awful cold for a swimsuit competition, not that I’d turn one down.”

She twisted toward him. “How do you expect anyone to actually vote for you? You can’t be serious for even three minutes. It’s unbelievable.”

Alex spun in his mom’s arms. “He can, too. You should hear him at Sunday school. He talks about God better than any of the Atwoods do.”

Claire gripped Alex by the shoulder, snagging her son’s attention. “Don’t forget, you’re an Atwood, too.”

He shrugged and pushed out of her reach. “Must be why I don’t really know God at all.”

Mr. Banks worked his jaw. “It’s cold out here, and if you haven’t noticed, my coat’s still inside. This was supposed to be a quick conversation.”

“Apologies.” Claire plastered on a smile. “Continue.”

“Per the town’s charter, those running for mayor must take part in friendly competitions.”

Evan brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat again. “I guess the thing that has us confused is we’ve never done that with an election in the past. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never heard any of this.”

Mr. Banks closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly, as if Evan and Claire were gnats buzzing by his ears. “We haven’t had more than one person running for mayor in a long time.” He shivered and made as if he was about to leave, but then added, “I’m moving up the election, too. It’ll be the second week of March.”

Claire’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “But that’s...that’s only a little more than a month away.”

“I suggest you get to campaigning.” Mr. Banks scooted backward, in the direction of the entranceway. “I’ll contact you both with the date and details for the first event. I assume weekends and evenings work best?”

They both nodded.

Evan dug in his pockets, searching for another cough drop, but found nothing.

“This ridiculousness can’t be done soon enough for me,” Mr. Banks said. “May the best person win.”

“Thanks.” Claire hugged her folder. “I intend to.”

Alex waved at Evan while Claire tugged her son toward the car. Evan watched them leave before heading to his heavy-duty truck. “What did I just get myself into?”

Chapter Two

“You can do this. It’ll be no different than talking to anyone else,” Claire coached herself, occasionally glancing into her car’s rearview mirror as she drove across town. Gray clouds crowded together and rolled over each other in the sky like a group of children pushing toward the promise of free ice cream. They were making their way over Lake Michigan, directly toward her. Goose Harbor was in for another round of lake effect snow.

Good. A pending storm was the perfect excuse. That gave her a reason to keep the visit short.

Visit.

That was hardly the right word.

Since being home, Claire had made a point of never driving past Evan’s house. Not a difficult task considering he lived in the thick, wooded area on the far reaches of the town’s limits—almost in the unincorporated section that belonged to the county. Claire rarely had a need to head out in that direction, and even if she did, there were roads she could take to bypass the stretch of land she knew he owned.

Now it all felt silly. She’d mentally blown this moment—contact with Evan initiated by her—way out of proportion.

Why had she let a person from her past, someone she hadn’t uttered a word to in more than a decade, have that sort of control on her life? She’d gotten over Evan a long time ago. He was an immature mistake. Falling for a cute guy had been an understandable blunder on the cusp of adulthood. She’d met plenty of people in college with far bigger regrets. So she’d entertained the idea of running off with her high school boyfriend, getting married at the county courthouse? It hadn’t happened.

Good, again.

She glanced in the rearview mirror another time. Dark storm clouds bubbled behind her. She’d focus on the behind her part. The path ahead of her was known, easy. Goose Harbor, her family, working for her father—she could have a life here. And the past was just that, the past. It couldn’t harm her any longer.

And yet her hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

“He has no power over me. None.”

Sure, she’d mourned their relationship, and the question Why wasn’t I good enough? still lingered. But it wasn’t as if she’d spent years pining after him. Claire had moved on a long time ago, which was why she’d been able to get engaged to Auden Pierce, the most sought-after solutions architect for Fortune 500 companies, two years ago. At the stop sign she glanced down at her bare left ring finger and sighed. She’d called off the wedding six months in advance, leaving Auden speechless at first—not an easy feat—but at least she’d given him warning long before the day of the ceremony.

Unlike Evan.

Before she left Goose Harbor for college, Evan had still lived with his parents on a run-down piece of parched land that her father rented to the Danielses. Evan’s dad had been forever behind on payments, but her father had never kicked them out, though he’d threatened it many times. Often Mom would blow up and yell about the Danielses at family dinners, but Dad had always talked her off the ledge. He’d explained to Claire that it was their “Godly duty” to help out the unfortunate. Oddly, it was the only time Dad had ever been remotely spiritually minded or seemed to care about people who were in a different tax bracket than the Atwoods.

Curiosity about the Danielses had bloomed in Claire at a young age, probably because of her parents’ heated fights over the family. When she’d finally rubbed shoulders with Evan in classes during freshman year of high school, she’d hung back, studied him. Evan had been one of those students who commanded the classroom with a funny remark and a winning smile. He’d strutted the hallways, high-fiving upperclassmen while a flood of followers trailed after him. As a teenager, he’d always been smiling, joking and full of confidence. While he hadn’t been a jock or among the top tier of popular kids, he’d been well liked by everyone.

Her father’s word—unfortunate—had never fitted Evan’s brothers, Brice and Andrew, either. He had a younger sister, too, but Claire didn’t know Laura well.

Over the years Claire had grown to despise that word unfortunate.

Who decided the merits of a fortunate person versus an unfortunate one? Were finances all that mattered when applying the label? It was one of those words that, when used by someone in good economic standing to describe others, felt like a pat to the speaker’s back and an insult to the one being described. In her social circles, especially among her Christian friends, she’d heard it a hundred times since her father had first uttered the word.

“Let’s organize a fund-raiser to help those unfortunate children without clean water in Africa.”

“I saw this homeless man on the side of the road with a sign—how unfortunate.”

“For our outreach project let’s do a food drive for the unfortunate.”

“Did you see the viral story about that unfortunate puppy who was born without hind legs?”

Fact was, in high school, when Claire had first observed Evan, she had come to the conclusion that she was the unfortunate one, not him. He could sway a crowd with a fast quip. He was surrounded by friends. He charmed the principal and every teacher he came into contact with. However, Claire had walked the halls with her books tightly pressed to her chest and chin to her collarbone. If her father had known how timid she’d been around her peers he would have been disappointed in her. She’d slunk to the back of the classroom and lost her voice when the teacher called on her.

Up to that point freshman year, she hadn’t made one real friend in her whole life. Not one her own age.

Not until Evan.

Claire hooked the hand she wasn’t using for driving onto her shoulder and pulled at her tight muscles. She sucked in a deep breath and held it for the mental count of three, then let it out. She repeated the breathing exercise for the next mile.

What she and Evan had during high school hadn’t been real friendship, either. Because friends don’t walk away like he did, at least, not the type of friends she’d always imagined having. Perhaps that’s why she still had such a difficult time connecting with people her age and always felt so out of place when she had to make small talk. Claire was definitely the unfortunate one. Money had nothing to do with it.

“Stop. You have friends. Kendall is your friend. There. See? That’s plenty,” Claire muttered as she turned onto the street that led past Crest Orchard, where Jenna and Toby Holcomb lived. The couple’s daughter, Kasey, was Alex’s best friend.

She took the tight curve extra slowly, remembering the car accident last year that had claimed the life of the community’s young pastor. The town had installed a wide guardrail to prevent cars from skidding off the road and going down the cliff that hung over Lake Michigan, but slow and steady was probably still the best course of action.

Her father’s voice rang in her ears. Atwoods don’t back down. Losers back down, and Atwoods are winners. We settle for nothing less. You remember that.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I can do this.”

Dense woods hugged either side of the road. After a slight bend, Claire passed the dirt patch of a clearing that she knew, because of her friendship with Kendall, led to Brice Daniels’s cabin. Claire had actually had dinner at Brice’s house a handful of times in the last few months to help with planning their wedding. She was Kendall’s maid of honor, after all.

She worked her fingers into the leather of her steering wheel. Evan’s land butted up to Brice’s. The brothers had purchased the land together when a piece of the old summer camp had gone on the market. They’d divided the land between them and each had built a home.

More than likely she was driving by some of Evan’s property right now. Half a mile later, she found Evan’s wide concrete driveway, just as Kendall had described. A large sage-colored Craftsman home sat on the curved part of the U-shaped driveway. Claire eased her car into Park. The front of the house boasted a welcoming terrace-style porch with a swing on one end and a set of red rocking chairs on the other. Everything about it spoke of warmth and comfort.

Looks could be deceiving.

Still, she’d be the first to admit that he’d obviously done well for himself over the years. He had a home and a successful life here in their hometown. His handmade furniture graced many of the houses and shops in Goose Harbor. But Claire had found success, too; it only looked different. An undergraduate degree from Columbia University was nothing to sneeze at, and her master’s from Sotheby’s Institute of Art wasn’t too shabby, either. Her parents still griped about her “worthless” degrees—an undergraduate in visual arts, master’s in art business and a PhD in art history—however, they were proud of the fact that her studies had taken her to London, Hong Kong and Shanghai. The list went on. She had no reason to feel less than when compared to her high school boyfriend.

She gulped down any remaining doubt. She needed to speak with him—needed to convince him to join her in an attempt to talk the board of trustees out of making her and Evan go through a circus act of friendly competitions. If they approached the board together they had a better chance of getting a pass on the very dated town tradition. She couldn’t go to the board on her own without the risk of appearing to be a spoilsport.

Claire tucked her keys into her purse and then ran a hand over her hair. “Evan Daniels, ready or not, here I come.”

* * *

Evan paced around the stone-topped island in his kitchen, cell phone pressed to his ear while he waited for Brice to pick up. His brother was hit or miss about answering, but Evan would keep calling tonight until he did. They had to readjust their plan.

Brice answered on the third ring. “If you’re trying to talk me out of more of my venison steaks, the answer is no.”

Evan fought a grin. “Tempting, but not why I called.”

“I know you used my spare key and took some out of my freezer last week.” Brice’s voice held a teasing tone. “I hid the key somewhere else. You’ll have to search harder next time.”

Brice had two hiding spots for the key. He wouldn’t move it somewhere beyond those places. That’s one of the things Evan really liked about his brother—he was steady, dependable, predictable. Evan looked up to him. Brice was more than his older brother and friend; he was somewhat of a mentor, too.

But sentimental conversations tended to make Brice uncomfortable. Evan would keep the conversation to facts and the occasional ribbing, even if he would have liked to say something...deeper.

“What’s mine is yours, brother.”

“You’re fortunate I like you. And you said that wrong. You meant what’s yours is mine.” Brice...joking? Meeting Kendall Mayes and getting engaged had really changed his brother. For the better. His introverted sibling now had a goofy side. He smiled more. Seeing the positive changes in Brice was almost enough to make Evan wish he hadn’t given up on romantic relationships.

Almost.

Relationships might work for someone like Brice, who deserved to be happy, but not Evan. He’d allowed the people he cared about to get hurt, some of them many times. He wasn’t a strong protector like Brice. He’d only end up disappointing a woman.

Evan shoved those thoughts away and focused on the conversation again. “Have you bothered to look in the freezer since Friday? I already replaced them.”

“You always do. That’s why I keep you around.”

While he enjoyed laughing with his brother, it was time to get to the topic at hand. Evan stopped walking and braced his hand on the countertop. “We need to talk.”

Brice chuckled on the other end. “Sounds ominous.”

“It’s bad, Brice.”

“You do know there are only a few weeks left until my wedding. Maybe we can save bad news until after then? All the last-minute details are stressing Kendall out—which means they’re stressing me out, too.”

“I’m sorry, but it can’t wait.” Evan inched toward the row of bar stools he kept tucked under the overhang on the kitchen island, pulled one out and sat down.

Brice sighed. “Hit me with it, then.”

“Turns out I’m not the only one running for mayor.”

“But I thought you handed in your application at the last minute? We called this morning and there was no one else.”

Evan looked down at his hand. “Well, there is now.”

“Who?”

“Claire.”

“Atwood?”

Evan let out an exasperated laugh. “Is there another?”

Brice grumbled something low and unintelligible. Exactly the response Evan had figured.

“What am I going to do?” He snagged a pen from where it rested next to a bowl of fruit, flipped over an old church bulletin and started sketching a plan for a playground that he’d been contracted to build at the Holcombs’ apple orchard.

“Simple. Beat her in the election.”

His pen froze. “You think I should still run?”

“Of course you should still run. You have to.”

Evan clicked the pen a couple times. “You know she’ll have Sesser’s muscle behind her.” And his money—her father was one of the wealthiest men in the state. He owned land and had his hand in businesses all along the shore of Lake Michigan, down into Indiana and on to Chicago. The tycoon might live in a cozy tourist town, but Evan knew not to underestimate the man’s power. Or the bite it carried.

Evan still bore the scars from last time he’d crossed paths with Claire’s father.

“That could be her greatest disadvantage.” Brice talked to someone else for a moment, saying he’d be only a few more seconds—Kendall. “Most people don’t trust him. Use that against her.”

“I won’t run a smear campaign. Not against her.” They might not be on friendly terms, but the thought of bad-mouthing Claire publicly turned his stomach. He’d hurt her enough for one lifetime; he wouldn’t do it again.

An uncomfortable silence pulsed over the phone line before Brice said, “Don’t tell me, after all this time, you still have feelings for her?”

Evan straightened and ran his palm back and forth over his jean-clad thigh. “Let me rephrase that. I wouldn’t run a smear campaign against anyone. It doesn’t matter that it’s her. Claire and me? We don’t even belong in a sentence together. You know I let that go a long time ago.”

“Did you...?” His brother lowered his voice. “You never told her about Sesser, did you?”

Evan examined the calluses on his hands. Workman’s hands. Hands of a blue-collar man who did manual labor for a living and would never be good enough for a woman from Claire’s world. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“It’s probably for the best.”

“Not probably. It is—was. Everything is how it should be. Needs to be.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“We have to beat her. Understand? No matter what you think about her or if you believe she has good intentions about becoming mayor, it doesn’t matter. Sesser will find a way to use her in that position to gain a stronger hold on everything.” Brice summed up the reasons that he’d used to talk Evan into running in the first place. “You and I both know that’s what’ll happen. You’re running to take back some power from him—so we can build a dock and remove his monopoly. We can’t give Sesser another foothold.”

“I guess you’re right.” Evan kept clicking the pen.

“He’d ruin this town. He’d use her to turn this place into somewhere we wouldn’t want to live. You get that, don’t you?”

“True.” Click. Click. Click. “I wouldn’t put anything past Sesser.”

That was the reason Brice had urged him to run, but in truth, Evan had decided to go for it because he cared about the people in Goose Harbor and wanted to fight for their best interests. Maybe the two were the same thing. Brice was the more levelheaded brother—the one who turned ideas over and looked at something from every angle before deciding the best course of action. Whereas Evan often found himself in hot water because of split-second choices that he hadn’t stopped and thought through. He’d trust his brother on this. On everything.

The doorbell rang, making Evan slide off of the stool. “Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

“If it’s that boy for Laura again—”

“Don’t worry, papa bear, I’ve got it handled.” Evan clicked off and set his phone on the counter. Brice had a tendency to be overprotective with all the siblings, although he’d gained the right to be that way after protecting Evan, Andrew and Laura as best an eldest brother could during childhood.

Their seventeen-year-old sister had moved in with Evan soon after Brice and Kendall had become engaged last summer. Brice had tried to talk Laura into remaining at his place, assuring her it was fine to stay until he and Kendall returned from their honeymoon, but Laura had still chosen to head to Evan’s. Their parents’ house was no longer a fit environment for their teenage sister, not that it had ever been an ideal place to begin with. Growing up, Dad had physically abused Brice and had lobbed verbal assaults at the rest of them, Laura included. And their mother had become a bitter hoarder over the years, turning the small house into something of a health code hazard.

Besides, Evan’s home was bigger than Brice’s. His older brother lived in a cabin with one bedroom, which Laura had used while Brice had camped out in his office area for a couple months. Evan had three bedrooms and a fully finished basement. Laura had plenty of space to invite friends over or have parties here, where she hadn’t been able to be very social when she lived with Brice. And Evan never minded company. He thrived off it, whereas Brice was introverted, and even having their sister stay had been a strain on him.

It was better this way.

“Laura,” Evan hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you expecting anyone?”

No answer. She probably couldn’t hear him over the loud Broadway tunes blasting from her room. She had aspirations for a life in the theater and was starring in the high school’s production of The Music Man this year. In the last few weeks he’d listened to her belting out “Goodnight, My Someone” and “Till There Was You” too many times to count.

Evan shook his head as he crossed to the front entryway. If it was the boy who’d been pursuing Laura since the summer, Evan would let him in. Laura was growing into a smart young woman; she could navigate her relationships without one of her brothers acting like a domineering father. He’d give her advice, of course—and stay within earshot—but he wouldn’t shove away a guy unless she asked him to.

However, Evan didn’t find a lanky teen on the other side of the door.

He found Claire Atwood.

Chapter Three

Claire bunched the handles of her purse together. Relaxed her fingers. Wound the straps around her hands again.

She took a glance over her shoulder as she shot out a long stream of air. Dark clouds scudded across the sky behind her, rolling closer. Good. If a blizzard started, it wouldn’t be fun to drive through, but they needed it. Perhaps the ground would stay cold enough that the fresh covering would stick around for the next two weeks, lasting for Valentine’s weekend.

Maybe she’d wear black and protest the holiday. Claire bit back a smile. Of course she’d never do something like that, especially when she was running for mayor, but it was still fun to imagine doing so.

She ran her fingers over her hair, trying to put back into place strands the wind had moved. If Evan didn’t answer before she counted to twenty, she’d head home. Because she shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have showed up without calling first. The website for his woodworking business probably had a Contact Me section where she could have located a phone number or an email address. No doubt Mrs. Clarkson or Kendall had his information, but asking either would have encouraged too many questions and unwanted speculation.

He probably wasn’t even home. Evan’s outgoing personality assured he had a busy social schedule, or at least Claire assumed so.

The door swung open and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Evan was home, all right.

Wearing worn jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood barefoot in the doorway, his lips slightly parted. “What are you—? Why are—? I don’t und—?” He shook his head and took a step to the side, sweeping his hand in a grand welcoming motion. “Come in. Please, it’s freezing out there.”

Right; go into his house. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Had she thought at all? After dropping Alex off for a sleepover at his friend Xander’s, she had gotten into her car and turned it in the direction of Evan’s house. Despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in years, she’d known she had to talk with him now and needed to do so before her courage waned.

Of course they’d talk inside—it was far too cold to stand outside for long. And thinking she was only dropping Alex off at his sleepover and driving back home, she hadn’t chosen to wear her warmest coat.

She hugged her purse to her stomach and stepped past Evan. He reached behind her and closed the door, bringing him a little closer as he did so. She backed away, finding his arm only inches from her side. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been tugging on it. A waft of the watermelon scent hit her and she turned away.

But she couldn’t turn off the images the smell made rush into her mind.

When they were teenagers, she used to love watching him work out a problem. Evan would sit at a table, transfixed on a piece of paper, gnawing on a pencil as he tried to sketch whatever he was planning to build next. Sometimes she had curled up beside him at the library or scratched his back as he worked. Other times she had slung her legs over his and hugged his side, her head burrowed into his chest as she memorized the steady pounding of his heartbeat while he stretched to reach the paper. Whenever he got stuck, he’d absentmindedly shove a hand into his hair and yank so that by the time his drawing was complete his hair would be sticking up in all directions.

She used to love how completely absorbed he became when he was dreaming, thinking, building. How he’d been the kind of person who threw his entire being into a project. They’d fantasized about attending college together, as a married couple, supporting each other as they took their time with their studies. Evan’s plan had been to study engineering, but she’d learned from Kendall that he had never ended up leaving Goose Harbor.

Shunning all thoughts of Evan Daniels had become such a habit for Claire that it was difficult to sort through the sudden onslaught of memories. They felt like talons, piercing her heart with burst after burst of pain. A tight coil of ache wrapped around her ribs. She pressed her palm into her collarbone.

Evan scooted so he was standing in front of her, then scratched the back of his neck. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Being ridiculous...but she was fine. For all intents and purposes, Evan was basically a stranger. She no longer knew the man before her, and there was no logical reason to be affected by him.

Still, it was dangerous to dwell on the past. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Good. That’s great.” He rocked on his feet and glanced at the impressive fire blazing in the stone fireplace in his family room. A log cracked and hissed. “I mean, I’m glad you’re fine.”

Claire hooked a chunk of her hair between her fingers and put it back behind her ear, casually scanning the layout of Evan’s home as she did so. The entryway was spacious, with a ceiling that reached to the second story. Behind a half wall there was a large family room with an overstuffed couch and two wide lounge chairs. Ten feet past the entryway lay the stairs; the railing and posts were clearly Evan’s handiwork. Beyond was a dining room and an open kitchen with gleaming appliances and a huge island. A set of white French doors led to another room that she couldn’t make out.

All the areas she could see were splashed in soothing earth tones. The aesthetics of Evan’s house translated to an overwhelming message to come on in, take a seat, relax, stay.

Well, everything except the loud music booming from upstairs. Claire pointed toward the steps. “When did you get into show tunes?”

Evan barked out a laugh. “Not me. No. That’s Laura. My sister. Do you remember her?”

“She was little.” Claire held her hand at waist height. “When I...when I was last around.”

“Not so little anymore. She’s seventeen,” he offered. “She pretty much lives here.”

Claire wanted to ask why his teenage sister lived with him. Were his parents here, too? His brother Andrew? No, the local rumor mill had hinted that Evan’s younger brother had run off six or seven years ago and no one knew if he was dead or alive. Some of the gossip was that Andrew had gone to Vegas and fallen into gambling like his father, but others told a tale of him becoming a world traveler, backpacking through India. Whatever his story, it no longer sounded as if it was entwined with Evan’s. However, none of that mattered. The less she knew about Evan’s life now, the better.

“You’ve done well for yourself.” Claire gestured to encompass his whole house. “Your place is beautiful.”

Evan ducked his head and glanced around. He looked slightly unsure. “Claire, listen. This is awkward.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

Both of them running for mayor was awkward, but they were adults and could deal with it. She sucked in a fortifying breath. Now or never. “We need to talk.”

He took a tentative step closer. “I know—I’m sorry. There’s a lot I’ve wanted to say.” His hand came up, as if he wanted to take her hand, or hug her, or rest it on her shoulder, but just as quickly he let it drop to his side. He shook his head once. “You have no idea how sorry I am. About everything.”

Danger! The conversation was not going in the right direction whatsoever. The last thing she wanted was to dig up and rehash any part of their old relationship. She’d held a funeral and buried those lost hopes a long time ago. Exhuming the grave was not going to happen. Not on her watch.

Evan’s brow pinched. “I’ve always re—”

She held up her palm. “I don’t want to talk about that. That’s not why I came here.”

“But I still—”

“No,” she said, louder and with more force than she meant to. “I’m serious. Please. I don’t want to go down that road with you. Not now, not ever.” She tugged on one of her sleeves. “Understood?”

He nodded. “I can respect that.” Then he swallowed hard. “If that’s what you want.”

It was strange to see the ever-sure Evan off-kilter and subdued. Maybe he’d changed over the years. Then again, he could be unnerved about being alone with her. At eighteen he’d decided he never wanted to be with her, and now he was stuck in such a predicament, if only for a few minutes.

Unwanted. Unwelcome. Undesirable.

Not much had changed in twelve years.

She needed to stop thinking like that.

Evan narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you’re not here to try to convince me to drop out of the race, are you?” He stepped back, leaned against the half wall that separated his entryway from the living room and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not happening, no matter what you say. I hope you know that.”

She rolled her shoulders. Sparring with Evan was far more comfortable than where the conversation had almost gone.

“Oh, believe me, if you’re as cocky and mule-headed as you were in high school, then of course you’re not going to back down.” She set her purse on the half wall’s ledge. “So no, I’m not here to ask you to drop out.”

The confident smirk she remembered from the past returned to his face. “Cocky and mule-headed, huh? I seem to remember running for president of the senior class and winning.”

“Thank you for demonstrating my point.”

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but the tug of a smile hinted that he was enjoying their quick exchange.

“Besides,” Claire added, “you won because I didn’t run against you.” The words came out weak in her ears. If she had run against Evan back then no one would have voted for her. Evan was her best friend and she had a group of friends based on that, but she’d had none to call her own when she was a teenager. Fellow students had either been afraid of her, because of her father, or tried to befriend her in order to get something—again, because of her father.

“Hey!” Evan’s twin dimples appeared as he wagged his finger. “I won fair and square.”

Thank you for not taking a cheap shot.

“Oh right, completely fair.” A genuine laugh sneaked out. “Is that what you call flirting for every vote?”

“I did not—”

She let out a little eep. “You’re planning to get votes that way this time, too, aren’t you? Don’t deny it. You’ll bat your eyes and ‘yes, ma’am’ and hold doors all around town for every woman over thirty and get them all swooning.”

“One.” He pushed off the wall so he was standing less than two feet away. It felt too close, but her back was already against the door and she had nowhere to go. “Last I checked, being polite and respectful isn’t considered flirting. Two.” He used his fingers to tick off his points. “I didn’t win the high school election by flirting. We were dating. You probably don’t think very highly of me, and I’ve earned the lowest marks in your book with cause.” He shoved his hand into his hair and turned to the side. “But know that I’m never going to—how did you say it?” He met her gaze and Claire swallowed past the burn in her throat. “Bat my eyes at another woman if I’m committed to someone else. Three, for that matter I don’t think I even know what batting my eyes means. And four—”

She held up both her hands. “Okay, enough.”

“Four.” He cocked his head and his dimples deepened. “You think I can make women all over town swoon?”

And...he’s back.

This time she didn’t fight the smile that bloomed on her face. “Grow up.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.” He tapped his chin in an exaggerated manner. “Actually, the idea has merit.”

“Don’t pretend you have no clue what I’m talking about. I’ve heard the rumors.”

“What rumors?” His face fell.

“About how friendly—” she put the word in finger quotes “—you are with the tourists.”

He looked genuinely confused. “I guess I don’t understand what you’re insinuating.”

Come on, he had to know. A guy as good-looking as he was had to comprehend the effect he had on a single woman if he was showering her with attention. “Please, Evan. Don’t play stupid.”

“Are you kidding?” His confusion melted into a goofy grin as he pointed at his face. “This is what real stupid looks like. Take a picture. You might be able to sell it to the Discovery Channel. ‘Stupid, Captured in the Wild.’” He imitated a voice-over from an animal documentary.

“You’re impossible.”

He finally sobered. “Whatever you’ve heard, I don’t flirt with anyone. At least, not on purpose. I haven’t even had a girlfriend since...” He shrugged.

Since when? Since her? That would be impossible. A guy like Evan would be considered a hot commodity in a small town like Goose Harbor. Grandmas would invite their adult granddaughters to visit for the summer just to try to pair them up with him. An eligible, attractive bachelor who was deeply involved in the community and his church—what wasn’t to like?

Too bad when Claire looked at him she saw promise-breaker, dream-dasher and leaver, but she was in tune enough to understand why others might be drawn to him.

Evan studied her for a minute, almost as if he wanted to say something important. Finally, he shook his head and said, “Forgive me, where are my manners? Here.” He held out a hand. “I’ll take your coat. It’s cold out there. Let’s go sit by the fire and we can discuss whatever it was you wanted to.”

* * *

Evan crossed from the kitchen to the couch near the fireplace where Claire waited. The smell of chocolate from the mugs in his hands and the burning logs that popped and crackled in the hearth should have been comforting, but he was finding it impossible to relax.

Claire Atwood was in his house.

Years had come and gone since he’d given up hope of them reconciling, so that couldn’t be what was causing his pulse to heat the back of his neck. Long ago, Evan had been told he’d never amount to anything. His father had been the first to plant the idea in his head, but many others had reinforced the notion until it became true.

Out of everything Sesser Atwood had said to Evan to convince him to miss his own wedding—between the blackmail about kicking his parents out of their home, having his father arrested, and Sesser’s promise to use his connection to get Brice tossed out of college—it wasn’t the threats that had convinced Evan to abandon Claire in the end. It was the reminder that Evan would never amount to anything, never be good enough to deserve someone of Claire’s stature. He’d been no better than a pauper with a crush on a princess. Laughable.

Sesser had been right.

While Evan had gone on to build a home in Goose Harbor, he’d never ventured beyond the small lakeside community. With no college degree, he had nothing to attach to his name and very little experience in the world at large. All he had to show for his life was the furniture he built with sweat and dreams. Many of the people he’d grown up with would consider his house to be nice, sizable even, but it was a joke when compared to the place Claire had grown up in. Nothing compared to what Auden Pierce, the man she’d been engaged to, could have given her.

He’d never admit to it, but once he discovered that Claire was engaged, Evan had harbored a fascination for conducting internet searches on her fiancé. Auden Pierce—who looked as stuffy in his online profiles as his name sounded—was her senior by eight years, and newspapers quoted that the solutions architect was worth twice as much as her father. Evan initially had to look up what a solutions architect even was—some fancy term for someone who designs plans for problems occurring within huge corporations. Starting pay was upwards into six figures. Evan had stopped searching for information after learning that.

Then again, some of the articles about Pierce’s dealings had sounded shady. Not exactly illegal, but not completely on the up and up...much like how Sesser Atwood ran his businesses. Evan wouldn’t survive ten minutes in such a world. He couldn’t even let himself beat one of the Sunday school kids at a board game without feeling bad.

Evan and Claire existed in different spheres, and that’s how it would always be.

How it needed to be.

He handed her a large mug and then sat on the chair across from the couch, the fire warming the side of his face. “I put peanut butter cups in there. You may want to give it a stir so they don’t stay melted on the bottom.” He pointed at the mug she had cradled in her hand. “I hope you still like it that way. I should have asked.”

Claire stared at the steam rising from her hot chocolate and blinked a couple times. “I—yes—I still love it that way.” She slowly stirred the liquid, her spoon making soft clanking sounds. “It’s been forever.” She took a sip and her eyes softened as she watched him. “I have to start making it this way for Alex. I’d forgotten.”

Forgotten her favorite way to take hot chocolate?

Evan wanted to say something, anything that would ease the tension between them, but she’d asked him to not bring up the past. She wanted to forget that they’d ever meant something to each other, which was probably wise, but Evan was struggling with the idea of ignoring the issue all the same. How could they move forward and function together on any level without addressing what had happened? She wanted him to ignore everything? Pretend they’d never known each other? Held each other?

If only she’d let him explain.

Emotion tightened his throat.

Claire placed her mug on the coffee table and put her hands on her knees. “I stopped by because I wanted to talk about the election.”

Heat wafted in thick waves from the fireplace. He might have added one too many logs when he built it earlier; then again, he hadn’t been planning to sit this close. Evan angled away from it. He rested his ankle on his other knee and cradled his half-empty hot chocolate. “I figured that much.”

“This competition they want us to do.” She moved to the edge of the seat. “It’s ridiculous. Please tell me you think so, too.”

Evan chuckled. “Of course it’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, that’s great! I’m so glad you agree.” She wound her fingers together around her cup. “So you’ll talk to the board about it with me, then? We need to convince them to drop the idea. If only you would talk to them, I know you could get them to see reason.”

Ah, the truth came out.

Claire wanted him to address the board, to get her out of doing something she had decided was uncomfortable. The same scenario had played out a hundred times in high school, with Evan always going to bat for her. But not this time. Claire was a grown woman who didn’t need him as a mouthpiece. She was smart and well-spoken and strong enough to fight her own battles. Her father might still attempt to hold her under his thumb, but Evan knew better. Even after all these years, he believed in Claire—in the fire and determination he knew she possessed. She lacked courage, not ability.

Evan pressed his shoulders into the chair’s padding. “Now, I didn’t say I’d do that.”

Claire’s mouth opened, closed and then opened again. She let out a huff. “But you said you agreed it’s ridiculous.”

“I do.” He finished his drink and then leaned forward and set the mug a few inches under his chair, where it wouldn’t get knocked over. Out of habit, he rubbed his hands together. Usually the motion was to clear his skin of sawdust. “I can acknowledge the whole thing is silly and still go along with it.”

“Evan, it’s...we’re not in a beauty pageant here!” Her eyebrows shot up. She clanked her mug onto the coffee table. “All I want is to run a few ads and shake some hands and call it a day. Why can’t this just be a normal election?”

“Easy answer.” He absently traced a pattern into the suede fabric on the armrest of his chair. “This is Goose Harbor. People here live for traditions and events that bring the community together. Everyone’s been stuck in their homes all winter. Some people are worried about making ends meet after a slow tourist season.”

Claire nodded. “All true points, but none of that has anything to do with our election.”

Evan straightened in the seat. “It has everything to do with the election. A fun event to attend gives them hope. If you can’t see that, then you really need to rethink your desire to be the mayor here.” He leaned forward once more, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Why are you running, Claire? Did your father—”

She shot to her feet. “This has nothing to do with my father. Understand?” She ground out the words. “Why would you even think—? I’m my own person.” Claire pressed her palm to her heart. “Out of everyone, I thought you knew that.”

“I’m sorry.” He hooked his hand around his neck, then ruffled his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, it was said and can’t be taken back.” She rounded the chair and headed for the door. “Nothing can be taken back.”

Evan sighed. “I know that better than anyone.” He slowly stood, stepped forward and dropped his hand on the edge of the chair. “Why’d you come home, Claire? The truth.”

Her back was toward him. He watched her shoulders rise with a deep breath. She had every right to barge out his door without supplying an answer. He wasn’t owed one.

Claire fisted her hand and spun around. “Why did you stay?”

Not what he was expecting.

Evan rocked on his feet. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“Same.” One word, but her voice caught on it. “That’s the reason I’m here.”

Evan started toward her, his feet moving before he could determine if he wanted to comfort her or not. He couldn’t leave her standing there, looking like she was about to cry. He had to do something. Given that they were running against each other, and given their past, he probably shouldn’t. But logical reasoning had never been his strong suit.

However, it had always been Claire’s, which was probably why, before he could make it to her side, she gathered her coat and purse and fumbled with the doorknob. She yanked it open. “I’ll see you at the town hall meeting tomorrow.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck and flung the end of it over her shoulder, then shoved her arms into her coat. “I’ll be the one winning, in case there was still any confusion.”

The door slammed before he could take another step. The sound reverberated through his chest and a clump of sadness thudded into the bottom of his gut, the weight reminding him that there was no reason to chase after her. Claire didn’t want him to follow; she’d made that clear twelve years ago when he wrote her letter after letter for a year and she never responded.

“Night, Claire,” he mumbled.

“Whoa! That lady is a tornado in high heels.” Laura pounded down the stairs behind him. When she wasn’t lying on the floor of her bedroom listening to music, his sister seemed to always be in a hurry.

Evan gathered the empty mugs from the family room and carried them to the sink. “How much of that did you overhear?”

His sister followed in his wake, then boosted herself onto the island’s counter. “You mean, how much of that did I intentionally eavesdrop on from my prime hiding location at the top of the stairs?”

Evan raised an eyebrow at her as he rinsed out the cups. Despite the thirteen-year age gap, he was close to his sister, and he loved her fiercely. The two of them enjoyed ribbing each other as much as he made a habit out of kidding with Brice.

Laura snagged an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it with a loud crunch. “Oh, only all of it.”

“You should wash that before eating it.”

“Okay, Mom.” She rubbed the apple on her jeans and then took another bite.

“Laura.” His voice held a warning. “An ounce of respect would be nice.”

It was difficult, this balance between them. He wanted to be her fun-loving brother. Someone she could always tease and be lighthearted with. There was so much heaviness attached to the rest of their family relationships, even with Brice. Evan yearned to make sure she knew she could be herself with him—even if that meant sassing him occasionally. Yet he was left to play parent as well, which often carried the weight of setting her straight, and occasionally that meant disciplining her, which bothered him.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t they say a little dirt don’t hurt?”

“The farmers shoot all sorts of pesticides on them while they’re growing.” He tapped the fruit bowl. “Now you’re eating those chemicals.”

“Well, the good news is,” she said around another bite of apple, “I’m apparently not a bug and will live.” When she was finished, she acted as if she was making a three-point shot and tossed the core into the trash can. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that nonsense.”

Evan flipped a dish towel over his shoulder as he loaded the dishwasher. “Did you come down here only to speak in platitudes or was there another reason you listened in on my conversation?”

“Ev, man, you’re on point tonight.” Laura hopped down from the counter. “Does she do this to you? That Claire?”

He almost asked what it meant to be “on point” but thought better of it. He’d never be able to keep up with his sister’s ever-changing teenspeak.

“Claire—” Evan shut the dishwasher and jammed the Pots and Pans button to On “—does nothing to me. We’re running against each other for mayor.”

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