The Second Chance

by Ann Maree Craven

  Lena returned with a first aid kit. “Vic gave me this from behind the bar.” She proceeded to wrap Carter’s hand in a bandage, and before she was finished, his brothers walked over.

  “Nice work, Carter.” Conner was doing a very bad job of hiding his grin.

  Conrad didn’t smile, but he looked like he wanted to. “Really, this was entertaining.”

  Carter scowled at them. “Shove off.”

  Lena wedged herself between the brothers, pointing at her boyfriend. “Carter is trying to work hard. Just because you’ve gotten it into your head that it’s not possible for him, doesn’t make it true. I suggest you both leave. Now.”

  The two of them grumbled but did as she wished and headed for the door.

  My heart ached for Carter. Even as a teenager, his family hadn’t taken him seriously. He seemed to have embraced that and stopped taking himself seriously, instead becoming the charmer, the flirt.

  Not many people knew how truly good he was. Lena and I saw it, but only because he let us.

  As he watched his brothers go, I caught a glimpse of the boy I’d known, and it comforted me to know he was still the guy I’d fallen for all those years ago. How different would life have been if I’d never let my parents keep me from coming back here?

  If I’d stuck up for myself for once in my life.

  “Carter,” a woman yelled from behind the bar. “Stop flirting and get back to work.”

  His cheeks tinged red at being caught in his lie about managing the bar, but I didn’t care what he was here. It didn’t change how I’d always seen him. I tried to say that with my eyes, but he still walked away without a word.

  I slumped back into my chair and put my head in my hands.

  Lena was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “Well, I think you need another glass.”

  Yes. Wine. Wine fixed everything.

  Chapter Six

  I’m managing the place for my father. I flipped another chair over, placing it on the table top, disgusted at myself for the stupid lie. I only wanted Harper to see I wasn’t a screw up, but then she caught me in a pathetic lie.

  When I arrived at the Ashford Wine Bar for my first shift I thought I was just going to play the host. Greet a few guests, walk them to tables, schmooze and flirt, and essentially act like I owned the place.

  That did not happen. Vic put me to work as a barback, hauling bottles of wine to stock shelves and moving cases of champagne that weighed more than I did. Now, I was closing the place, doing the grunt work while Vic closed the registers.

  This was not the way I’d imagined a reunion with Harper Chapman might go. And I’d had plenty of practice imagining all the ways I might impress her with my success and indifference to her absence all these years.

  I nearly dropped the chair I was moving. Man, I was exhausted. Why couldn’t the stupid chairs stay where they were? I was likely making minimum wage for this job, and it so wasn’t worth it. Not when I had trust funds that would kick in again whenever Dad stopped being mad at me.

  I knew he thought he was helping me by restricting my cash flow. Teaching me a lesson so I’d eventually make something of myself. But my father and I didn’t see eye to eye when it came to the things that made a man a success. I was only twenty-seven. I still had time to figure out what I wanted.

  My hand slid into something sticky as I lifted another chair. “Chewing gum? Gross.” I pulled my hand back, groaning at the string of pink gum that trailed between me and the chair. “What kind of miserable person does that?” I reached for a napkin on the wait stand and made a mental note to go home and boil my hand. I might not know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew this was not it.

  “Almost done?” Vic stepped behind the bar, reaching for her purse.

  “Yes, are we finally allowed to leave this place?” I gave her one of my patented charming smiles.

  Vic just rolled her eyes at me. “Same time tomorrow.”

  “Two days in a row?” I stretched my back and shoulders, muscles and joints flexing and popping. I was going to be sore tomorrow. At least that meant I could skip the gym. This job was a workout.

  “Well, those of us with full-time jobs tend to do five or six days in a row.” Vic slid the schedule toward me.

  “Six?” I groaned, seeing my name added to every day of the week and Saturday afternoon too. “You’re killing me, Vic.” I ran my non-chewing-gum hand through my sweaty hair. I was not looking my best tonight.

  “I’ve got you on barback for a few more shifts, and then we’ll try you out waiting tables next week.”

  “Sure, sure.” I would do this and not complain about it. My father expected me to throw a tantrum about this job, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.

  “Here’s your share of the tips from tonight.” She handed me a thick envelope stuffed with cash. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. I hadn’t expected tips. There had to be more than a hundred dollars here. I’d worked hard, and hated every minute of it, but the cash was appreciated. My hat cost more than what was in the envelope, but it was money I’d earned.

  “Thanks, Vic.” I shoved the stack of bills in my back pocket and followed her out the front door.

  “Looks like you have a visitor.” She slapped me on the back and headed to her car in the lot across the street.

  I’d parked on the street in front of the bar, and lucky me, a ticket waited for me for parking there too long. There went my share of the night’s tips.

  Sitting beside my Ferrari was a boring old Honda, but I only had eyes for the girl leaning against it. Harper.

  “You look like crap.” She sipped something from a stainless steel mug.

  “It was a hard day at work, give me a break.” I stopped at the curb, willing myself not to slide up next to her like I would have a decade ago.

  “You have a job.” Her voice took on a familiar teasing tone. It was her tipsy from too much wine voice.

  “I looked for you at the funeral.” My words came out all judgy and harsh. But she kind of deserved it. She left without saying goodbye. Everything we were just vanished in an instant the moment she decided to leave. It hurt then, and it hurt now.

  “I was out of the country on an assignment and couldn’t make it back.” She glanced down at her feet, ashamed.

  She should be. Her grandfather adored her. He was so proud of her accomplishments, yet she couldn’t drag herself back home when he died. Was she avoiding me? Was I that scary?

  I’d expected so much more from her. After all we were to each other, me and Harper and our friendship with Lena, I’d expected her to stay in touch.

  “We’re not sixteen anymore, Carter. Things change.” Her eyes pleaded with me, begging me to understand. Well, I didn’t.

  “Good seeing you, Harper.” It took all the strength I had to walk away, but I did it. I made it as far as the driver’s side door of my car before I turned back for one more look at the only woman I’d ever loved. She’d ruined me for any other relationship.

  “See you around.” She stepped away from her car, walking in the direction of her grandmother’s house.

  “Where are you going, Harper?” I should get in my car and drive away now. Before she reeled me back in with those sad eyes. They used to be so full of mischief and joy.

  “You Ashfords make a fine wine.” She grinned, lifting her travel mug and taking a sip.

  “That’s not coffee, is it?” I glanced in her backseat to find an empty bottle of Ashford’s best merlot tossed carelessly on the floor. She was always a red wine girl. A wine girl, really.

  “It’s been a rough week, don’t judge me. I’ll come back for my car tomorrow.” She shuffled along the sidewalk.

  “No judgment.” I shook my head and jogged to catch up with her. “You’ll get a ticket if you don’t move it soon.”

  “Whatever. They can tow it.” She waved a hand over her shoulder.

  “I’ll give you a ride ho
me, Harper. Just come back.”

  “I feel like walking. It’s such a pretty town. I like the cute little street lights at night.”

  “Then, I’ll walk with you.” I fell in step beside her. Part of me wanted to stay as far away from Harper Chapman as possible, but the less petty part of me wouldn’t let anyone too drunk to drive walk home alone at night.

  We walked in silence along the boulevard through downtown. Most of the shops and restaurants were long closed, so it was eerily quiet.

  “It’s like time stopped here,” Harper whispered.

  “I can assure you it did not.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets because I didn’t trust myself not to reach for her hand. “While you’ve been traveling the world with your hard-hitting journalism, the rest of us have been right here where you left us.” It was a dig I’d come up with a long time ago. One of those things I promised myself I’d say to her if I ever saw her again.

  She flinched like I’d slapped her. I had followed her career, and it wasn’t the one she’d always dreamed of. Now, she did the kind of puff pieces she once scoffed at.

  “Maybe I just wish time had stopped here.” She wrapped her arms across her middle, and I wanted to think it was for the same reason my hands were in my pockets.

  “Why are you here, Harper? Why now, after all this time?” I had to know. The rumors said she was getting divorced, but I didn’t know if it was true.

  “I don’t know. I just needed to feel safe again, and this was the only place that ever felt like a haven. I missed it. Missed Grandma, and you and Lena.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” I wanted to unsay it as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn’t want her to know how much she’d hurt me. Why couldn’t I just be an old friend reconnecting with another? It was years ago. Ancient history. She’d moved on, so had I. Except I hadn’t. Not really.

  “I’ve made a mess of things.” She shrugged. “Apparently, that’s what I do.”

  We walked in silence for a while, neither of us brave enough to speak what was on our minds.

  “I came back because I’m lost and I need a friend. Turns out, I haven’t had one of those in a really long time.” She looked at me like the world had chewed her up and spit her out. I decided right then I wasn’t going to contribute to the pain I saw in her eyes. I wouldn’t risk my heart. Not again. But we were friends long before we were ever an us.

  “Come here.” I sighed and draped my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you home, friend.”

  “Friend?” She wrapped her arm around my waist.

  “You know better than to ask. I’m a sucker for my friends.”

  “Even when they’re bad friends?” she asked in a pitifully exaggerated voice.

  “Especially when they’re bad friends. Makes me look better.”

  She laughed and gave me a playful shove. “That’s the Carter Ashford I remember.” We walked through the gate of her grandmother’s yard like we’d done a thousand times before. Like it was yesterday.

  “I don’t know what you’ve been through.” I lingered by the gate, “but whatever it is, this is the best place for you, Harps. Let that grandmother of yours take care of you.” I took a step back toward the street.

  “Thanks, Carter.” She walked to the porch and turned one last time, like she always did when we were kids. “You know, they say you can never go home again.” She gazed up at the old house where we shared so many happy memories. “I hope they’re wrong.”

  I refused to let myself think about Harper on my walk back to the bar, yet I couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off my face.

  It was always good to reconnect with old friends, right?

  It didn’t have to mean anything.

  “That’s a smile we haven’t seen around these parts in years.”

  I jerked my head up at the familiar voice.

  “Mrs. Peterson, hi.” I put on my best manners, and my gossip armor. I wasn’t getting out of this without a fight. “It’s awfully late to be out.”

  “It’s trash day tomorrow.” She tugged on the heavy bin rolling at a snail’s pace behind her. “And I don’t sleep much anyway with these old, aching bones. Help an old lady out?”

  “Of course.” I jogged up the sidewalk to her townhouse. Mrs. Peterson was one of the worst of the local gossips. Living so close to the town square, she saw everything. “Let me get that for you.” I steered the overflowing bin down to the edge of the street.

  “What’s her name, dear?” Mrs. Peterson asked.

  “Ma’am?” I ran a hand through my hair, pretending I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “The young lady who put that smile on your face.” She peered at me over her glasses.

  “No one, ma’am.” I gave her my best smile. “You have a good night, Mrs. Peterson.”

  “You too. Don’t go looking for trouble, dear. Harper has had a rough time of it lately.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shook my head with a laugh. “Trouble just has a way of finding me.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” She laughed her way up the steps to her townhouse, and I made a beeline back to my car.

  Chapter Seven

  Why was this newspaper so addictive? I was a hard-hitting journalist. Okay, not so hard hitting in recent years, but still, I shouldn’t … enjoy this. Didn’t anyone in this town want actual news?

  I should pull out my phone and scroll through a national publication. I still had my subscription to the Times. Reading the New York Times every morning as a kid—yes, I was a weirdo—was what made me want to be a journalist. I wanted to bring light to the forgotten places of the world, to make people see we couldn’t be so insulated here. To make them see we had an obligation to ease human suffering.

  Instead, I ended up writing on the rise in seal population, the construction of Olympic stadiums in whatever wealthy country prepared to host them, or the gentrification of some old forgotten borough of the city.

  I sipped my coffee, setting the page down. I’d been reading about how Mrs. Anderson’s daughter was marrying a man from Hidden Cove, a scandal if I ever heard one. This town was really ridiculous sometimes.

  The name of the paper was accurate. The Weekly Wine. All it did was whine. And yet, it was highly entertaining.

  “Can I get you anything else, dear?” The waitress was waiting for me to say something, but I was still lost in a gossip daze.

  I looked up at her. “Just the check, thank you.”

  She dug it out of her apron and set it on the table before walking away.

  I was supposed to meet Lena for breakfast, but she called me last minute saying there was a problem at the construction site of her new business and she had to head there.

  It was fine. I’d grown used to being by myself the last few years and quite enjoyed it. Garret never understood my need for space, but sometimes it was nice just to be able to sit by myself and think.

  Especially now. Most people had a certain look in their eyes when they saw me. I could instantly tell what they were thinking. This girl was weak, she didn’t fight for her marriage. Divorce was the easy way out.

  They were wrong. There was nothing easy about divorce. The worst thing I could have done was stay in a marriage I no longer felt was right for me.

  I dug cash out of my purse and placed it on the check with a healthy tip before gathering my purse and the paper and walking out. My eyes drifted back to the page as I stepped onto the sidewalk, and I sucked in a breath as I saw my name.

  Sightings:

  Harper Chapman has returned to Superiore Bay after many years away. Sources say she ended her marriage for our very own Carter Ashford. We only have three questions:

  1. Can Carter love anything other than that Ferrari of his?

  2. Is he over Lena Contreras?

  3. Do second chances really exist?

  Anger burned through me as I read it a second time and then a third. This was unacceptable journalism. How
dare they print unverified lies? And about me? Whoever ran this paper needed to be told that in journalism, the truth always mattered.

  I punched numbers into my phone and listened as it rang. Lena picked up right away.

  “Harper, hi. Sorry I couldn’t make breakfast.”

  “That’s fine.” I drew in a breath. “You and Carter were never …”

  “Never what?” She sounded confused.

  “A thing?”

  A laugh burst out of her. “Definitely not. He’s my best friend, nothing more.”

  The tension eased across my shoulders, melting away. “Okay, then I have one more question. Where is the Weekly Wine office these days?”

  Lena gave me the address, and I hung up to put it into my phone. It wasn’t far, within walking distance actually, which was good because my entire body vibrated with anger and I doubt I could have driven anyway.

  Following the directions on my map, I ducked down a side street, my steps strong, purposeful. My jaw tensed as I got close, and I clenched and unclenched my fists.

  The office sat between two other shops, and when I stepped through the glass doors, I froze. It was small, just one long room, with a single ancient computer and stacks of papers scattered over every surface.

  No one was there when I entered, and my anger started fading away. Who could write a real paper in a space like this? Certainly not a team of people. I pictured the expansive offices in Boston that brimmed with life.

  I’d loved it there. The smell of breaking stories in the air, the gurgle of the coffee machine that was constantly overworked.

  I scanned the room, finding a small, stained coffeemaker that looked like it hadn’t worked in a decade.

  The walls were covered in an ancient, peeling, blue wallpaper. The only person I knew who still used wallpaper was my grandmother. Part of me expected her to jump out at any moment.

  And the smell … it was like a wet dog and a day-old sandwich had a baby. I choked on the stale air and pushed back through the door. No wonder the paper was always so short. Who could stand to sit in that room long enough to put a paper together?